Grand Theft of my Heart *Trevor Phillips x Reader*

Part 25

"I need to pee." You say for what seems the hundredth time today. You both had begun your drive back home in the wee hours of the morning a day ago. It's been twenty four long hours in a rusty red truck with no air-conditioning and you'd gone through at lest 8 water bottles today alone.

Trevor, sitting in the driver's seat, glances over at you with a mischievous grin. "Well, tough luck! We're in the middle of nowhere, and there ain't no rest stops for miles. You'll just have to hold it in a little longer," he says, relishing in your discomfort.

The scorching sun beats down on the old truck's metal exterior, turning the interior into an oven. The lack of air-conditioning makes the journey even more unbearable. You wipe the sweat from your forehead and take another sip from a half-empty water bottle, trying to quench your thirst while also attempting to ignore your bladder's urgent demands. As the landscape passes by in a blur of dry, desolate land and distant mountains, you can't help but wonder how you ended up in this situation.

Steve Haines number was still folded up in your jacket pocket, you'd contemplated throwing it away seeing as you didn't see you and trevor splitting any time soon but some paranoid part of you wanted a back up plan. Trevor's withdrawal symptoms haven't gone away but he's gotten significantly better at hiding them. You both had spent the night in the truck last night and then you were both cuddled as close to each other as you could get but when he awoke it's like he put those walls back up, the hot and cold demeanor has driven your patience to almost nothing and your lack of decent sleep and food didn't help.

"Trevvvvvv." You groan, your bladder was beginning to hurt and at this point a nice bush was a relieving sight.

Trevor chuckles darkly, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. "What's the matter, partner? You look like you're about to burst!" he teases, clearly enjoying your discomfort. You drop your head to the dash dramatically as if you were on the verge of dying, You let out a frustrated sigh, feeling the pressure in your bladder mounting. The discomfort is becoming unbearable, and you're starting to regret not insisting on a bathroom break earlier.

"How much longer, Trevor? I can't hold it much more," you plead, trying to keep your tone calm, but it's getting harder to do so.

Trevor glances at you again, and this time, his expression softens slightly. He knows he's pushing you to your limits. "Alright, alright, just hold on a little longer, we're almost there," he says, giving you a reassuring nod.

The landscape starts to change, and you notice a small sign up ahead indicating a rest stop. Relief washes over you, and you can't help but let out a sigh of gratitude. "Thank god," you mutter under your breath, already planning your sprint to the bathroom. As you pull into the rest stop, you practically jump out of the truck and make a beeline for the restrooms. Trevor follows at a more leisurely pace, seemingly amused by your urgency. You take your time in the bathroom, enjoying the momentary peace and privacy.

As you look into the mirror your eyes seem to become glued to yourself, this was the first time you'd taken a chance to look at yourself since leaving home. Sure you glanced in a store window or in the mirror as you washed your hands but really you avoided looking at yourself to save yourself from your own scrutinizing eyes. It came as no surprise that everything going on made you hate yourself even more, you'd ignored your family and potentially your father in the most pivotal moment of his life and now he was gone.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you can't help but notice all the reasons you hate yourself. Your eyes trace over the tired bags underneath, a testament to the sleepless nights and the toll this chaotic journey has taken on you. You see the lines of stress etched across your forehead and the anxious furrow between your brows, a constant reminder of the burdens you carry. You sigh, feeling a wave of self-disgust wash over you as you take in your disheveled appearance. Your clothes are wrinkled and stained from days of travel, your hair a mess. You feel like a complete failure, a far cry from the person you used to be, the person your father believed in. His disappointment in you is a heavy weight on your heart.