Ghost From the Past

First Date Part 2

Chapter 12

Trunks sits far away from me in the backseat of the limo. His whole body seems tense, especially his jaw, as he stares out his window. He's angry, or most likely disappointed, with how our date is going. It doesn't take a genius to know that our date is a complete failure. The silence between us drags on. My ego bristles at the thought of Trunks ending the date prematurely.

"Be nice to him. My brother has been looking forward to this date for a long time." Bulla's words from earlier echo.

I unclench my left fist and slowly move my hand across the leather seat. My heartbeat quickens. His right hand is just out of my reach, so I slowly retract. Trunks senses the movement.

"How... how was my graduation?" I blurt out nervously, pulling my hand back one second after Trunks turns away from the window. My ears are ringing and sweat collects beneath my armpits. I've never been the one to initiate contact with Trunks first, it's terrifying! How does he seem to do it so easily?

Trunks arches his brow, no doubt noticing my aborted attempt to hold his hand." I don't know. You told me not to go to your graduation, remember?"

I let out a nervous laugh. " Oh, right! Yep, I did say that. Sorry. . . I just thought that maybe you'd come anyway since your sister was graduating too. Did Bulma record the whole thing? I'd love to have a copy!"

Unless I have another PTSD flashback, I'm probably never going to remember my graduation, the most important day of my teenage life.

"I heard you fell off the stage when they handed out your diploma," Trunks smirks.

I gasp." Are you serious?"

Well, maybe it's a good thing I can't remember my graduation.

Trunks slides across the seat so quickly I don't have time to pull back or think of turning away. His blue, humorless eyes entrap me. All I can see is him. I lick my lips, preparing myself for his advances. He makes no attempt to kiss me, though. After a few heart pounding moments, Trunks presses the back of his hand against my forehead.

"You don't have a fever," Trunks mutters, sounding disappointed. "There's something off about you lately, Pan. I can't figure out what it is."

Once again, uncertainty washes over me. Dr. Uub said I was just having vivid flashbacks caused by my PTSD, and husband-Trunks insisted that time travel was impossible without a time machine. . . but, I'm not so sure. If I told the Trunks in front of me that we marry in the future and he has an affair with his best friend's girlfriend, would he believe me?

"My memory has been a little foggy lately," I admit. If I told Trunks the truth, my flashback would end, and I'd find myself back at home trying to deal with a reality I'm not ready to confront just yet.

Trunks studies me. Maybe he knows that I'm hiding something, or maybe he's finally noticed that we're alone in the backseat, and our lips are within inches of touching. I close my eyes and angle my chin, encouraging him to make the first move. We both know I don't have the guts to do it.

"You're different," Trunks whispers, stroking my cheek. I can't stop myself from leaning into his touch." But in a good way."

He kisses me so intensely that I fall back onto the seat with him on top of me.

Our tongues clash together, and I bunch my fingers into the soft cotton of his shirt, eliciting a soft moan from him. He lowers more of his body onto me, knowing that I can take his weight, and needing to feel the pressure of my body against his. My thighs quiver, and I know that soon kissing won't be enough to satisfy me.