Bruised (A GTA 5 Trevor Philips FanFiction)

House Call

"Hold still, Chef, I'm almost done." 

Focusing on the open bleeding wound that marred the side of his abdomen, I concentrated on threading that last stitch before finally cutting off the excess string with small medical scissors. No sooner had I done that did he reach over for his pipe sitting on the nearby table. 

"I don't know what the fuck that guy was thinking", Chef sputtered, sparking up the bowl of meth and taking a big hit before trying to offer me some. I politely declined. Just because the main company I kept these days were meth heads didn't mean I actually partook in it myself. I was still the prominent weed toker, although Franklin Clinton had become a sort of smoking buddy of mine over the time I got to know him. 

It had been almost two months since Trevor and I started our whirlwind romance, during which time I would eventually meet Franklin and the "ghost" formerly known as Michael Townley, now Michael De Santa. Amidst their constant bickering and death threats towards each other, I'd finally gathered enough bits and pieces to learn the mystery behind Trevor's "RIP Michael" tattoo. A heist gone wrong more than a decade prior led Trevor to believe his crew had been killed, including his best friend Michael, when in actuality Michael was working with FIB agent Dave Norton to stage Michael's death in order to boost Norton's career.  In exchange, Michael and his family were put into an informal witness protection program in the wealthier section of Los Santos, changing their last name in the process. In all that time, Trevor mourned the loss of his dear friend only to learn much later he was alive and well and living in luxury, in the same state no less. Their friendship had become volatile at best, filled with mistrust and bitter hostility. Already, Michael had urged me to move on from Trevor. "He's a fucking psychopath, sweetheart", he'd warned me when we first met, to which I replied "But he's your best friend, so who's the real psychopath?" He only chuckled and stated that maybe I was just enough of a smartass to keep Trevor in check after all.

Fast forward to now, where a guy high on fuck knows what had come barreling into the back section of the Liquor Ace, aka Trevor's meth lab, and attacked Chef with a knife while he was in the middle of cooking a batch. And not just attacked, but the guy also tried getting sexually aggressive, trying to slash off Chef's garments in a mad fit of rabid lust. I could see Chef was still physically shaken as he tried smoking his worries away. Fortunately, it was just a superficial cut he'd endured, no organ punctures. Trevor, away on the rare occasion he wasn't with me, had been in the bathroom in the back when it all went down, and needless to say, the high guy didn't make it out in one piece. Ron had just returned from burying the remainder of him wherever they buried their problems and was now on lookout, keeping watch at the second story window with a pair of binoculars. I'd responded to Trevor's text about Chef needing some medical attention and here we all were. I was actually on my way to go see Franklin in Los Santos as I desperately needed a smoke session that wasn't solitary when I'd received the text. Most of the time, Trevor was too jacked up on his own shit that I didn't even bother to ask him to partake anymore, unless it was to get him down from a manic meth high. The only times he'd really be willing was if sex was offered right after. Anyway, luckily I hadn't left the trailer yet, so swinging by to help Chef wasn't terribly inconvenient. In the time Trevor and I had been seeing each other, I patched up a number of his crew members, as well as Trevor himself. I'd discovered I had a way for treating flesh wounds and even set back a dislocated shoulder (a speeding car slammed into Chef's arm during a shootout just outside this place - the guy was having a real shit month so far.)

"Thanks for patching me up again, Doc", Chef gratefully told me. By this time, Doc was the accepted nickname the guys generally used for me. I had proven myself worthy to don the moniker ever since the night I stitched myself up at the motel, when I had planned on leaving San Andreas, never to return. Everything changed that fateful night when Trevor came knocking on the motel door, affixing himself into my existence when he again declared his love. One week later, after a particularly passionate encounter in the back of his truck, under the moonlit sky splattered with twinkling stars looking down upon us did he pop the question that most women longed to hear from their significant other. It was actually a very romantic setting, with us parked on top of the hippy hill not far from the trailer at three in the morning, no one else around but the two of us nestled together under a blanket in the back of Trevor's truck. We were relishing in after-sex endorphins and I was laying in the crook of his arm, both of us mostly naked and cuddled under the warm blanket, fireflies magically dancing in the dark all around us, when he leaned his head down to whisper into my ear "Marry me." I guess it wasn't as much a question as it was a demand, but hearing those words come from his lips still left me in a state of shock. I didn't know how to respond. Everything about our relationship had happened at lightning speed and I didn't want to rush this as well, so I was forced to gently break his heart a little by telling him I needed some more time. This wasn't something I wanted to enter half-assed. After all, once the euphoria of a new relationship began to wear off, I needed to know he still wanted to permanently stand by my side. As a result, things between us lately had been a tad on the tense side and I noticed he had started showing a bit of a wandering eye. He hadn't strayed as of yet, but his side glances towards other women had started to become a little more frequent and I was beginning to question if Trevor was fully capable of being a one-woman man after all.  At the same time, everyone is entitled to look, I couldn't really condemn him for that. Shit, I was no saint in that department myself. Maybe he was just trying to get a rise out of me. At the end of the day, it was always me he returned back to with open arms. And our sex life was fantastic. It was weird, to be slightly emotionally out of sync and yet still amazingly compatible when it came to showing physical love. I had to trust that meant something promising.