Lost

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Lost

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Author’s notes: An exercise in writing angst.
Dictionary.com defines angst as "A feeling of anxiety or
apprehension often accompanied by depression".

Disclaimer: I am not making any profit off of this work of
fiction. The characters do not belong to me.

~~~~

Part 1 -

Vegeta first person narrative

~~~~

I beat him. I didn’t want to but I did, and I stared with
horror and dismay at his crumpled body beneath mine. The sculpted
muscles the child-like and innocent face, despite his age…
all of it. I. BEAT. HIM.

Not that it really mattered here.

He smiles at me, that stupid grin spreading across his face.
Gentle. So gentle. All of him, his fingers that arch across my
face, ghosting against the fine hairs on my cheek. I jerk away,
as I usually did, grunting at him to stop.

Stop everything, the touching, both rough and gentle, the sad,
lonely, enduring smiles. The warmth… especially the warmth.
When the temperature drops and our lack of chi starts to sink in,
and we shiver, cold, unable to get warm again, he is always the
first to break. First to give in, to reach across the silent wall
that separates us, to draw me to him, to huddle beneath the
blanket, against him. I curse and struggle and spit volatile
words at him, but he does not let go.

"Yes, Vegeta, I know," He says softly as he holds me
against his chest. A familiar plaintive note enters his voice.
"But I am cold and I know you are too."

I am, I am shivering. Soon, if we are lucky, the shivering
will stop and I will relax… enough to doze.

Once I began to cry. Sobbing, out right, wallowing in self
pity. I couldn’t relax, as he held me, no matter what I did,
and he wouldn’t let me go. I panicked, but I couldn’t
move, frozen immobile by my fear. He sensed that I was upset and
spoke soothing words to calm me but it wasn’t enough. I
could not speak, only breathe enough to cry. He held me tighter
and rocked, concern lacing his voice. "Vegeta…"

He cared. Then again he always cared. I had just refused to
acknowledge it before.

I wonder why I remember this now. I don’t remember much
anymore… my memories have escaped me and are spotty at best.
It’s been too long… too long since I remember any other
place than this. I do know that this man beneath me, Kakarrot, is
important to me. I am momentarily confused. Why do I want him to
die again? Beating is one thing. I want to beat him, I want to be
better than him. Or I had, at one point. But kill him?

Then I remember.

"Vegeta," He purrs silkily, his mouth against my
ear. His hands are on me, all over my body. This is what I fear.
I am frozen in place, shocked into stillness, unable to speak.
Fear pounds through me in waves. I want to scream, but I
can’t. Why? Kakarrot…

Suddenly he is gone, leaving me panting and scared. The fear
is quickly replaced by anger. I dart forwards, after him.

When I reach the cell he is sleeping. It doesn’t make
sense. None of it does. I am too angry to care. I rouse him
roughly, but punching him, then sending him flying across the
room. He looks at me, confused, from where he has landed.
"Vegeta?" He questions.

I will not listen. He will fight me, and one of us will lose.

He does not want to fight, I can tell. He blocks my hits, but
does not return my blows.

I am consumed by rage. I beat him and I beat him until he can
barely move.

Finally he doesn’t. I stop and stare down at him.

I don’t know what I feel. Pain. I think.

I didn’t think it would hurt like this.

~

Sleep is the only relief. It doesn’t happen nearly
enough. The only drawback is waking up.

"Vegeta."

I start awake, breathing heavily. My eyes dart about
apprehensively. I don’t know what to expect anymore, not in
this hellish place.

It’s him. He smiles at me, the same enduring smile
dancing across his face. His injured face, as I see the smile
stretches newly beaten skin. I reach out in wonder, to touch that
face. He is not dead. He winces past the smile and flinches only
slightly. He doesn’t let me pull back though. He draws me to
him again, draping the threadbare blanket across my shoulders.

I stare up at his face. I did that. I say so out loud.

"Yes," Is the response.

I wonder then. Why is he holding me to him? I stiffen,
prepared to struggle away.

He only holds me closer. "It’s okay, Vegeta,"
He says. "It was only a trick."

A trick. This is all this place is. One moment it is too cold.
Another it is too hot. I’m loosing my mind it seems.

How did we get here? That is foggy as well, caught up in the
large time of ‘before’. Why are we here? Something
about vengeance. A blood debt. My people have to pay. I have to
pay.

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have to pay for
me.

I argued for him. When I still had a voice. When I still had
half a mind to resist. I will pay the blood debt for my people.
But he is pure. An innocent. Everyone in the universe owed him
their freedom and lives. He cannot pay for that.

They ignored me. He did as well.

It hurts. It hurts to see him like this. He is unused to being
weak, helpless. I know it all too well. But he adapts better than
I ever could. He won’t break. Unlike me, I already have.

I can’t remember the first time. There have been so many.
Just when I don’t think I can take it anymore, I find out
that I can. Sure! Why not? I’ve been subjugated before.
I’ve been humiliated like this before. I can take it.

… The alternative is far worse.

I have a son. I know this. A face etched is into my memories,
a purple haired boy. Or was it blond? Either way, he is someone I
care for dearly. I did.

They threaten to hurt him. If I can be caught, he can as well.
He can be humiliated, just as I. I work a little harder so that
they don’t, turning my body into the toy they want it to be.
Use me.

Sometimes I don’t remember. Merely wake up in a pile of
vomit and alien waste, barely able to move, hurting far too much
where I shouldn’t.

I have never felt more lost before. Unable to cope. I have no
goals. Nothing to live for except to keep them away from my son.
And Kakarrot. I can’t bare to see him broken.

… I think I’m dying.

One of us will die. It’s a game to our captors. We will
be set against each other. They breathe that to me, jeering, as I
lay beneath them. They want me to die first. Then they can move
onto him.

… I wish I could. Die that is.

I want him to kill me. But I don’t say it. Not yet
anyway.

~

"We will die," I say gruffly, my voice raspy.

He looks at me, surprised. I shake my head. It is obvious. He
will see it soon enough.

"They will beat us until one or the other dies," I
continue, my voice becoming clearer.

I will beat you until you die. Or until you kill me.

He nods, slowly. He offers me a sad smile.

"I know Vegeta," he whispers.

I felt something wrench inside of me. I turn my head to the
side and gag. I have nothing to throw up. My head spins. I gasp
for breath.

His hand presses against my back. "It’s okay
Vegeta," He says softly. "It’s okay."

I shake my head no. I don’t trust myself to speak.

It’s not okay.

I stop talking.

It is not worth it. Too much effort. Too much is risked when I
speak.

It doesn’t last long.

He doesn’t like it when they take me away. He fights it.
Protests. They threaten him. Again and again. He doesn’t
obey.

I won’t look him in the eye. I know what I’ll see
there. Concern. Emotions. Too much. I can’t look anymore. I
can’t see anyone beat him. It is different now that he
can’t fight back.

"If you want me, take me," I tell them boldly.
"But leave the idiot alone."

He makes noises of protest. I ignore him. All of him.

Let me go, Kakarrot.

He doesn’t understand.

The longer I’m alive, the longer he will live as well.

This time is different when they take me. No more drugs. No
more tricks or hallucinations. This time they give me an
ultimatum. I must do something, or my son will suffer. They show
me a moving picture of him to refresh my memory. He is captured
as well.

He is only half Saiyan. Raised by humans. He should not be
involved. They will be harming an innocent, moreso than Kakarrot.
I tell them that.

They don’t care.

My mouth is dry. The price is almost too much.

But in the end it is only my life. I can do it.

Kakarrot may not.

Then I remember. The point of this is that one of us will die.

It’s only a matter of time.

Who goes first is not an issue.

I will not panic.

I press my lips to his throat. Then wait for him to react.

He draws away a slight bit, confused. I won’t let him get
away. I move up, attacking his lips with my own. My kisses are
clumsy and forced.

React.

He is slow. I can sense the confusion. I don’t want to
talk. He is going to talk though, I can feel it.

Sure enough. He draws back, holding me away from his face with
gentle hands. He lets go of one of shoulders to touch my face,
stroking my cheek.

"Vegeta…" Worried eyes hover inches from mine.
I can’t look. I focus on a corner of the cell.

"Tell me what’s wrong."

Nothing is wrong.

The words choke in my throat. I can’t speak. So I kiss
him again. Forcefully now.

He is confused. But he doesn’t pull away this time.

I control him. I roll to the side. Bring him down on top of
me. He is beginning to react now. I feel a thrill of fear as he
starts to kiss me back.

Primal. Keep going.

He stops suddenly, wrenching away. He pants above me.

"Vegeta!" He uses his serious voice.

I glower up at him.

"Don’t stop," the reply is forced out through
clenched teeth. "Fuck me." The human term rolls like
grit off of my tongue.

"What?" The worried look grows. "Vegeta…
are you all right?"

Damn him. DAMN HIM. "Don’t stop." It is a
command. And a growl. An order to continue.

"Vegeta. You can’t be seri--" the plaintive
voice is back. I lash out, biting his cheek. Drawing blood.
Leaving a cute little circle of bloody marks. He yips, shuts up,
then presses thick fingers to the wound.

He is retreating now. It is too much. He cares too much. He is
concerned. Anger over takes me. I will beat him again if I have
to. I will kill him if I have to. If only it means that my son
will be okay. I roll him over, pinning him beneath myself. One
arm is free and I punch him with it. Hard. In the face. When his
hands move to shield himself I do it again. Harder.

His head snaps back. He spits up blood to the side. A grunt of
protest wells up in his throat.

"What?" I sneer. "Not up to it?" I wait.

When he looks back at me, his eyes are cold, hard and
unfeeling. He growls.

I did it. Thank God.

For the first time since I’ve gotten here, I feel the
once familiar hot dart of pleasure. Fear causes it to triple in
intensity when he rolls me over. Rough hands grip my tattered
clothes. They are moved down, removed. A leg slips between my
thighs, forcing them apart.

I panic, unable to stop myself. Oh God, Kakarrot… I
squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate on breathing. I’m
stronger than this. I WAS stronger than this. I panic as strong
arms wrap around me, trapping my arms to my sides. I can’t.
I CAN’T. I CAN’T…I must not make a sound.
Instead I clench my teeth, eyes squeezed shut and wait for it to
pass.

I thought he would stop. I thought for sure he would stop.

He doesn’t.

I look away. I don’t want to see the horrified look on
his face when he realizes. I don’t want him to look at me at
all.

I hadn’t healed. There was so much blood…

In the end, I never thought I would be the one to break him.