I slam the door to my huge empty house that was once filled with glee and hospitality, now only a compound where I live all alone with a mad scientist of a father and myself.
It's the first day of my freshman high school year and it's supposed to be a happy, joyful day . . . But I cannot feel the blissful emotion that would probably ease my raging spirit . . . Ever since my mother died, I haven't been the same person.
After my dark pre-adolescence, I entered the huge building of Orange Star High impassively, finding my place among all of my future classmates. It only figures that because of my listless murky mood no one even neared me nor talked to me for more than a minute. Though I found it hard to care for such tedious things as amity and socializing with people, who knew nothing of my feelings and would never understand me, even if they gave it their absolute best. I despise those giggly girls that speak about nonsensical emotionless relationships with their irksome loveless boyfriends who use them just as stress relief, but the idiotic females are too brain-dead to realize that. I hate the boys that think they're so cool because last summer their dicks finally started growing or which bimbo they screwed on their last vacation.
I couldn't wait for the bothersome event to be done with so I could follow my teacher to the cabinet I'll be studying in for the next year and make my way back home, to my dark room where all my worthless possessions lay and the only place I can find peace – the comfortable bed that seems just to lull me to sleep upon impact with its pillow.
And it was that moment that I saw him . . .
He was a loner just like me; I could see it from afar . . . His erect jet-black tresses penetrated the air proudly, complementing his straight slightly built figure, as his hands were crossed over his chest and a lopsided tight frown embraced the sharp handsome features of his boyish face. His eye brows and eyes matched the colour of his hair perfectly; his olive-shaded skin a completion to his lurid aura that visibly surrounded him.
I have no idea what it was that drew me to him with such a force . . . Maybe it was his hair that defied every law of gravity that made me wonder if he wasn't a juvenile delinquent around there as well, defying every teacher and authority . . . Or maybe it was his dark colouring that enticed me beyond belief . . . It could be that he was the type of person I always admired and wished for as a boyfriend – cool, calm when not bothered, temperamental . . . It's possible that it was the fact he looked like he took care of himself, worked out occasionally and his embrace looked so warm, with those beautiful well-sculpted arms around me . . .
After that day, the only thing I could think about was that guy. I didn't even know his name, for Christ's sake! And yet I could see his handsome profile so vivid in my mind every time the lids fell over my eyes . . . Unconsciously, I created a person that followed me wherever I went, my 'imaginary friend' taking the shape of the brooding boy I saw on my first day of new school.
Over the first year I spent in the school, the information I figured about my dream boy was very vague and scarce. What I knew was that he was one year my senior, also that he is a physicist (like I am) and that he dallies with a clique of close friends and rarely with anyone else. During my freshman year I also heard that he has never lost a match to anyone and he was famed as "assassin" because everyone who met him in a showdown suffered painful yet never lethal injuries. The only people that managed to pull through a match with him and get away barely harmed are now his friends.
For the entire year I kept following him with my gaze whenever I met him down the hallways, when I went outside with girls of my class that had no one else to ask for company, when I stared out toward the yard, seeing him during his physical education class with all his class mates . . . I knew that slowly but surely I was losing myself to a fantasy . . . Because I didn't know him, I could only imagine how he would react to things that happened around me that I wished he could be there with me to see, to things that I said that could've been labeled as amusing . . . Day after day, I succumbed to this image of him that my mind projected . . . Day after day I couldn't stop staring at him, trying to decode the smallest parts of his character that were hidden behind his gestures – things that probably none of his girlfriends even have done . . .
For an example, I figured he uses his left hand to write. Another thing I figured is that when he runs his hand through his thick spikes, it means trouble to whomever he's talking to, because it means he's getting really irritated. He crosses his arms when someone's bothering him. When he's tired he only lets this blond chick (I knew there was a reason behind me hating blondes my whole life . . . Get away from him, bitch!) sit next to him as he nearly dozes off during P.E. class, so if he falls asleep she can wake him up for the bell. He hates waiting but his clique always manages to argue him into staying as the girls take a while to get dressed again (Why don't they just go to school in their P.E. clothes? It's not as if both P.E. classes we have weekly aren't in the same freaking day!)
And, the more I stared, the more this thing inside me grew and grew . . . I wasn't even sure anymore if I could call it a crush. I have been staring at him, interested in him, for the longest of times.
There were rare occasions that I was tempted by the thought of going over to him and telling him about me and my little obsession. However I never managed to say it, or to come even close to him myself . . . I just kept watching him from afar, the entire year . . . But soon, my freshman year passed and summer vacation came . . . I hoped that with it came my salvation from my insatiable obsession. I hoped that the summer would chase away any trace of . . . a crush that there was . . . I hoped that once I came back to that Hell Hole, it would be as a better person than the stalker I had been the previous one.
I even went to the sea on my own, because my father refused to even look at me through that metal door he has been behind for a whole year or even more. It wasn't as if I cared . . . I could go there on my own, I was a big girl after all . . . And I quite enjoyed myself, if I have to be honest. But being alone wasn't exactly my idea of a vacation which has for goal forgetting the existence of a guy. I got hit on by a whole load of men, attractive men even. That was a first . . . It actually made me swell a bit with self-esteem which had been running rapidly low for the last few years after my mother's . . . outrage.
But once they all figured I was barely fourteen, they excused themselves, probably to find a wall or something equally hard to slam their heads into. It was so fun!
However, when I returned to my murky repulsing with its quietness home, my mood evaporated and I started sulking again, alone in my room . . .
My sophomore year was . . . An interesting one, so to say. Not to mention that I nearly got a heart attack one of those 'wonderful' days . . .
My staring had obviously become so insistent that even Maron, a very stupid chick from my class, managed to catch on it and actually recognize who I have been staring at. When you look at her, you say that she's a complete me-wannabe . . . Well; she does look exactly like a carbon-copy me . . . minus the inhumane idiocy, happy-go-lucky mood and babyish chubbiness. But her biggest 'virtue' is her stupidity. Sometimes I wonder how it's possible that she can't even tell you what physics are! And, before you ask, yes, there are people that stupid, and she is definitely one of them. The only thing she's worth for is blow jobs and intercourse . . .
Anyway . . . I must've become seriously obvious, even though I still had my dignity and never turned my head when he passed by me. One day . . . One day that bitch had the audacity to approach him literally behind my back and spill my precious secret to him . . . Here's what really happened . . .
Maron walked slowly, swinging her hips in what she thought was a seductive gesture, and not the whorish emphasize of her character that it really was. The flame-haired guy just stood there, not even paying attention to her, as he talked to one of his cronies about god-knows-what. The slut leant in on his shoulder and her shrill voice was obviously too close for his ears' tolerance as he pushed her roughly back.
"Hey, Vegeta," she purred, trying to regain her composure, as she was definitely not used to that kind of treatment on the male's part.
"What do you want?" he snapped back at her, uninterested with anything that had to do with her.
"Well, I think that you should know that this girl from my class, Bulma Briefs over there, has been eyeing you like fresh meat ever since the school year started. Maybe you and I should show her that you aren't interested?" She slurred, reclining toward him.
It was that moment when our eyes finally locked, and I was able to look in those deep pools of endless onyx waters and be aware that they were staring right into mine. I wasn't even flushed by Maron's statement. More like drained of colour would be the state I found myself in that exact moment. I thought her actions useless, telling him had nothing to do with anything! It would solve nothing, except him probably picking on me among his friends, I'd never be able to look at him again because of my even more conflicting emotions, stuck between loving him for everything he looked like, everything I obsessed over, and the asshole that he would be for embarrassing me . . .
His gaze returned to the flirtatious girl in front of him and he snorted at her.
"What she does or does not do is none of my business and I don't give a flying fuck! As for you . . ." He pushed her away, nearly knocking her off balance. "Do not touch me ever again. I hold no interest in whores."
And with that, he left her baffled self to stare at the spot where a second ago he and his friends have been. Vegeta (What a wonderful name . . .) – one, Maron – zero. You go, man! If it was even possible, I loved him more after this encounter.
I should have been slightly hurt, in my vulnerable state, from what he said – that he doesn't care. But I wasn't. It was actually quite easy to understand. He had seen me for the first time for those two years I had spent in there. It was the first time he ever acknowledged my existence and it was quite understandable be wouldn't care for me. And still, the next day, when I passed by him and his clique on the way up, I could've sworn it was me who he was looking at from the crowd of sophomores that were climbing the stairs up to the physics cabinet. He didn't pick on me, he didn't mock me, and he didn't sneer toward me. He was just as indifferent as he ever was . . . I couldn't have been more thankful.
Of course, I could've wished that he would pay attention to me . . . But I'm a realist and I know that won't happen.
The rest of the sophomore year of mine passed . . . well, smoothly, so to say, compared to its beginning. Now I knew that his name was Vegeta, though I had no idea about his last name, and . . . Well, that's about all the new information I got. But it was enough . . .
When I realized upon entering my third year there that we were separated by the different dayshifts of school, and that the next time I saw him it would be for the last year of his stay in the school, I couldn't bear it . . . I haven't even properly introduced myself, I didn't even know a thing about him from him personally . . . I hadn't a chance to get to know him, and after next year he would be on his way to University, or for a different country and I would never see him again! For the three years, I have become strangely devoted to him . . . He was a part of my day, even though in a very sick and odd way . . .
I couldn't let this happen. I had to take some actions! I couldn't just go over there and make up some idiotic reason for wanting his help or something . . . It's so see-through that I refused to commit myself to such a thing. And that was why I decided to skip a grade. It is said that such a thing is impossible, especially for physicists, because we're already forced to do impossible things for our ages . . . But I was Bulma Briefs, the daughter of the genius who created the capsules that can pack the monstrous school building, if needed, into a handy little thing that could fit in your hand. There was nothing impossible for me.
And so I studied and studied, driven by the thought that I had to take some actions to get rid of this obsession. It was slowly driving me insane . . . Though it could be possible that my genes were fucked up because of my insane mother and schizophrenic father . . . Whatever it was, I didn't care; it was a fact – I was going to be mad before I entered University if I kept that up!
And so, I did the impossible . . . In the beginning of the new school year, I wasn't in class 11-C. I was in 12-C, with Vegeta Ouji and his friends . . .
It was famed ever since they entered the school as freshmen, that the class which was now 12-C, was the most difficult one to handle in the whole school. It is said that most of those boys and girls were twisted, very strange and other rumors in the same spirits. They took pleasure in the oddest of activities . . . Though it is better if we do not speak of that.
Their teacher, however, was just as odd as they were, and they all got quite well along. Now, he had to outshout the rebelling students right after their first day of school, which was usually just a ceremony in the yard, which was the obvious reason why none of them were present yesterday.
"Are you done with your nonsensical conversations so I can finally begin?" The man sat himself on the chair behind the teacher's desk and looked at his notebook, cocking an eye brow at what he saw.
"Yeah, right, right, can we go home now? I'm not really in the mood to play 'school' with you, Piccolo." The spiky-haired teen called, receiving uproar of cheering from his fellow classmates. Their teacher threw them a glare and they all instantly quieted down.
"You will be all dismissed when I say so. And don't worry – I'm as anxious to 'teach' you maggots again this year as much as you're willing to 'learn'. However," he began, standing from his desk, "this year will be slightly different as another student will be joining our humble little class." He sneered.
"I don't see a new student anywhere around . . ." A blonde girl looked around. It was true – there was no new student in the room. And that was because their new student was lost in the hallways, now asking various other classes for the room of class 12-C.
"How can there be a new student when we're seniors?" The boy with hair that spiked in every possible direction scratched the scruff of his neck, making his flame haired friend shrug.
"She skipped a grade. She was supposed to be in the eleventh now, but she took the special final exams and took two grades in one year." Teacher Piccolo informed them as he checked her profile. Not bad, not bad at all . . . So now he had Dr. Briefs' girl in his class as well. Being a teacher in this school proved to be quite amusing lately.
"Impossible." Vegeta sneered, leaning back on his chair. "No one can skip a grade in this shit hole. And especially not the eleventh." He shuddered involuntarily at the remembrance of his previous year. Saying that it had been Hell was a definite understatement.
"The fact you can't skip it doesn't mean someone else can't." A raven haired girl snapped at him while filing her nails. The flame-haired boy's head whipped to her and his sharp canines bared threateningly her way.
"Why don't you say that again?"
In that moment they had no more time to argue as the door burst open to reveal a very strange character. Her hair was . . . aquamarine blue? But the more important fact was that she was pissed. Very pissed . . . Her head whipped around, staring at the teacher, then at the sitting students, which had all fallen very silent upon her intrusion. Huffing angrily and generally out of breath because she had been running, the girl fixed her glare at the teacher who was studying her as if she was dirt on his shoe. After all, how dare she barge in like that and without a warning?
"Is this 12-C?" she snapped angrily, her hand still on the door knob, ready to slam the door and continue her journey toward her new class, which was placed god-knows-where, as she had already stomped through an entire floor without anyone having an idea where the class she was looking for was.
"Why, yes, it is. I guess you should be Bulma Briefs then, our new student." Bulma's raging façade faltered with an inhumane speed and she nodded her impassive expression intact when she slowly closed the door. "Even though I already introduced you to your new class mates, I guess they can have a visual now too." A few boys snickered but still eyed her from head to toe. She didn't look too bad . . . "This is Bulma Briefs, boys and girls, and she is going to be one of us through this tension filled last year of high school."
All of a sudden, seeing the same girl that had been once a grade lower than him, Vegeta changed his mind . . . Maybe skipping a grade wasn't that impossible . . .
"Pleased to make your acquaintance." She bowed respectfully, her deep sapphire eyes captivating every male within the confines of the class room.
It sure was going to be an interesting year . . .