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35. My Drug

I freeze, his words sending chills coursing through my limbs. My chest is pumping to the beat of my spastic heart, and I can't tear my gaze from his somber face. He's watching me carefully trying to gauge my reaction, but I have nothing to give him. I momentarily don't feel anything. I'm just stuck. Frozen. And then I realize that my mouth is trying to mumble my incoherent thoughts.

"What?—You... How?—I just..."

"Stop. Please," he says, and I can tell that he thinks I'm judging him. He thinks he's completely ruined my shiny image of him. His words hold regret and I'm desperate to ease his mind, even though I don't know if I should.

"I'm willing to listen if you're willing to talk," I offer timidly.

His eyes find mine, and there's an indescribable pain flowing through them, but weaved between the obvious self-loathing and disgust is shame. This one emotion alone is enough to make me want to give him a chance. There's more to Trevor Nixon than I ever imagined.

He starts to nod his head, but just as he opens his mouth to speak, we're interrupted by students filing out of the room. I check the time and realize that class ended five minutes ago. I turn back to Trevor to find him watching me expectantly. I begin putting my stuff into my bag, and I know he's thinking that I'm done with him, that I'm not actually willing to give him a chance since I'm free from the obligation of listening to him now that class is over.

"Kiddies! Before you leave..." Ms. Garrison stands from her desk to get our attention. "Find time before Thursday to really decipher your dreams. Find out what they might mean. There's plenty of websites that can help you out." She claps her hands together. "That's it. Have a good day."

"Do you have class after this?" I ask Trevor.

He's still watching me when I turn back towards him, and he wordlessly shakes his head side-to-side.

"Great." I smile. "How 'bout we head to the Coffee Lounge?" I start to stand up, but I feel something warm brush my arm. I turn to find the cause of the sudden tingling sensation to be Trevor's hand.

"You don't have to do this," he tells me, and I'm amazed that he would really think I'd let it go without an explanation.

"There's no way I'm letting this conversation end like that. I've gotten to know you over the last few months and let me tell you, I don't see you as capable of murder. So, with that said, how 'bout we go get some coffee and you tell me what really happened."

I can feel his relief by the way he loosens the amount of pressure on my arm. As his hand falls away, I see a tight smile grace his hard face and something inside me unravels, knowing that he's not as guilty as he made himself out to be.

--

"I wasn't all hooked on drugs and women or anything, so don't get the wrong idea," Trevor tells me as we sip on steaming cups of rich coffee.

These words alone are a huge comfort to my tormented thoughts. In all honesty, that's exactly where my thinking went. I imagined a drug induced Trevor holding a blunt in one hand and a blonde bimbo in the other, and it was not a pleasant feeling. I take a sip of my Long Black and wait for him to continue.

"I guess you could say that adrenaline was my drug," Trevor goes on to explain. He's staring at his drink but his mind is elsewhere. "I got into so much trouble back then. My buddies and I were always looking for the next thrill: climbing buildings, jumping off bridges, racing."

"We talking Fast and Furious here?" I can't help but wonder aloud.

Trevor chuckles softly. "Yeah, something like that." He brushes a hand through his hair and then tries to fix the mess with quick scrubbing movements to help the strands settle into place.