Koneka's Excellent Vacation

koneka7 Koneka is struggling with the solitude. Will the prince help ease her loneliness? Read on... Skip to the bottom for my thanks to everyone. Disclaimer: *Sob!* They just don’t belooooong to me!! _________________________________________ Koneka’s Excellent Vacation, Part 7 ROSAT: The Middle It was a living hell — solitary confinement in a vast nothingness of flames and ice and extremes. And in this vast nothingness I had no clue if I’d be able to find my way back, so I never ventured so far that I couldn’t still see the room. I walked. I ran. I ran a lot! Ice and flames and wind and snow and rain — sometimes I was inches from being engulfed! And he didn’t come back. I began keeping track of the days, just hatches on the back of my sketchbook. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months. Food was disappearing from the refrigerator, so I knew he was coming back to eat while I slept. But try as I might, I couldn’t stay awake long enough to catch him. So, besides painting and exercising, I also began writing this journal of my vacation. I’d read it aloud just to hear the sound of someone’s voice, and some days I’d stand at the edge and scream his name, hoping he’d answer me. Some days I’d cry and beg him to talk to me. Other days I despised him, and I’d scream it out into the void. That streak of cruelty I saw in him just a few days (months?) ago, grew to mega-mammoth proportions in my mind. I was sure he was enjoying torturing me. Or maybe he was torturing me for his having sex with me. Maybe he blamed it on me. I knew I was going to need that psychiatrist once I got out of here. ********* “You hear that, you bastard!” I screamed. I was running for all I was worth, pounding through the mist. “It’s no wonder Bulma didn’t marry you! NO ONE would marry you! I sure as HELL wouldn’t!” I was pushing myself beyond what I had done yesterday, but all the screaming was slowing me down. Shallow breathing and a lack of oxygen caused a stitch in my side that brought me to a screeching halt. I stood with my hands on my knees, panting. It was my first near-fatal error. The flames came suddenly, licking around my feet. “Oh, God, no!” I leapt out of them and ran, screaming. They were like living things, tendrils of burning heat curling round and round my legs, threatening to engulf me. I fled the holocaust only to run into a sheet of ice. Skidding and slipping, I fell flat on my back, knocking the breath out of me with a whoosh. Groaning, I managed to get my feet under me and was just finding purchase when the ice started around my ankles. I couldn’t budge. I could hear my blood pounding through my veins. I felt like my head would burst open. “Oh God oh God help me...” The ice crackled and grew, and in seconds it was up to my chest. “VEJITA! HELP ME!! PLEEEEEEEASE!” Then I was suffocating. Dying. Here I come, God. A great ball of fire, ice shattering and melting — I was scooped up and flying, sobbing against his chest, clinging to his torn suit, clawing at him, trying to hide myself in his strength. We landed gently and he let me go. I stood with my hands covering my face and crying. “You wanted to come here,” he growled. I struggled to control myself while he waited. Snuffling loudly, I ended up wiping my nose on my sleeve for lack of the proper tool, and, when I looked at him, he was scowling, but only slightly. His body was bruised, his muscles were bigger and more defined. Did he do nothing but train constantly? He was so handsome — I desperately wanted him to hold me and comfort me. But getting comfort from Vejita was like trying to fill the Grand Canyon with a teaspoon. “I know,” I whispered. “I was wrong to do it. But it’s done.” For a few moments, he gazed at me, then he turned to leave. “Vejita!” I ran forward a few steps and he stopped, his back to me. “I — I’m only asking for an hour. Just an hour a day. Just to be here and talk to me. Even if all you do is listen.” He squared his shoulders, then let them drop again. My heart was drumming against my sternum. “I’ve even improved on my chicken rice recipe.” I thought I heard him chuckle. He looked over his shoulder. “All right,” he said, then he exploded into the air and was gone again. If my knees hadn’t still been shaking, I would’ve danced, but instead, I treated myself to a long hot soak in the tub, and spent the rest of the day working on my painting and writing. I fixed my new, improved chicken rice recipe, but he didn’t show up for dinner, so I stowed it in the ’fridge. When evening came, I gave up and went to bed. ********* The tender stroke of his hand on my waist and hip woke me slowly. My eyes flew open as I felt his naked body spoon mine, and I gasped at the touch of his lips on the back of my neck. I turned over, flowing into his arms and twining my arms around his neck, our lips meeting in a bruising kiss. Vejita made love to me, slowly, gently, touching and kissing every inch of my body. His palms and fingers were callused, and as his desire grew, his touch became rougher. I responded in kind, moving my hands over the hard muscles firmly. The brush of his warm, panting breath on my skin was like a balm, the sound of his moan was music. “Vejita... I want you,” ispeispered as he joined with me, and crushed my lips with his. He slid his hands under me, one flat on my buttocks, one splayed across my back, and suddenly we lifted off the bed, floating into the air. I hooked one leg around his, the muscles of my calf pressed against the hard muscles of his thigh. I ran my tongue along the inside petals of his lips. He groaned and crushed my body tightly against his, rolling over slowly in the air until I was on top. We moved together in a rhythm familiar since the beginning of time, lost in a white haze of desire and need. We rolled again until he was on top, the need for release coming quickly now as we floated back to the bed. Vejita’s movements grew faster and faster until he emptied himself with a howl, head thrown back, canines bared. I cried out as I joined him in a wanton release of desire, frustration and a dozen other pent up emotions. As we lay breathing hard, his face buried in my shoulder, my arms and legs wrapped around him, I whispered, “Please don’t leave me again. I’ll go insane.” I felt the muscles of his shoulders shake, and I swear he was laughing, but when he raised his head to look at me, his face wore that familiar Vejita frown. “The rice was too sticky,” he said. I studied his face in surprise, then he crooked up the right side of his mouth, and I giggled. “It’s that lousy stove,” I said soberly. “I can’t work with inferior appliances.” “If I’m going to eat your cooking, you’ll have to do better than that,” he growled, and then kissed me hungrily. We made out for a little while, and then Vejita made love to me again, roughly and quickly. And he came back every day to eat and listen, sometimes to comment. But his presence was the only thing I hungered for day after day. My sanity returned to me quickly. Then one day, my painting was finished, the power and energy caught perfectly in paint on canvas. The beautiful angular planes of his royal face exuded the emotions of a man imprisoned on a world that didn’t recognize his rightful place in it. I almost hated the Earth for bringing him to this. He didn’t say anything as he looked at it, but when he gazed at me, I saw the approval in his eyes and it was enough. My painting was finished, and we were half way through our year. I knew what I wanted from him now. ...continued... ______________________________________________________ Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review my story: Banana Girl - ah, jealousy rears its little green head. If only the prince were real, eh? This is my vicarious thrill, too! Dark-Angel: Thanks for the enthusiastic review. Reviews like yours make me smile and keep on writing! VEGETASPRINCESS: Sometimes, I lay in bed and think about what’s going to happen next. Some nights, it comes to me, other times...well...that’s why updates don’t come as quickly as I’d like! Thanks for your encouragement. Lumpy: ;-)