The Somewhat Sane Ramblings of a Namek Slave Girl (namekslavegirl) wrote in dbz_fanworks, @ 2003-07-23 12:37:00

It's been awhile...
Well, I'm back! *does rather pathetic imitation of Carol Anne*

Anyways, I just finished my first self-insertion *rolls eyes at snickers from preteen boys* fan-fiction and am working on it sequal.

It contains lemon, so no one under 18 please! *Wonders how she could stop anyone under eighteen from reading, maybe the honor system?*

Summaries: (for the first story) I go to a local anime convention where I met a certain saiyan prince whom I THINK is just some guy in a costume.

(For the prequal: It's been six months since the incident at the convention and I'm still not entirely over the experience. How will I react when there is suddenly a blast from the past and my world is turned completely upside-down?

Enjoy!



Confessions Of A Believer

By Ami E. Bowen

(A/N: This story came about as a result of reading Believe: Reality and Believe: These Dreams by Cyndi on Fanfiction.net.)

I know that not many people are going to believe me, but what I am about to tell you really did happen. I swear on my great-grandmother’s grave. May she rest in peace.

~*~*~

First of all, let me tell you a little bit about myself. My name is Ami and I’m 29 years old. I fell in love with Dragonball Z due to a friend of mine, Vicky, getting me hooked on it. I haven’t seen many of the episodes or movies, but what I have seen has stuck with me and, of course, I spend a lot of time reading and writing fan-fiction. Of course, my favorite character is Piccolo, but this isn’t about him.

There are lots of other things about me, but they don’t have much to do with this and I don’t wish to bore you, but I will tell you a few things; I am very shy around large crowds, insecure and tend to wear myself out making sure everyone around is happy, even if I’m not. The reason for this is mostly due to my personality and party due to being slightly empathic. The emotions of others near me affect me, giving me headaches and stomach aches if the emotions are negative, therefore I struggle to keep them happy or at least satisfied.

The day was hot. Very hot. I can’t stand the weather when it gets like this. I much preferred spring and autumn over summer or winter. Though I’d take winter over summer any day. It’s easier to warm up than it is to cool down. One can always layer on more clothes and blankets but you can only take off so much until there’s nothing left but your sweaty skin.

I was in the bathroom looking at myself through the mirror, smiling without showing my teeth, I rarely smiled when my teeth showed. I ran my tongue across the front two and felt the slight gap between them, jagged due to the cavity working within. I couldn’t afford dental care and my teeth had been a cause of problems for me for ages. I even recall having a wisdom tooth that had gotten a large cavity being pulled out by a dentist and it falling into my hair as he lost his grip on the pincher-like tool he used to extract it.

I pulled my long, dark reddish-brown (it’s more of a chestnut hue) around after I’d started up the braid I was busy plaiting at the back of my neck, and finished it quickly until the end of it lay across my right breast. I frowned at my image, trying to remember where I’d tossed my bra. I’m what one would call well-endowed. Or as I like to say; waaay too top-heavy. I went around my house without a bra because the straps always dug into my shoulders and made it uncomfortable, but when I went out I always wore one.

My boyfriend, Shawn, was taking me to the anime convention over at the community center in central Spokane. It had been awhile since we’ve gone to one of those. We used to go the Star Trek ones back when I used to be really into that series, but due to money and time, it had been a long time. I used to dress up in my Star Trek female officer’s uniform from the original series, complete with black go-go books and my hair done up in a sixties style when I attended those conventions. Let me tell you, I got a lot of attention dressed that way!

I’ve gained some weight since those days, so the dress wouldn’t fit me anymore, but the memory is enough to bring a slight smile to my lips. Instead, I dug around in the dresser we keep in our bathroom, (don’t ask! I have a lot of clothes, most of which does not fit me anymore and so we have three dressers upstairs in our room and one in the bathroom), decided on my light blue tank top with three little holes sewn into the collar, exposing the peaches and cream tint of my skin and a pair of faded not-too-tight and not-too-loose fitting jeans.

The shirt and jeans had both been a birthday gift from my mother and grandmother, who had taken me shopping for my birthday in May. It was August now. As soon as I’d located a pair of socks and stuck my feet into my blue and white shoes, I heard the keys rattle in the door and Shawn was calling me to get a move on.

“Just a second!” I called, dashing out to grab my black purse that was laying our somewhat messy dining room table. I followed him out to his red ‘64 mustang and waited on my side for him to unlatch the door locks from within. Slipping easily into the seat I cried out as I accidentally grazed my bare arm against the sun-hot seat-beat latch.

“Who’s gonna be there?” I asked, gazing out the windshield at the passing scenery. I watched the ducks flying over the Spokane River as we passed by the many apartment buildings along the river road, a few bicyclers were on ten-speeds riding down the Centennial Trail and a dog barked at us as we drove past. “Anyone besides that guy who created dbz?”

“Akira Toriyama,” Shawn shook his head at me, “Why can’t you remember names?”

“I forgot!” I cried and Shawn looked at me in disbelief, paused in his driving at a light, “You forgot the name of the guy who created all your heros?!”

“Oh, shut up!” I said, holding onto my purse, which held a copy of the manga Shonen Jump that I was planning having signed if I could.

We arrived at the convention center to and parked the car. After locking it up, Shawn and I started towards the building. A mass of people had all ready gathered, milling about and talking and laughing with each other. We were early and they hadn’t yet started to let anyone in. I grinned like an idiot at someone dressed like Piccolo and wished I’d brought my digital with me. He didn’t smile back. I shrugged and turned to look at the other people and admire their handiwork.

I saw several people in costume. A bunch of girls had dressed like the Sailor Scouts standing around a Vash The Stampede showing off who could twirl their short pleated skirts the fastest. I saw a few more people dressed as Dragonball Z characters, even a little kid who looked no older than four dressed as chibi Trunks!

His mother, or who I thought was his mother, had dressed like Bulma. I smiled and looked towards the front doors as a man in a red jacket pushed them open. I almost cheered, we were going in!

I stayed behind Shawn in the line, behind me someone laughed and I glanced back to see someone who’d decided to come as Goku. Wow! I thought as he returned my smile, He sure does look the part! I bumped into Shawn’s back, said I was sorry and continued to move with the line.

The convention was broken up into several rooms. In each room they were showing a different anime and we had to explore to find one we wanted to watch. Shawn found one about giant robots and such and decided to stay and watch it. As for myself, I have a hard time sitting still unless I am doing something I really enjoy and my attention span is like a puppy’s, so I told him I was going to wander about a bit.

I walked back towards the large area they were using as a type of market place to sell odds and ends, movies, posters, action figures and whatnot. I found out later on that Akira Toriyama wasn’t going to show up until the last day of the convention. Oh, well, I still had twenty dollars in my purse that I meant to put to good use. I started to browse amongst the odds and ends.

I felt someone brush my shoulder and glanced over, an SSJ Vegeta action figure box in my hand as I’d been looking at it to check how much they wanted for it, and my eyes widened. The man standing next to me was muscular, he was short and came about to my shoulder but his hair was about the height of my ear which tended to make him look taller. As I marveled over the work this person had went into to make himself look just like Vegeta he sneered at me in a most convincing way.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to stare,” I said, blushing, next to Piccolo, I thought Vegeta was the sexiest Dragonball Z character, “It’s just, you did such a good job with your costume.”

Confusion crossed his otherwise annoyed features for a moment before he said; “Thanks.”

Looking over at the people milling about, I counted all the Dragonball Z-dressed people I could find. I saw Bulma holding the baby that was dressed like chibi Trunks, a woman who looked like she was suppose to be Chi Chi was shaking her finger at Goku and an old man who was so obviously meant to be Master Roshi was gazing longingly at Vash and the Sailor Scouts.

I saw the guy who had come as Piccolo standing off to the corner talking to a short, thin girl with the longest, prettiest light brown hair I’d ever seen. They seemed to be in deep conversation and I saw her reach up to fiddle with something around her neck as she smiled up at him. Lucky girl! I thought as I felt a wave of envy overcome me. Even if he’s just a guy in a costume, it was as close to the real thing as I’d ever hope to get.

“Are you going to pay for that?” I started and turned at the sound of the stand’s owner, “I have other customers, you know.”

I realized the guy dressed as Vegeta was looking at me. He reached out and took the action figure from my hands and smirked. Oh my god! I thought, this guy really went into character, didn’t he? “Nice choice.”

I don’t know why, but I didn’t like his tone, so I snatched it back and shoved in the clerk’s face. Pointing, I said, “Naw, I think I’ll take that one.”

Smiling, the man, who was wearing a shirt with an image of an SSJ Goku on the front, handed me an action figure box with a miniature version of the saiyan on his shirt. “I just love Goku!” I gushed, at which the clerk agreed and we launched into a Why-Goku-Is-Better-Than-Vegeta discussion. I saw a vein moving on his head, as the guy dressed as Vegeta glared at me.

Laughing, I said, aside to the clerk; “I love when they really get into their characters!”

Stalking away, Vegeta went to stand over near the corner, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed in irritation. I wondered, briefly, if the guy was really mad, I was only playing with him! Even if he was only reacting the way he thought Vegeta would react. Well, Vegeta probably would have just blown the whole place up but...

I giggled at the thought and walked over to him. “Hey. I didn’t mean to offend you.” I said, “I was just playing.”

“Hmph!” He said, his nose in the air, “I can’t stand it here. I should be back home training. This is pointless.”

“Training?”

He looked at me like I was a complete and utter moron. “For the next tournament.” He sneered, “Did you think I got this body by attending baka conventions?”

So he worked out. Well, that’s obvious! I mentally smacked myself, just look at him! He caught me staring and said; “What?”

“Nothing.” I said, “I just can’t get over how much you look...like...the real thing.”

He snorted and switched his position slightly.

“What’s your name?” I asked, “I mean your real name?”

“Just call me Vegeta.” I had to marvel at his ability to stay in character.

“Okay,” I said, deciding to just play along, “My name’s Ami.”

A group of giggling preteen girls had surrounded the Piccolo-dressed guy and were touching his cape and dark purple gi. Another group had engulfed the guy who had come as Goku and, as I turned, I saw yet another rushing towards us. Light blinded me as several cameras clicked off at once amid the sounds of squeals and giggles.

“I can’t stand anymore of this!” Vegeta yelled, grabbing my hand suddenly. I cried out, something like; “Hey!” and he said; “Come with me.”

Reluctantly, because I really didn’t know this guy, and because Shawn might be waiting for me after the movie he was watching was finished to talk about it with me, I followed him down the corridors. His walk was brisk, purposeful, as if he knew exactly where he was going at all times. I admired the play of muscles in this back, legs and thighs as he moved. He had come to the convention dressed in blue spandex and what looked like it was meant to be saiyan armor.

“Where are we going?” I asked, “And why am I coming with you?”

He slowed down long enough for me to catch up and said; “I don’t know why, really, to be honest. I just didn’t feel like hanging out in the hotel room alone.”

“Oh.” I said, thinking that maybe this guy was finally dropping out of character, “Are you here alone?”

“Of course not!” He said, “But, Bulma and Trunks are probably going to be at the convention a while longer.”

They’d come together?! I thought, well, it made sense to have several Dragonball Z fans in one household, I guess. We exited the building and crossed the street, entering another building that I knew was one of the hotels around Spokane. I followed him up six flights of stairs, panting and trying to catch my breath. I glared at him because he didn’t even break a sweat and he shook his head at me as I gained my composure.

We came to door and he used a card to slide it into a slot that unlocked the door. Shoving it open he waved me inside. As my eyes adjusted to the sudden change in light I felt him slip past me through the narrow entryway and head towards the main living area. I saw that he was in one of the penthouse suites. There was a bathroom to my left and a large sofa, loveseat and huge television set in the main living area. A winding staircase in the center of the room led to what I could see was a balcony with another bed and bathroom off to the side.

I walked over to the sofa and sat down, picking up a fashion magazine that had been left on the end table, flipping through it without interest. I heard clanking of glasses and the sound of running water. Suddenly a glass of water was shoved in my face. “Here.”

“Uh, thanks.” I said, realizing I was, indeed, thirsty, I drank it all down and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. Now, I felt really stupid. I didn’t know what to say! The silence seemed to stretch on forever until Vegeta said; “How long is your hair, anyway?”

He had sat down next to me, folding his arms across his chest.

I smiled, it was question people who just met me asked at least once. I was wondering when he would ask it. I shrugged, reached around to pull the braid around front and said; “Not sure. When it’s up like this it looks shorter, when it’s straighten it’s longer. But, I would say about to my hips, maybe a little past.”

“I wish Bulma would grow her’s out.” He said in an almost whisper.

Before I could say anything, I felt his fingers at the nape of my neck, pulling my braid into my hand. He ran my hair through his white-gloved hands then took them off as if he wanted to feel the texture of my hair. “What are you doing?” I asked, suddenly afraid.

“I just wanted to see if it felt any different than blue hair.” Was his only reply, I expected him to release my hair by he didn’t. I felt the end of my braid tug a bit as he slipped the rubber band off and started to undo the braid I’d woven a few hours before.

“Hey!” I cried, jerking my head away in annoyance, “Quit! I don’t want my hair down!”

Just who does he think he is?! I barely knew him and he was messing with my hair like it was his right to do so. I scooted back from him on the couch and looked towards the doorway, thinking that maybe it had been a mistake to come here with him. I cursed myself for being a fool and letting my stupid schoolgirl crush on fictional characters make me pretend, even to myself, that he was the real thing and not just some horny guy looking for some action.

“You females are always so touchy!” He said, and I felt the back of his hand graze my neck as he let go of my hair. “I’m bored.”

“Me too.” I admitted, staring at the whiteness of his boots, I felt my stomach growl, “I’m also hungry.”

He grinned at me and said; “Now, your talking!”

As I listened to his order to the kitchen downstairs I shook my head at the amount of food he ordering. Was he ordering so much to save some for the others when they got back? When the food arrived about a half-hour later, I got my answer. Other than Goku on the TV show, I’d never seen anyone in real life eat so much!

I finished my tomato soup, crackers and grilled cheese sandwich and he’d just finished his fourth helping of pie ala mode. Before that he’d eaten ten servings of rice and noodles and several plates of what looked like sushi, but since I wasn’t too familiar with the stuff, I couldn’t be sure.

I sat back and watched him finish, drank some water and wipe his mouth with the tablecloth. He so cute doing that that I had to smile. “What?” He asked, dark brows furrowed, “Are you staring at?”

“Are you dying?” I asked curiously, to which his black eyes widened in shock.

“What?!”

“I’m just trying to figure out why your eating so much, is it because you don’t have alot of time to live and want to taste as much as you can of life?” I knew I was rambling, but I just could not believe how he could pack it in.

“Saiyans have large appetites.” He said, “I’m not dying!”

“Oh.” I said, realizing he was back in character. Again. Saiyans. Really.

After he’d placed the cart with the emptied and dirty dishes on it into the hallway, he came back, headed for the bathroom and I heard water running for the second time since we’d gotten there. A tingling in my nether region told me that I needed to use a bathroom myelf and I headed towards the spiral staircase.

After using the toilet I noticed a hairbrush on the counter by the sink. I looked at it and saw it was heavily laden with soft blue hair. I smiled and thought it was a true fan who dyes her hair the same color as her favorite anime character. I went back downstairs and joined Vegeta on the sofa. He was pouring something into a glass that looked like wine. It was bright red and sparkled in the light of the sun filtering in through the closed blinds.

Handing the glass to me, he said, “Compliments of Bulma’s parents.” I waited for him to pour himself a glass but he didn’t move once he’d placed the bottle on the bar to the side. “Aren’t you having any?” I sipped slowly, knowing full well what just one glass of wine would do to me, not being much of a drinker. He shook his head, “I never touch the stuff.”

“Oh.” I said, feeling the heat from the alcohol flow through my limbs, I noticed his tense expression hadn’t changed, “You should try it. At least once. Probably loosen you up some.”

“I’m fine the way I am.” Vegeta said to me, “I don’t need anything clouding my mind. You never know when there’s going to be battle!”

“Well, you have a point,” I sipped more of the wine, thinking it was a funny tasting wine, not funny-bad, but funny-odd, like cherries mixed with citrus. It felt like butterfly wings upon my tongue when I drank and warmed my stomach. I felt my cheeks growing red from the drink and felt slightly drowsy. “But, I don’t think you have to worry about that now.”

Reaching across him, I picked up the bottle and poured some more into my glass. I shoved it up under his nose and saw him turn away slightly. “Go on. Peer pressure, peer pressure!”

When he still didn’t lift a hand to take the proffered glass I said, with a tinkle in my eye, “Well, if your too scared to drink it, then I guess I can’t force you.” I added, for good meaure, “I bet I could get Goku to try it.”

“Kakkarot’s a fool!” He snapped, but grabbed the glass so fast liquid sloshed out upon the floor. He downed it in one gulp, glaring at me, “There! Happy now?”

I nodded, leaning back and letting the warm buzzing feeling run though my body. I studied his features, not for the first time in awe as to what, exactly, this guy did to make his hair stand up in just same way as the real Prince of all Saiyans. I let my thoughts drift for awhile, imagining him to be the real thing and wondered what Bulma would say if she came back early and caught me in here with her husband.

I thought about his hair for a moment longer and did something I normally would not have done in a million years. Sitting up, I reached over and touched his head where his deep widow’s peak was, he jerked away slightly, then sat still as my hand ran up and into his hair. It felt very thick and soft, but I could feel no artificial substances like gel or mousse.

“Hey,” He said, grabbing my wrist in his strong hand, I felt the bones rub together painfully, “You wouldn’t let me touch yours.”

“I was just curious!” I cried, wincing at how hard he was holding my wrist, “Ow! Your hurting me!”

He let go of me as if he’d been burned.

But, the alcohol coursing through me, I began lose track of reality and fantasy as well as my own judgment. “Did anyone ever tell you how cute you are?”

“What?” He looked at me, saw my glazed expression and shook his head, “Your drunk. One glass of wine and your drunk. Weak...”

“Why did you bring me up here?” I asked, looking over at him, “Be honest.”

“I told you,” He said, “I didn’t want to hang out alone, for some odd reason...maybe it’s this place...” He added under his breath. Not understanding that last part, I leaned over to him and kissed him on the cheek, not wanting anyone to feel like they had to be alone.

Suddenly, before I knew how to react, I felt his hands upon my shoulders, drawing me into him roughly. I felt the room sway as his mouth crushed mine. Well, this is completely unexpected, I thought with the part of my brain that stays alert and sober whenever I’ve drank anything. I may get tipsy but I always know what’s going on around me and never have I failed to recall events the next day.

I knew I should move away, I told myself that I wanted to move away. But, I didn’t. I couldn’t. If I couldn’t have the real thing, then this was a good as it gets. As I thought this, I felt his tongue slip past the barrier of my teeth and flit playfully with my own, tracing a line around the contours of my mouth and it’s roof. His grip upon my shoulders tightened as he deepened the kiss, leaning towards me so that I had no choice but to lay back on the sofa.

Whoever this guy is, he sure knew how to kiss! I kept my eyes open, wanting to see him all the time just to make sure this wasn’t just dream I was having and felt his hand as it slipped up the inside of my shirt, caressing the side of my right breast gently. I gasped and ran my hands up his chest, over his armor, and around his neck, driving my fingers through his hair as I did so.

He touched the outside of my thigh with his other hand, breaking the kiss and looked at me with dark, heavy-browed eyes. A question written across his face. “Are you sure?”

I didn’t know if I was sure or not! I thought frantically, as a million emotions rose up inside me, my entire body was on fire and rational thought just wasn’t in the cards at the moment. All I knew was that I wanted him, needed him. At that moment I could have cared less that he was just another Dragonball Z fan attending a convention probably to get Akira Toriyama’s autograph the same I was. At that moment, he was Vegeta.

I could feel his heart pounding as he waited for my answer. I nodded, slight, small, but it was enough. With a growl he captured my mouth again and then, releasing me, I felt him trail his tongue down the side of my throat. He shoved my shirt upwards and nipped one of my nipples with his teeth. I gasped and felt how sharp his teeth were on such a sensitive area!

He moved away from me then, and stood up. He reached down and lifted me effortlessly, even though his stature made my feet drag on the carpet, and carried me into the closest bedroom. I watched his face the whole time, something akin to hunger was playing across it as he laid me down and hastily removed his armor. The look in his eyes frightened me. But at the same time, it aroused me and I felt a tingling in my lower stomach as he ran his hand across my chest, lifting the shirt up over my head as he did so.

Tugging the material of my bra apart with his teeth, he paid homage to me with my tongue and teeth, making me cry out and clutch at his rock-hard shoulders as he pinned me down against the mattress. His weight was heavy, but not smothering. Reaching around I traced my fingertips lightly up his spine and then down, touching his tailbone gently, my innocent caress caused him to shudder above me and growled low into the hollow of my throat as he cupped one hand around my buttocks and pulled me harshly into his heaving chest. I could feel his hardness pressed against me as he worked impatiently with the buttons of my jeans.

I reached and did it for him, feeling his growing irritation at not being able to unhook them one-handed, I really didn’t need for the only pair of jeans I owned to get ripped from me in him impatience. I wasn’t worried about the bra he’d ruined, I could just raid Bulma’s closet before I left. She looked to be about my size.

Reaching into the waistband of his blue spandex-like pants, I caressed and fondled his member as it twitched into my palm. His sudden intake of air told me I was affecting him in a good way and, almost automatically, my other hand trailed around to his back once more. He reached around to catch my wrist as it touched the area above his tailbone and said, huskily, “Not there. Don’t touch me there...I can‘t...last as long...”

I nodded, confused, and he removed the rest of his clothing. I felt his heart pounding as his chest, slick with sweat, pressed my breasts flat against it. Using his powerful thighs, he forced my legs open easily and moved his hips in a slow, agonizing rhythm against me. He wasn’t inside me, but he was close enough that I was anticipating the event. His movements rubbed up against my most sensitive area and I writhed beneath him, my hands fluttered near his shoulders, unsure what to do with them.

Careful not to hurt me, I felt Vegeta at the entrance to my stronghold, the tip of his member throbbing against me. He looked down at me, once more asking my permission before he just went ahead. I blushed at his gentlemanliness even as he trembled all over from need. I whispered my assent and he plunged deep within my recesses, causing me to gasp again and whimper in my throat. He was a lot bigger than I had realized and his sudden entrance caused a little bit of pain.

Moving in such a way as to use my own juices to his advantage, he pulled himself halfway out of me and then slowly downwards once more. After a few moments, it wasn’t painful anymore and I heard myself start making tiny squeaks under my breathing. He grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head, holding me in place as he thrust downward into me over and over.

I moved with him, feeling the heat building up around us, thinking it was a just the heady mixture of the alcohol and my own enflamed senses, his grip upon my wrists tightened as he nuzzled my neck, and lowered his head to my shoulder to graze his teeth across my collarbone. I felt myself rising higher and higher, the hotel room spinning faster and faster around me as the warmth spread from the apex of my thighs, where I could still feel his body pounding into my own.

Somewhere, in the midst of my climax, I felt his mouth upon my shoulder once more and, as he thrust deeply inside of me, I felt him shudder and bear down upon my skin just above my collarbone with this teeth, pressing into my flesh until I heard and felt the skin give way. Crying out in pain and ecstasy I felt my own blood trickle downwards from my shoulder and into the bed.

With a barely controlled cry, Vegeta stiffened above me and let go of my wrists to grab my now-very-mussed hair into one fist. I felt him squeezing my hair near my scalp so hard I knew that if I tried to move he’d pull out a huge chunk. Ramming himself into me a few more times, I felt his seed spilling hot deep inside of me. Panting, he braced himself above me on one arm and watched my face, a smirk moving his lips upwards on one side.

“So?” He asked, in a half-mocking tone, “Was it good for you?”

I narrowed my eyes and said; “Let me up.”

My shoulder was throbbing were he’d bitten through the skin and the blood had all ready begun to dry where it ran down my back and arm. “I need to get cleaned up.”

“In a minute.” He said, his voice losing it’s mocking quality, “I wanted to...to thank you...” He looked uneasy, as if he wasn’t use to using such words, “I normally wouldn’t have...wouldn’t have...” He faltered, and I waited, still unable to move as he held me down upon the bed, he sighed and said, in almost a whisper too low for me to hear; “It’s been so long...”

“What about...?” I asked, recalling the girl he’d come to the convention with. He snorted bitterly and said; “She only gives it up when it’s convenient to her! She doesn’t understand about saiyans...”

Back in character, I thought with a sigh, oh well, if this was how the game was to be played...

I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I stayed silent, just watching his face, for the first time since I’d met him I saw something other than raw desire or mocking irritation cross his features. Reaching up, I traced a finger over his jawbone and withdrew my hand.

He moved away from me and allowed me to use the bathroom to clean myself up. I washed the blood from my skin and hissed between my teeth at the already bruising mark. That’s gonna leave a scar, I thought as I left the bathroom to find Vegeta donning a pink shirt and pair of tight-fitting jeans.

“Are you going back to the convention?” I asked from behind him. I noticed his shirt said ‘Badman’ on it and smirked softly. He turned around and looked at me, shook his head and said, “I need to get back to training as soon as possible.”

“Oh,” I said, “Of course. How stupid of me.”

“Do you know of any place that would be good for my training?” He asked me and I nearly fell over laughing. Me?! Know of any place good for training?! I hardly got off my own ass and he was asking me if I knew of a place...?! He waited until I had gotten control of myself and I said; “Nope. Sorry. I don’t.”

“Fine.” He brushed past me, “I’ll just have to find someplace myself.”

After locating one of Bulma’s bras and pulling myself into it, I fixed my shirt and pants and followed him out of the room. We walked without speaking until the sunlight from outside assailed my eyes and I had to raise one hand to shield them. I could see a few people from the convention standing outside around the building talking to each other.

I couldn’t really see anyone’s features, because my eyes are so bad without glasses and I can’t afford them at the moment so I am very near-sighted, but I saw a white and purple shape standing taller than the rest that I took to be the guy dressed as Piccolo. He was still with that one girl and they were both looking across the street at me. As they stepped closer to the curb, I could see them more clearly. I felt a rustle at my side and turned to look at the guy dressed as Vegeta.

I could not believe what happened next. You might not believe it either, but I just have to tell someone! I felt something odd happening, it felt strangely like static electricity, and, after an annoyed glance at the people across the street, Vegeta rose up into the air and flew upward at breakneck speed. I didn’t know what to think, much less do! Desperate for an answer, I turned my gaze to the girl and Piccolo.

I saw her smile and wink at me and mouth the word; “Believe.”

I felt someone calling my name.

“Ami!” I felt softness beneath me, blankets, something rough and wet sliding against my cheek. “Ami!”

I slowly opened my eyes to find one of my cats; Imzadi, licking my cheek and purring like mad, her daughter, my calico, Flukie was curled against my side. My mind felt foggy, but I recalled bits and pieces of the very weird dream I’d just had. Sitting up, I stumbled to the stairwell to see Shawn yelling at me to wake up. “It’s almost noon, are you ready to go?”

“Um, yeah,” I said, “Just a second...”

I walked back to my bed and sat down hard, needing a few minutes to recover from the dream. I stood up and started to remove my top in order to put a fresher one on and felt a pain near my shoulder. Pausing, the shirt half-on and half-off, I gasped at what I saw. There, upon my shoulder just over my collarbone was a purple-ish bruise with teeth marks in an arc, blood had dried to the wound and I when I reached to touch it, it stung. Suddenly, almost unbidden, a single word shot into my head.

Believe.

As I joined Shawn downstairs he spoke excitedly about the anime convention we were going to that afternoon and I smiled secretly to myself, for I really did believe.

~ End ~





(A/N: This story is the continuation of "Confessions Of A Believer" which came about as the result of reading "Believe: Reality" and "Believe: These Dreams" by Cyndi on fanfiction.net.)

Disclaimer: Dragonball Z is (c) Akira Toriyama and those wonderful people who breathed life into our heros. Thank you forever from the bottom of my heart!

This story, as well as it's prequal, is, of course, dedicated to all those who are true Believers. You know who you are.

Confessions of a Believer: Part II

A Dragonball Z Fan-Fic by

Ami E. Bowen

Six months had come and gone since my weird experience with that dream I’d had the night before my boyfriend, Shawn, and I went to the anime convention they were holding in my city; Spokane, in the state of Washington. I spent a great deal of that time thinking about it, and running my fingers over the slightly raised area of skin where the scar on my shoulder lay.

I was standing in the middle of Wal-Mart, my grandmother’s tall, slightly hunched back in front of me as she pushed the cart down the aisle. She wore a light blue button-down shirt and pair of white slacks, her curly white hair bounced as she walked. Laughter and sudden chatter next to me told me that my mother, shorter than me and plump with short dark brown hair and dancing brown eyes that matched my own, was walking holding my nephew, my sister’s kid, Gavin, in her arms.

Stephanie, my sister, olive-skinned, large-eyed and much larger than she had been before Gavin had come along, though she’d always been a little too thin so the change looked good on her, walked behind us with her husband and one of my friends; Nathan. I had another brother, Robb, but he wasn’t with us. Stephanie is seven years younger than me and Robb is three years younger. Stephanie I have different fathers, but the same mother, though Robb and I are full-blooded siblings.

My brother also suffers from a mental illness and, a few years before, had taken a rock into a hotel and attempted to rob the place with it. I’m assuming he threatened to bash someone’s skull in with it or something. He spent a long time behind bars and then in a hospital after they’d realized it wasn’t his fault he was acting out, where they started to give him certain medications.

If doesn’t take his meds, Robb can get way out there and start in on aliens from space being the cigarettes in his carton who are all disguised as God’s heavenly angels and things of that nature. I used to argue non-stop with him when he got in these weird moods, but now I realize it’s not his fault and just agree with whatever he says until he takes his meds.

It was early evening, chilly outside. Grandma and Mom had both decided to come to Spokane for a visit at the same time. Mom lived in Kennewick, Washington with her husband, my stepfather, John, (She met him online about six years ago and married him a month after they’d met He’d proposed to her on the first day he saw her in the flesh.), who plays the guitar and writes songs for his church.

They looked so cute together beings as they were both about the same height, 5’3” or so and stubby-legged. Watching my Grandmother’s long-legged stride made me fairly certain of what I’d inherited from her side of the family.

My grandmother; my mother’s mother, lived in a town near Walla Walla, Washington called Milton-Freewater. It was located over the border between Washington and Oregon, therefore it was situated in Oregon. She lived with my Grandfather, a retired logger and their one cat, Ticker. (All my Mom’s and Grandmother’s cats have been named Ticker, Tick for short. This started a long time ago due to my Mother reading a children’s book about a cat named Ticker when she was little.)


“What are you looking for, Ami?” My Mother asked me, looking at a blouse that was twenty percent off, “How about if I just give you a twenty and you can go find something?”

I didn’t need to be told twice! It was rare that my Mom actually gave me money. A little bit about my Mother; She’s very good and nice to us kids to our faces, but once she gets back to Kennewick and has some distance between us, she tends to forgot anything we ask her to do as favors, even if it’s just a small one like sending something in the mail. She’s always full of excuses and I’ve come to accept her that way. I don’t rely too much on anything my Mom says she’s going to do for me and neither do Stephanie or Robb.

Smiling and thanking her, I took the crisp twenty dollar bill into my hand and headed towards the rear of the store. I all ready knew what I wanted. In my house we only have two mirrors. One was the medicine cabinet mirror over the bathroom sink, the other belonged to the other medicine cabinet we had that was located in the small laundry area right outside the bathroom. Both of which were too small to see your entire form in and was a pain in the butt when you wanted to see if a certain pair of pants went with a certain blouse.

So, twenty-dollar bill in hand, I was searching for a mirror to hang up somewhere in my house.

I found one I liked, a full-length one that was slightly less tall than wide. That was okay, I could always hang it up and see more-or-less all of myself within the reflection. It had a black frame about it that shined like polished onyx. I tend to be drawn towards darker colors rather than lighter ones, so it appealed to me more than the one my Mom probably would have chosen; one with a white frame.

I rejoined my family and we paid for our purchases. Deciding to have them drop me off at my house, I felt around in my black purse for my house keys as I sat in one of the seats in my Mom’s van with the seatbelt clasped around my waist and shoulder. Finding them by the tinkling noise I zipped my purse back up just as we pulled up in front of the small, gray-blue house that was mine.

My house has a wooden fence with a gate that was in desperate need of a new paint job surrounding the front yard, which changed into a chicken-wire-metal fence around back near the grass-and-gravel driveway we shared with our neighbor, a nice little old lady in a small yellow house to the left of us, and a high wooden one on the right of us. The front yard had patches of dirt where the grass wouldn’t grow and tufts of grass and weeds growing wild and sparse around the two huge maple trees growing out of the ground flush against the front fence next to the trash bin. The back yard was rather large though and if you were to walk at a steady pace from my backdoor to the end of my back yard it would take you at least ten or twenty seconds.

The grass also grew higher and more dense in the backyard. It held a small aluminum shed with junk packed behind it that we needed to take to the dump someday, and a swing that had belonged to my Mom before she’d moved away from Spokane to Kennewick. One of my cats, Poseidon, enjoyed sunning himself on the seat in the warmer weather.

The sky had darkened completely on the ride and I said goodbye to my family, chucked Gavin under the chin and kissed his sweet baby-scented head and got out of the van. My Mom pulled away and drove off around the corner towards the Mission street. Turning, I carried the bulky mirror, covered in brown packing paper, towards the front door. Bracing it against the house next to the painted dark green bar-stood on our porch next to the door, I dug out my key and shoved it into the lock.

The porch light was off, since Shawn never remembers to turn it on at night, so I had to this all more-or-less by feel. My blue heeler, Clover, barked once before I got the door open and tried to jump up on me as I entered. Pushing her down and scratching one of her funny-looking handlebar angled black ears she wagged her white and black spotted tail happily.

“Okay, you dumb mutt,” I said, with affection, “Let me get this inside and I’ll take you out.”

I struggled with covered mirror, being careful not to bump it against the doorframe as I did so, and looked around laid it on the table for a moment. Grabbing Clover’s chain, I hooked it to her choker and led her outside. She caught sight of the only outdoor cat I have, Poseidon, about to pounce on a hapless bird and launched herself at him, jerking me forward as well. Pulling back on her leash, I scolded her sternly and headed towards the backyard where I unhooked the leash from her choker and attached the chain tied to a tree.

I had only been back inside the house for three minutes, if that, unwrapping the mirror when she started to bark, letting me know she wanted back in. I grabbed up her leash once more and walked back around my house to bring my dog inside. We had to start tying her up when she goes out because after she got a bigger she started springing up over the fence and would run down the street to the house at the end of the block where my boyfriend’s parents’ live to play with their dog; A white pitbull/shar-pei mix named Lily. She was a pain to catch too because she looked dumb, but she’s actually really smart and thinks it’s funny to tease us.

Jumping up to catch the handle of the leash that was wrapping around my hand, Clover bounced all the way back to the house. I had left the front door halfway open so she jumped up and pushed it into the house, thus making an entrance large enough for both of us and ran into the house, smiling that huge dog grin like she hadn’t been inside the house for ages. I held her still to unhook her leash and she wagged her tail at me, yawned and went to curl up under my computer desk.

My cat Imzadi, a black and white female that Shawn likened to a rather large rat with yellow-green eyes, lay on her side on the monitor, sleeping with her mouth half-open making cute little wheezing noises as the warmth from the computer lulled her into a deeper catnap. Scratching her head, she opened one eye and flipped over, I cooed at her and leaned down so she could kiss me with her sandpapery tongue. Zadi will kiss on command.

I heard a low meow and walked over to door that led to the two bedrooms in the house, we actually three but one is being used as a place to store Shawn’s comic book collection, opened it to reveal the stairwell and looked up to see my calico, Flukie, on her back with her head looking at me upside-down on the fourth to the bottom step. “Hey, Fluke.” I greeted and she meowed again, purring and rolled again. I left the door open in case she wanted to come downstairs.

Clover saw this and chased her back upstairs. This is a daily ritual for my pets, in turn Flukie would be chasing Clover and back and forth. I ignored it because I knew neither animal was in danger and turned my attention on where, exactly, I wanted to put my mirror. Glancing at the clock on the stove in the kitchen I realized that it had only been an hour since Shawn had left for work. He worked as a Ziptrip trainer at different stores each night, from 10:30 in the evening until 7:30 in the morning.

Hmm, I thought, as I looked at my Dragonball Z poster hanging on the wall above my computer, I need to get started on those dishes. One thing about me, I hate housework. I mean absolutely hate it with a passion and I am the world’s worse...best?...procrastinator. If I can find some way of avoiding to do something for as long as I can, I will find it. I also have a horrible time finishing something I start. I think perhaps because I tend to put all of myself into something at first and wear myself out before it’s even close to being completed.

I still don’t understand why I do that, I think maybe it’s just one of my weaknesses, back in high school I had trouble sitting still until I begged my Mom to arrange for me to just take a few classes at a time until they became shorter and shorter until I was only going once a week for five minutes to turn in some assignment and receive the next weeks’. I did graduate with my class however.

The last teacher I had, who I would go see every week, used to be my English teacher, about the only area in school I excelled in, had a soft-spot for me and basically turned me into a teacher’s pet all during high school. She pulled some strings and got me to graduate with my class, even though by all rights I really should have been held back. I wonder, now, if she didn’t do me more harm than good by letting me always have my way in class and letting me get off with not doing the same work as the other students and pushing me out into the world with an unearned diploma. Thinking about the days I spent in school reminded me of how bad I am at math. I never really learned anything after sixth grade, to be honest.

Whenever I told a teacher that I was having problems understanding a problem, he or she would just switch me to an easier level and give me dittos of math problems they knew that I all ready knew how to do and that was that. As a result, I am twenty-nine years old and have never attempted algebra, fractions give me a head-ache and times are so confusing to me that I will space out rather than try to understand them.

People have told me that they can’t understand why I have such a hard time with numbers, but to me, when I look a math problem that’s over the four grade level, it’s like trying to decipher ancient Arabic with no prior knowledge of that language. No matter how anyone tries to explain it to me, I still don’t get it.

Shaking my head to bring my thoughts back to the present I leaned over to the side of my computer near the window and started to remove the pictures of Boba Fett from Star Wars I’d tacked up there previously. I had decided to hang the mirror next to my Dragonball Z poster. (Shawn’s Mallrats poster hung in it’s frame next to the Dragonball Z one) My living room, in fact, my whole house, is filled with action figures, toys and odds and ends. Every surface is covered and little kids love to come over to play with our stuff.

In fact, my goddaughter, whom I just refer to as my niece since she calls me Auntie Ami, always wants to hold my Piccolo doll, one I keep next to my computer with the vinyl head and clothe cape and gi. The arms and legs of the doll are multi-jointed so it’s easy to pose him in different ways. I have two smaller plastic Piccolo action figures flanking it, one where he’s wearing his cape and his turban that comes off and another without his cape and turban with his mouth open yelling. A Krillin figure, a christmas gift from my uncle who is clueless about Dragonball Z and didn’t know which character I liked best, stood on one of my speakers over the Piccolos.

Over on the top of the entertainment center I had fat Buu, the dog; Bee (hehe, Buubee...Sorry, I have a very immature mind...) An SSJ Vegeta action fgure that alot of detail went into and my Trunks, Tien, Goku and Piccolo plastic action figure models. A copy of the video game, Budokai, sat next the playstation 2 waiting for me to get around to playing it again. I have carpel tunnel syndrome due to years of typing and drawing so I can’t play that game as often as I would have liked.

As I was saying, my niece, Dominique, who is five, never fails to tell me every time I babysit her that she loves Piccolo. It’s so cute. She even falls asleep cuddling my Piccolo doll when she stays over on the sofa. We have this routine where I say; “Who do you love?” and she yells while jumping up and down; “Piccolo!” Yes, I think my influence on her was for the best. I smiled at that thought and went about hanging up my newly acquired mirror.

After it had been hung, I stepped back to see if it were straight and smiled slightly. Good enough, I thought, then reached down to unplug my phone cord from the wall and plug in the one that led to the computer so I could go online for a bit. Piccolo’s glowering visage stared back at me from the desktop and I clicked on the icon that would connect me and waited while it went through a series of clicks and whirring sounds. Finally, connected, I clicked the Explorer icon and waited while the browser flooded my screen, blocking Piccolo’s face.

I checked my email, frowning at all the spam, smiling when I saw one from my friend Vicky, and typed in the address for one of my favorite fan-fiction sites. I was in the process of reading a particularly engrossing one that was just too long to read all at once and I was anxious to get back to it. My heart sped up in anticipation of finding out what was going to happen next.

As I read, my thoughts kept turning back towards that afternoon at the convention and, almost of their own accord, my fingers found the scar marring the creaminess of my right shoulder. It had seemed like a dream, but it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t! The scar on my shoulder was all the proof I needed. I wondered if I should try to contact the author the fic I reading. Her name was Cyndi and by her story it would seem she and I have a lot in common.

As I struggled with myself for a few moments, not wanting to tell anyone what happened to me only six months ago, but needing so badly to share and know that I wasn’t alone in my experience, that there were and are others out there who have had similar things happen to them, I found myself clicking on my writing program and begin typing. I felt as if in a kind of trance, I couldn’t see anything but that day, everything else faded into the background, even the sound of the keys clicking as I typed seemed far away.

When I had finished, I reread what I’d written, it was a recount of the events which took place during the anime convention when I’d met someone who I thought was just a guy in a costume. Clicking Save As, I titled the story and, before I could chicken out, emailed it to Cyndi, hoping against hope she wouldn’t think I was a nutcase.

Suddenly, just as I’d hit backspace to go back to reading her own story, I saw something flicker from the corner of my eye. My eyes were drawn towards the mirror and what I saw made me gasp. Standing up so fast that my chair, which had a broken wheel anyway, fell backwards with a thud, scaring Zadi and Flukie back upstairs. I stared in wide-eyed horror at the strangely rippling mirror.

Clover was growling at it and cocking her head to one side. I looked at her and my hand trembled as I grabbed her leash to keep her from launching herself at the oddity. I didn’t know what was happening and I didn’t need my dog smashing into my brand new full-length mirror. She whined and pulled against my hold, but we stood back and waited. I could see what looked like trees and a lake shrouded in a misty fog within the mirror, only everything looked...cartoony...drawn...it’s was hard to explain but my thoughts dove backwards towards the story I was just reading and, belatedly, I put two and two together.

“C-Cyndi?” I asked, uncertain, knowing that she could travel between the dimensions as long as she had that miniature fourteen star dragonball with her. But the hand that came through the glass was definitely not Cyndi’s petite one! An muscular arm, shoulders, one leg, head with midnight black hair defying gravity all moved through the glass as if through liquid metal, until the one who stood before me turned and stepped easily over my printer and looked down at my dog, who was barking at him.

“V-Vegeta!” I knew I looked stupid, with my mouth hanging open, leaning down to hold my dog. But, I couldn’t help it. Those moments we shared together in his and Bulma’s hotel room during the afternoon of the convention came flooding back, only...at the time I’d not believed it was really him. I thought it was just some guy playing a part, albeit a very well-played part, but I had had no idea it was the real thing until he surprised me by flying away into the sky afterwards.

Now, facing the real Saiyan Prince, I felt...well, there really isn’t any other word to discribe how I felt. Terrified. He could kill me as easily as snapping a twig underfoot. I backed away, letting go of Clover, who sniffed his boot, wagged her tail once and rolled over on her back at his feet. Sneering at the animal, Vegeta stepped over him and looked at me.

“Ami.” He greeted, his eyes flicked to the scar on my shoulder, showing where the material of the tanktop I was wearing left off, “It’s been a long time.”

“S-Six...months...” I said, not knowing what to do, how to react.

“Only in your world,” He said to me, crossing over and perching on the armrest of the sectional sofa, “Much more time has passed in mine. Trunks is grown and Bra is in college...”

“Oh...” I said, then asked, “H-how did you get through? I thought only Cyndi and Piccolo could...”

His head snapped my way as I said that and I told him about the story I was reading. He nodded, then reached into the waistband of the light blue sweats he was wearing, pulling out a small orange glowing orb. “I borrowed it for awhile. Don’t worry, they know. I know how important this thing is, no one is going to get a hold of it.”

“Why are you here?” I asked, curious, but still scared, for someone so short, he has a lot of presence. I could feel the power issuing off of him as I sat down next to him on the sofa. I saw his hands clench into fists before he spoke; “It’s that baka woman!”

“Who?” I asked, thinking he couldn’t be talking about Cyndi, could he?

“Bulma! That’s who!” He yelled, “She’s driving me insane and it’s all I can do to keep myself from blasting her into a million pieces! If I’d know human females were going to be so...so...” His words faltered as he turned to look at me, dark eyes like ebony beneath his heavy brows, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

I blinked, waited for him continued, feeling heat rise into my cheeks and across my nose.

“I can still taste your blood on my tongue,” He went on, “I can feel you, smell and taste you in that blood...”

Without warning, he reached over to trace one finger across the scar he’d left on me. His skin left a hot trail of sensation across my skin. “Bulma’s always too tired...”

Seeing the raw animal lust in his eyes made me instantly aware of the true reason for his arrival and I jumped back and stood up, barely eluding his grasp. That did not matter, however, as I soon found out just how strong a saiyan could be as he grasped my wrist and pulled me roughly back down towards him.

“Wait!” I gasped, before he could kiss me, “Let me go.”

“I want you.” Matter-of-factly, as if that was all that needed saying.

“I have to tell you something first.” Growling, he released his vice-like grip on my wrist and I sat back, saying; “Vegeta, you need to know that you can’t just barge into my house anytime you want expecting me to be at your beck and call whenever you feel like your wife is neglecting you.”

He glared but I went on, quickly, before I lost my nerve; “I won’t be used, Vegeta, I demand respect the same as any human being, just because I had a moment of weakness with you before doesn’t mean you have any right to expect...”

He interrupted me with his trademark smirk; “Woman, I could give a rat’s ass what you demand right now.” He reached for me again and I saw his hand shake slightly as he held my wrist once more, huskily, he whispered against my ear where I could feel his breath near my skin; “Please, just...shut up. Remember what I told you about saiyans? It’s been so long since Bulma’s let me touch her...I was going crazy...Please, just let me....” I felt his hard body trembling like a leaf against me.

His voice took on a pleading quality that was so out of character for him that I felt myself melt, my resolve slipping fast out the window along with rational thought. I was empathic, to a degree, and normal human emotions around me affected me. Vegeta’s emotions, his need to slack his thirst and fill himself with me as a starving man needed food, filled my senses, and reacting the only way I knew how, I offered what comfort I could.

He wasn’t gentle, like last time. Maybe it was the length of time he’d gone without, maybe it was just his saiyan blood rushing to the surface, I did not know. I felt a desperate urgency to his searing kisses, as he bruised my mouth beneath his own. I hardly had time to react as his hands fairly tore my clothes from me, until they lay in piece upon my livingroom floor. I opened my eyes once to see his own looking down at me with an expression of lust mixed with slight annoyance, as if he was silently berating himself for his weakness.


Then without a word, he flipped me over onto my knees, I felt the back of his thighs, muscular and warm, against my buttocks as his hardness pressed up against me. I gasped at the rough treatment as he guided himself into my womanhood from behind and slammed me hard into the ground, nearly breaking my nose upon the carpeted floor.

“P-Please!” I cried, as I lifted myself upward, Tears in my eyes, stinging, “Y-your hurting me!”

He slowed down, but didn’t release me, grasping a handful of my long, dark hair and licking a trail up my spine. I heard him grunt wordlessly as he thrust himself deeper inside me from behind. Slowly, the pain spiraled upwards until it could not longer be distinguished from the tight, tingling pleasure that was beginning at the center of my body. I felt his hand reach around under me, touching me in that most private place, that most sensitive area and I felt myself buck wildly backward into him, matching his movements thrust for thrust.

Finally, just as my own climax was winding down, I felt him stiffen his hands in my hair and shudder behind and slightly above me. Pulling his now flaccid member from my orifice, I felt his seed seep from deep inside me down my thighs and the crevice of my buttocks. I sat up and turned around to see him sitting on the floor, arms at his sides, mouth open slightly as he panted for air. His face was slick with sweat and the dark blue of his muscle shirt showed patches of discoloration where he’d perspired through the material.

As he looked at me I saw the half serious, half mocking apology in his eyes. It was unnatural for him to lower himself to anyone, so I didn’t make him say it aloud. I knew that he really didn’t mean to be so rough with me, he didn’t mean to hurt me. I shrugged and let it go, telling myself as I washed up in the bathroom a moment later, that what I had just done wasn’t disgusting or abnormal, that I was helping a fellow being in need.

It was all right. I repeated that to myself like a mantra as I brushed down my hair and changed my clothes in to pair of loose fitting lounge-around-the-house dark blue sweats, which didn’t really go with my light blue flowery tank top, but I was never a fashion bug.

I returned to the living to find him dressed and sitting back on the sofa. He spent the rest of the evening complaining about all those baka people where he lived who failed to recognize him for the great Saiyan prince that he was. He talked about how irritating a mate like Bulma could be, how he didn’t understand his son half the time and hated how Goku, Kakkarot’s, brat kept hanging around with his kid. This went on for sometime, I didn’t speak very much, just listened and let him know I was there.

Faint glimmers of sunlight had been slowly filtering through the blinds when he decided that it was time for him to go. As he stepped back through the mirror, he mentioned something about needing to get the little dragonball back to Cyndi and Piccolo, and vanished from sight, leaving my mirror once more just a mirror.

I saw my own face staring back at me. I wanted to break the glass, smash my face in, I didn’t want to look at myself!

A wave of nausea overcame me with the guilt that pushed up from my stomach to wrap about my heart. What had I done? I screamed inside my mind, wrapping my arms about myself and trembling. I had cheated on my boyfriend. Not once, but twice. Both times it had felt out of my control, but I knew that was just an excuse. I’ve never cheated on him once in all our ten years together...not once. I felt sick. Physically sick.

Clutching my stomach, I vomited all over the living room rug.















Namekian Slave Girl,

~Ami