him. He was safe! And he'd
come back.

A week later she'd managed to forget how worried she'd been about him. Now she just wanted to kill him. Slowly.

It was like nothing had changed. He didn't skip meals, but he barely spoke to her. He spoke to her mother more, and
Bulma knew that he despised her mother. Mrs. Briefs didn't make it easier by hanging on him, when she wasn't fixing
him all his favorite foods. And if he didn't come to the kitchen right away at meal times, she coaxed Bulma into
taking his dinner to him.

And the worst part was that she couldn't help herself. She so desperately wanted to be in his presence that she took
him his meals and sat with him while he ate. He never paid any attention to her company. He just ate quickly and left
all the dishes for her.

She was just about ready to give him a piece of her mind. She hadn't said anything rude to him the entire week, and
all the pent-up emotions were on the verge of bursting out.

That night, she again stood in front of her mirror, this time yanking her brush through her hair like she wanted to
pull it all out by the roots. It hurt, but she was too angry to even notice. She had thought up six particularly
cutting remarks and was deciding in which order she wanted to use them when she felt the breeze move in the open
window behind her.

A quiet voice spoke. "If you keep that up, you won't have any hair left."

She dropped the