Bruised (A GTA 5 Trevor Philips FanFiction)

The Ties That Bind

I didn't sleep well that night. My conversation with Cathy kept repeating itself in my mind as I tossed and turned in bed inside the bedroom Trevor and I now shared. Normally I'd be nice and burned out by now, ready to bask in sleep's warm inviting embrace into a deep, dreamless slumber. Something just wasn't sitting right with me. Why try to contact a monster that's already proven to give absolutely zero fucks about you? That has physically and emotionally scarred you time and again? Family or not, you would think that'd be someone to steer clear from when you're trying to escape the very lair of your imprisonment.

I curled up on my side, my eyes fixed on the adjoining wall with the ornamental lamp I sometimes left on for Trevor if he were coming in late. Now that I'd made myself at home here, there wasn't such an immediate need for spank bank material to be adorning the trailer walls as there used to be. I did, however, find a cool oil painting of a half-naked demon chick seductively stretched against a roaring inferno that both Trevor and I could agree on. I used to sketch in my younger days, still do occasionally should inspiration suddenly strike, and so I had an appreciation for the female form that most artists possessed. Throw a little Hell in there and we now had a dark, erotic masterpiece awesome enough to display in our bedroom. It was a cool find I happened to see for sale by a vendor ironically resembling Jesus outside the Pleasure Pier amusement park. The horned lass's fiery red hair made me think of Cathy again and I restlessly turned over on my other side, starting to get annoyed with myself.

It was around then that I heard Trevor stumble through the front door, having all the grace of a lumbering bull in a china shop. I listened to him piss into the toilet, a long steady stream that seemed endless, before eventually hearing his heavy steps proceed to the fridge, the tsssst of a bottle cap being opened as he enjoyed a late nightcap. You could hear fucking everything in this place, no matter where you were. It wouldn't be the first time a suggestion for slightly more spacious quarters would be brought up by me, only to have him reply he needed absolutely nothing more than what was under this very roof. That included myself, he made sure to let me know. It was rather sweet. Either way, I was happy he was back home.

I then faintly heard the television set in the kitchen, nothing really on now except home shopping crap and tedious infomercials. It wasn't long when I heard the television being irritably shut off and Trevor's footsteps proceeded to head towards me. Although I was facing the room entrance, the way I was curled up, with the blanket almost covering my head, we couldn't get a good look at each other when he first stepped inside and closed the bedroom door behind him. He went straight over to the wall lamp and shut it off, darkness immediately flooding the room, then I heard him kick off his boots as the weight of his body sank the mattress from behind me. I could hear the denim of his jeans being tugged off and thrown onto the floor as he at last lay down on the bed, the familiar squeak of the mattress springs filling the air for a moment. He instantly swung a brawny arm around my waist, curling himself around me and just holding me close to him. His stubbled jaw rested on my exposed shoulder, his deep breathing becoming even deeper and more rhythmic while I felt his embrace tighten around me. This was something Trevor did whenever he felt he had crossed a line or had been overly aggressive with me. As he stated before, he knew I could handle my shit. But still, he hated himself when he thought he was lashing out inappropriately and getting a bit more hostile than necessary. When he wasn't around me, he obsessively thought about everything he'd done when things got a little out of hand. I knew it was the threatening grasp of my hair leading me to be forced to use a weapon on him that he was regretting as I felt him twine a long strand of it gently around one thick, callused finger. He gave a low sigh then as he nuzzled his face into the nape of my neck, quietly chastising himself while holding onto me seemingly for dear life. It wasn't sex he was after. Not when he was busy licking the wounds he felt he'd inflicted. He wore his bleeding heart so openly on his sleeve, I could feel everything he was thinking coursing through him, radiating from him in palpable waves of remorse. Aside from our encounter at the wind farm, when he'd almost choked me to death over a cliff and left partial hand prints across my throat, he'd never physically assaulted me in any abusive sort of way. I learned early on in our relationship that he never pushed for what I wasn't comfortable with. It was why his interest in Bruise was so troubling, as he made it clear he was going to do whatever he damn well pleased in that regard. I suppose because it involved his meth business, which he took extremely seriously, and no quantity or quality of pussy could influence that.