“So he’s a soulless, selfish little shit,” Mirai growled out, Bulma’s hand covering over his own.
“Don’t talk about him that way,” She said kindly yet firmly at the same time, a tone he swore only she could master. Her blue eyes captivated his own, demanding silence. They sat amongst the flowers and water fountains of the courtyard, the slight breeze a welcome deterrent from the scalding heat of summer.
True, she had aged, though no where near the point his mother had gotten to before succumbing to the virus. True, she was fading before his eyes, the wilting flower kissing the last rays of sunlight before the fall. Yet here she was before him, thriving with life, the glow of health still lightening her cheeks.
“You must try to understand him Trunks,” she sighed, dainty little fingertips tracing lines across the table top. “Only you could possibly fathom his reasons.”
“And what if he has none? What if, as I suspect, he’s a spoiled, heartless shit with nothing more to do with his time but to make others as miserable as himself?”
Her eyes warned him once more, commanding no more of his insults.
“Maybe there are no reasons,” She admitted with a nod. “Maybe I don’t think there ever were in the first place. And how do you solve the crime that never had a culprit? How do you heal a wound that was never inflicted?”
She rested her chin on her hand, staring off into the distance as Mirai could remember her doing so often after his father had died. The way the crinkles kissing her eyelids would fade for just a moment and once more, she was the pretty young girl fantasizing about her loved one.
“But surely he must feel something,” She mused. “Does God make people without hearts? I don’t think so. It’s a process to make your mind and body immune to feeling. It has to be you Mirai.”
He looked up from the table top, staring in disbelief at her.
“What are you suggesting?” He gawked.
“That you save him,” she whispered. “If only from himself.”
“I don’t even understand him,” he mumbled. “nor do I feel any desire to. For something of my precise flesh and blood, we are as different as anything else on this planet. To be honest, he sickens me.”
“Try Mirai,” the woman breathed, taking his hand into her own. “it must be you. Of anything in this world, Trunks respects himself alone. Perhaps…..perhaps somehow he can delude himself into thinking that you are the same person and that’s when you must strike. Save him Mirai, please.”
Brushing a lock of light purple hair from his eyes, Trunks contemplated this mission. It horrified him. One look at the younger version had been enough to nauseate his system, poisoning all the fluffy fantasies he had enacted in his mind. The two even looked slightly different, their hair styles a complete contradiction to the others. The younger version had apparently despised his hair, cutting it to a mere inch and a half high, spiking it upwards and clashing it with pearly white streaks. Mirai preferred nothing more than a thin piece of wire to hold his shoulder length hair into a tight ponytail, its color darker from the lack of sunlight in his time.
“He wasn’t always so bad,” she whispered. “He was a good boy for the longest time, growing as I suspect you would have. Teen years were difficult on Trunks, I know that now as he must have felt it then. And don’t be misled into thinking he’s gay. He’s not. He simply prefers the greatest challenge and women no longer could have supplied that for him.”
Mirai remained quiet, acknowledging silently that the heiress apparently needed this illusion, however petty it seemed to him.
“So perhaps I like to lie about him,” Bulma admitted, surprising Mirai. “what more can be expected out of a human? I like the falsehoods, I like the idea that he can be saved, turned straight and give me grand babies. Like the end of a movie, every wrong made right. But it won’t happen that way, will it?”
Mirai kept his silence, regarding her with soft eyes.
“I think I noticed it at about eight years old. I had been shopping, walking out into the parking lot when I noticed Trunks standing near the road, a crowd of people hovering around a car. I think I must have nearly collapsed in my relief that he remained unhurt, staring down at this mangled dog, caught and twisted around the tire of a car. I don’t know what I expected Mirai,” she dug her fingers through her hair. “Perhaps some sort of reaction, tears, fear maybe? Nothing. Toddlers and boys older then his age were crying, clinging to their mothers or fathers. Trunks remained passive as the dog squealed and screamed like I’ve never heard a creature do.
“Its sobs were horrifying, the sounds of nightmares. Yet he merely raised his hand and blasted it to pieces right out from under the car. I’ve never been covered in so much blood and innards that weren’t mine and I can still remember the scratchy feeling of peeling off pieces of the dog’s hide, the fur covered in blood. And that was it,” she shook her head, eyes haunted looking. “he muttered something about the dog making too much noise and headed to the car. I recall a grown man vomiting at the scene, everyone staring at me in disbelief.
“At the age of 14 Trunks had walked into the school bathroom two minutes after his lifelong friend had put a silencer to his temple and pulled the trigger, ending his life against a urinal. They had sent Trunks to many counselors, each deciding that the passiveness of his behavior was one of the steps to acceptance regarding his friend’s death. But that attitude never changed. When asked how he had felt, if he missed his friend, Trunks had just shrugged, crossing his legs and raising an eyebrow. ‘Why should I?’ he asked. ‘He obviously knew what he wanted and he’s there now. It’s the way of the world. The strong survive and who gives a fuck about the weak?’.”
Mirai took in a breath, shaking his head.
“I always wanted to believe it was Vegeta’s influence upon him,” Bulma shrugged. “it was easier that way I suppose. It brought tensions between me and your father, animosity in every room we occupied. But it settled my fears and I know that your father knew that. Maybe it’s why he let me get away with it rather then awakening me to the reality of the situation; the truth as only Vegeta could tell it. That for what it was worth, as much as I was horrified by Trunk’s behavior, Vegeta was afraid of him.”
“I can’t imagine dad afraid of anything,” Mirai joked, lightening the mood only a tad successfully. “he hasn’t changed a bit. Not even aged.”
“A fact that haunts him daily.” She replied solemnly. “Your father fears Trunks for different reasons. His unpredictability. His unstable detachment from all things. His sadistic behavior that even surprises Vegeta at times. And the incestual attraction that Trunks has time and time again stressed to his OWN father!”
“You’re kidding me!” Mirai nearly threw his chair backwards, standing up in a rage.
“Mirai, sit down,” Bulma demanded. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
The purple head nodded, accepting this while still stunned to the point of stupidity by her confession.
“We can’t see it the way he does Mirai.” Bulma began. “How can you judge what you couldn’t possibly comprehend? As much as emotions confuse him so does any human law or unwritten rule. He can’t abide by something when he feels no commitment to its reasons. What I’m trying to say is, if morally it doesn’t bother him (and I quite imagine nothing could bother him at this point) than he could care less for petty human opinions regarding it. He sees something he wants, he goes for it regardless. And to this day, your father is the only person who has ever been able to deny him what he wants.”
“Doesn’t Vegeta feel…. Bothered by this?”
She shook her head, shrugging her shoulders.
“You know how he is Mirai. He’s not exactly willing to speak his feelings on a personal level with me, though thankfully, through Trunks’ inability to feel any emotion at all, I’ve been blessed with the ability to see them in Vegeta more than I ever could before. But in a word? I’d say he’s terrified at what Trunks would do to achieve the impossible. When you’re numb to anything but the thrill of a good challenge, what more could hold importance with you than achieving it?”
“What can I do?” Trunks asked honestly, watching his mother’s face light up with the knowledge that he would help her.
“Hide from him,” she instructed. “Watch him if you can stand to look, examine his routine. Find any possible weak moments, any times when something seems to register, even on the smallest scale. You know your own facial expressions as no one does. Who better to watch for them but you? Whatever the case, do not let him see you. Not yet anyways.”
“Why? Just for hiding sake?”
Her face turned cold for a moment, eyes harsh and calculating as she took his hand once more.
“If only that were the fear in this situation. No Mirai. Avoid him at all costs for if I know my son even in the most trivial sense, the moment he sees you, Vegeta will be the least of his concerns.”