Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Love She Can't Live Without ❯ Love She Can't Live Without ( One-Shot )

Toriyama Akira created the vibrant characters of Dragonball Z.

The Man in the Black Hat, Clint Black, embodied the relationship
between Bulma and her two males in the lyrics.

The Story Idea is mine; it came to me in a dream. The chorus
wouldn't leave my mind until I penned this story. Scout's honor!

The story takes place after Friiezer's defeat by Trunks-oujisama,
and before the Androids...duh...It's my first songfic, and it had to be
written...my subconscious TOLD me too...yell at it if you must...

This is Songfic #1 in my Universe. It beings the untold story...
~*~
He gives her attention, he's constantly, carefully planting the seeds
The only thing missing, is really the only thing she needs
And he can't give that to her and she can't find it with him
So she'll have to find her way out of love she's not really in
~*~

As the stars flickered in the sky, blinking out the silent
lullaby in the minds and hearts of all the creatures on Kami-sama's
Green Chikyuu, one soul was not soothed by the lovely melody. The
troubled soul of the blue-haired genius tossed and turned in the
rumpled sheets of the large bed she and her lover shared.

Bulma finally stopped the fruitless attempt of slumber and
paused on her back, eyes fixed blindly on the ceiling. A quiet sigh
escaped her lips as she realized that sleep would not take her
troubles away this night, as it had in nights past. She fingered the
soft cottony sheet that covered her small frame, feeling the smooth
fibers glide between her fingers. Her eyes wandered around the
sparsely decorated room, seeking out an answer to her awakeness on
this moonless night.

As her twilight-hued eyes danced from object to object,
fixing upon some longer than others, they came to rest on the
reason. Or at least, the major reason at the moment within sight.
As her gaze traveled up and down the large frame of her lover, it
paused on his face. That scarred, innocent-in-slumber, visage that
she and the world has come to associate with, and know, as Yamucha.
She knew each curve and crevice by heart, and could interpret it's
expressions like a well-read book.

Another shallow sigh escaped her lips and she turned away
from him, her back facing the heavy breathing that bordered on
snoring. The snoring wasn't what bothered her this night; she could
sleep through a tsunami and still get a good eight hours. No, there
seemed to be something missing in her life, something that had been
missing for a long time.

Bulma snorted to herself--what, you say, what would Bulma
Briefs be missing in her life? She's the richest woman in Western
Capital; President of Capsule Corporation, the largest corporation in
the area; tons of friends and activities to occupy her time, and the
man of her dreams laying next to her. A wonderful, sweet life that
many a person envies and covets. Those things are all well and fine,
but that is not the true woman--within the glorified shell known as
Bulma Briefs, a dark hole gnawed at her heart.
~*~
She can live with what goes with leaving
She knows it's the only way
Though it kills her to give up believin'
She can't live with herself if she stays
~*~

She thought she filled it when she found Yamucha out in the
desert--his warm arms, his bright smile, and his open heart. She
felt complete; the gnawing hole that existed within her soul was
filled at last. But lately, the hole that she thought had filled with
the love Yamucha freely offered her had reopened; the open sore
lost it's scab and was bleeding once again. Easy to fix, but hard to
heal.

They both had given much to the relationship to make the
roots grow strong and deep. At first, it was bliss and both partners
were happy to just be in each other's embrace. But once again,
things and thoughts and feelings have changed. It wasn't overnight,
but bit by bit, crack by crack, the hole splintered, shattered, and
broken open once more. Bulma realized things were falling apart
between them.

But had he?

Bulma had to admit, she thought so. His mind, which
remembered every date and intricate detail that occurred so far in
their span together as a couple had become so full of holes, Swiss
cheese was more concrete than his memory. In the past month,
Yamucha had 'forgotten' or canceled seven of their prearranged
encounters; citing conflicts or just plain forgetfulness. She brushed
off the first few, smiling and rearranging the evening to
accommodate his needs.

But tonight was the final straw.

He 'claimed' that he didn't about the estate dinner, and that
he had already made plans without her with his baseball buddies.
Didn't she mention a girls' night out with ChiChi? She pointed out to
him that those plans had been canceled almost two weeks ago when
she found out about the important business dinner she was required
to attend. He had agreed to be her escort for the gala readily.
What do you think that tux in your closet was there for? An air
freshener? Decoration? She had been so mad at him, she felt she
could explode.

Yamucha stumbled over his apologies, sounding false, faked
and half-assed to her ears. He claimed he couldn't cancel with the
guys--is was an important night for them, as well. He had suggested
that she come back over after the dinner, and they'd spend the rest
of the night in each other's arms. Bulma grumbled loudly at being
'dessert,' but hesitantly agreed, saying she'd be there about ten. He
agreed and even repeated the time back to her.

As she lay there, on her side of the large bed, the sea-blue
water nymph scowled darkly. The love and trust she put in the
warrior lying next to her was growing thinner and thinner. What was
so important that he couldn't cancel for her? She rearranged and
rescheduled and canceled many meetings and opportunities for
him--what was the one night to him? She had arrived at his
apartment around ten, as stated, but he was still not there. As she
waited, and the minutes grew into hours, her patience grew tauter
and less compliant.

Around two, Yamucha stumbled in, drunk off his ass, reeking
from the evil smells of partying too hard at a bar or three. She
finally had given up on him and had gone to bed. She came out into
the living room to rip his heart out through his nostrils, but he had
just brushed her off, claiming fatigue. She tried to ask about his
night; where he was, what he did, why he was four hours later than
she, but he just snapped at her to mind her own business and
crawled into bed, ignoring her protests to tell her what was going on.
Bulma finally gave up when she heard his snores. She grumbled
loudly for the second time that night and crawled in next to him.

Yes, things had changed. Feelings had changed.
~*~
She could settle for what she's feeling
If she gave in and worked this one out
She doesn't want the kind of love she can live with
She wants the kind of love she can't live without
~*~

Now, as she lay there, wrapped in the soft embrace of the
blankets and the night, not the man next to her, her thoughts began
to wander to the other upset in her life. An upset that had forced
himself into her life and pummeled mercilessly on her patience and
attitude. The embodiment of the words 'cranky' and 'stubborn.'

Sure, she had initially invited him into her home; he had
nowhere else to go or to stay, and her generous, willing heart made
sure she gave everyone at least one chance to be cared for, to be
loved. The demonic nature of the Saiya-jiin openly rejected her
attempts of friendship and companionship, claiming 'training, food
and killing that baka Kakarotto' were the only things needed to
satisfy his life. Bulma smirked to herself--those three were not
always in that particular order.

But the cruel and uncaring dark side of the Prince was not
always present, at least not to his knowledge. At night, several
times she would be awakened from deep slumber when she would
hear him cry out; when she'd run to his room, she'd find him in the
throes of a horrendous nightmare. She would set herself next to
him on the bed, hold his clammy hand, and whisper calming and
soothing words into his ear until he settled into peaceful slumber
once more. Bulma would stay with him, watching the vicious scowl
that he wore as a daily expression ease into a light frown that
seemed to be the most peaceful expression in his repertoire. The
next morning would find him in the same dark spirits that marked a
normal day for the Saiya-jiin; as if the nightmare never happened.
She never mentioned her midnight visits to him, and he never
questioned her about his dreams.

But that changed with the events of a few nights ago. She
had been awoken once again by his cries, her body on automatic to
his voice. She had ran to his side to comfort him through the
duration of the dream, whispering the calming phrases, caressing his
clenching fists with her soft fingers, trying to loosen their hold on
the bed sheets. She leaned over his still body to wipe the sheen of
sweat off his brow with a towel, but to her complete surprise her
hand was halted by a steely grip on her wrist.

She looked down and gasped slightly, for to her horror, his
eyes had opened and locked their burning gaze upon hers. A deep
scowl of confusion and displeasure formed on his chiseled features,
giving Bulma an idea of what was to come. She tried to draw her
hand away from the prone figure, but she was held tight to the spot
she sat by his other hand on her waist. He released her wrist and
brought his roughened fingers up to her cheek, lightly caressing the
soft skin and brushing a few hairs that had strayed from her ear.

The involuntary blush that rose from his gentle touch quickly
spread across her cheeks and tingled the rest of her body, warming
her and sending chills at the same time. She open her mouth to
speak, to try to explain her actions--anything to break the stillness
that filled the air, choking out all rational thought, but the awake
enigma of a Saiya-jiin pressed a finger to her lips, and shook his
head. The action, so un-Vejiita froze her mind, and her thoughts
never came to fruition. Her twilight-hued eyes were locked on the
midnight-hued ones of the male beneath her; both sets burned with
questions unasked, answers untold, and feelings unrequited.

Bulma blinked rapidly, trying to decipher the rapid thoughts
echoing through her mind. But before the thoughts could become
vocal, they were thrown out the proverbial window when Vejiita
reached up and drawing her face close, brushed his lips across hers
in one of the sweetest gestures she had ever received. Bulma drew
back, surprise evident on her features. She lowered her gaze to the
Prince below, and saw naked surprise spread across his olive skin.
He couldn't believe what he did either. She chuckled slightly and
graced him with a smile. Vejiita honored her with a quiet snort but
was silenced when Bulma pressed her lips upon his to return the kiss.
He didn't respond at first, but soon his response was evident by the
passion and unbridled yearning that traveled between their simple
motion. Their passion surged, and when one hand led to a piece of
shed clothing later, the fruit of their loneliness climaxed amidst
sweat and labored breathing.

Bulma shivered deliciously; just remembering that
passion-filled night of estcasy brought back feelings and sensations
she had never experienced before that night. Never with the
warrior next to her. Never dreamed she would ever feel. Her skin
tingled, remembering the feel of his battle-roughened hands gliding
across her smooth skin, touching, penetrating, teasing spots
Yamucha or any other male never knew existed, let alone pleasured.
The Dark Prince was surprisingly gentle with her, the brutal nature
of his race not even hinted in the tender ministrations that sent her
over the edge again and again, all through the night.

Hours after the nightmare that brought the two lonely souls
together in a heated embrace, they collapsed onto the sweat-soaked
sheets, energy spent, but souls satisfied. No words were spoken, or
needed. Both knew that the events that transpired within the walls
that still echoed with their cries was what the other needed;
desired; wanted.

The holes were filled and sealed.
~*~
She looks in the mirror and sees all the sadness in her eyes
It's never been clearer what he's asking her to sacrifice
But she can't be his forever, she can't even be his for now
She'll have to be kind to them both and let go of him somehow
~*~

Bulma's smile of satisfaction soon faded into a grim line of
indecision when the male next to her turned over with a loud snort.
She knew what her options were, and the consequences of each. But
what should she choose?

Can you live in limbo after tasting heaven?

Bulma sat up and sighed yet again as she threw off the clean
cottony covers and made her way silently to the bathroom. After
blinking a few times to clear the spots from her vision that the light
created, she groaned at the image reflected back at her in the
mirror. Heavy-lidded listless eyes blinked blearily back at the
pasty-faced blue-haired genius, who sighed once more. She knew
she looked bad--but this pale image made her look years beyond her
time.

She turned the tap on and splashed some of the water on her
face, trying to shock some sense into her heart. Her mind and heart
were on opposite ends of the battlefield warring against each other,
trying to win the war over her soul.

She glanced into the other room, watching the short-haired
warrior sleep away his hangover. Unaware of what she was thinking,
and attempting. Her mind saw the logical choice in Yamucha--he
loved her, would always be there. A sturdy tree to weather life's
storms. Loyal, dependable--predictable, boring, Yamucha.

But her soul sings for Vejiita. The irrational, unpredictable,
foul-tempered Prince pushed the control buttons on her temper
every minute he was in her presence. The conceited, over-bearing
Saiya-jiin rubbed her nerves and tested her patience with each
cruel taunt directed at her.

Most would have turned their backs on the rude creature;
given up after the first hundred or so insults.

But not Bulma. Not Her.

Sure, she didn't like the insults. They hurt her pride, at
first. But she also realized that the Saiya-jiin survivor didn't know
how to interact with others; interpersonal communication was not
developed in Friiezer's armies. It was considered a weakness, and
weaknesses could get you killed. So Bulma let the insults slide off
her back, and retaliated in the way the Prince understood in these
verbal battles--with her own. After awhile, it became a challenge to
see who could fluster the other first.

Still, he usually won these skirmishes, for Bulma still didn't
have much control over her temper. And you could see it in Vejiita's
eyes and posture that he enjoyed these verbal spars as much as the
physical ones he had with Goku.

To tell the truth, she enjoyed them as well.

But don't tell him that.

Bulma stepped into the shower with a warm smile and a pink
tinge to her cheeks, humming a nonsensical song. Things were
beginning to fall into place.
~*~
She can live with what goes with leaving
She knows it's the only way
Though it kills her to give up believin'
She can't live with herself if she stays
~*~
She could settle for what she's feeling
If she gave in and worked this one out
She doesn't want the kind of love she can live with
She wants the kind of love she can't live without
~*~

As she exited the bathroom, an air of school-girl giddiness
surrounded the damp female. She quietly dressed, and grabbing a
garbage bag from the tidy kitchen, she gathered what meager
belongings she had there: scattered toiletries and several pieces of
clothing left from other visits. There was never a real need to
stock up on supplies since they usually spent their nights together at
Capsule Corp. But when Vejiita arrived, and made her home, his,
they decided that the pair needed more privacy.

She gave the room one last look over, seeing if she had
missed a knick-knack. Her topaz-hued eyes fell upon the lone
picture that rested on the nightstand. It was of happier days gone
by, of days to be remembered fondly. She picked up the frame and
brushed a finger lightly over the cool glass. The scene was at
Master Roshi's beach; she and Yamucha were side-by-side in the
sand, arms wrapped around each other. Their heads rested against
each other and both had a bright smile that would have lit any dark
corner.

A single tear fell silently on the glass as Bulma replaced the
frame on the nightstand, face down. Those times were past. Time
to move on.
~*~
And the hardest part is she loves him
But she doesn't want the kind of love she can live with
She wants the kind of love she can't live without
~*~

She stood over the still sleeping Yamucha, a wisp of a smile
hinting at the corner of her lips. She brushed back a lock of his
hair from his forehead and placed a final kiss upon his brow. Picking
up her bag, she opened the door and left without a word, or a
backwards glance.

To go home.

To finally cement the hole in her soul.

To Vejiita.

Like? Dislike? Did it make sense? Let me know...