The Saiyajin Pet

Chapter 8: Resolve

Well forget it, furball, I'm onto you. I-I'm onto you...

Vegeta hurried out of the shower and toweled off nervously. What could he do?

Two versions of Kakarot appeared in his mind: one, the handsome, gentle face of the Kakarot he had known, always reaching out to him with smiles and loving acceptance, and the other, his mind's invention, a backlit, sinister version of his friend that sneered nastily and seemed almost cartoonish in his forced evil. Which was the true face? His sincerity could have been an act...

Vegeta briefly even considered returning him to the pet shop, or calling out the shopkeeper to come take him back. But if he didn't want to leave, how in the world could either of them get him out of that greenhouse? He tried to ignore the pang that shot through his heart at the thought of Kakarot no longer being down there in his little jungle, and no longer the part of his life that he had come to rely on. He had been a trusted confidante, a friend– but Vegeta was determined to stand firm.

He would not be controlled. He had already let his life slide too far downhill because of his obsession with Kakarot, like the young child who plays hooky to rush home and play with his new puppy. No more. It had gone too far. Feelings like this were utterly unacceptable. He had played long enough; now it was time to return to the real world to get his life back on track, and return to the ordered security of life before Buruma had left him.

Answers to the problem with Kakarot would have to wait.

Filled with a grim resolve, he brusquely pulled on his business suit and strode off down the hall, head held high, though filled with a peculiar paranoia that everyone in the mansion knew about the homosexual thoughts running through his head.

He could still get in almost a full day of work, and make some phone calls to the big names he had slighted. He would face his father with a haughty pride, and show him that he was made of sterner stuff.

Over the course of a week, Vegeta buried himself in his work, putting in twelve hour days. When he was not involved in business he worked on repairing social ties. His sleep was shallow and unsatisfying, afraid that if he allowed himself to let go and sleep too deeply Kakarot would ensnare him in dreams again.

When he did sleep he dreamed of the jungle, dark and wet and dense, the thick air pressing heavy on his lungs. Vines twined and swarmed, choking away all stultifying traces of modern civilization, replacing it with the sweet and simple chaos of Nature's order. Keening, primitive noises called to him from out of the dark, like the voice of an old friend, beckoning him to come and lose himself in the primeval night forever.

He was a tyrant to his staff, demanded results and new ideas from his executives, and even berated and ruthlessly fired a man who'd been pissing him off. Determined to further reinforce his power and masculinity, he went so far as to contact an agency for a high-priced call girl. He was Vegeta Oujisama– tough, powerful, and masculine– not some limp-wristed, flamboyant fag! A good roll with a beautiful woman would help him purge these unseemly feelings from his body.

The endeavor ended in disaster however, when during their activities he became annoyed that she would not use her tail to pleasure him. After realizing what he'd thought, he threw her out of his bed, told her to collect her money on the dresser and go. Vegeta glared at her retreating figure and his heart sank further as it dawned on him what type of girl he had asked for: tall, athletic build, lots of long dark hair, piercing hazel eyes. Damn it!

The office was his only respite. He was determined to sweat Kakarot out of his system, drive his mind to the point of exhaustion so that he no longer had the strength to think of anything but grey oblivion. For every time he stopped to rest, those thoughts crept in, thoughts of that tall, powerful savage whose eyes stripped his soul bare. How much he wanted to caress every part of him, and be touched in return. The only escape was constant, unending work, to keep his mind always occupied with a problem to be solved.