Kiss My Tears Away (Trevor Philips X Reader)

Chapter 5

You played around idly with the eggs on your plate, looking at them with absolutely no desire to eat them. You felt sick. One of the main reasons you were still alive was a psychotic criminal. You felt like shit, like this would only happen to you. Meanwhile, Trevor scoffed down his plate of blueberry pancakes as if nothing was wrong.

Once he was finished, you decided to break the silence between the both of you, "I..." You let out a sigh, "I really think I should go home."

He glanced at you for a moment before dropping his fork to his plate. He wiped his dirty mouth with his shirt, "Listen, Y/N..."

You cut him off, "I know you think it's not a good idea for me to be all alone right now but I really think I need some time to think things through."

Trevor was staring at you, reading your expression, "You promise you're not going to kill yourself?"

You swallowed, "I promise. I just need some time to myself. I've got a lot on my mind."

He shrugged and stood up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out more than enough money to foot the bill. He slammed it on the table, "Alright. I guess, I trust you."

You smiled a silent thanks as you both left the restaurant.

He drove you toward your apartment near Vespucci Beach. The ride was mostly silent aside from the rock music playing from the radio. When you both arrived at your place, he walked you up to your door.

You realized your key was inside, on your bed next to your suicide note. You didn't expect to be coming home so you thought bringing anything with you was unnecessary. You reached under your doormat for the spare and continued your way into your home. Trevor followed you in casually.

"Well, this is me." You gestured to the dimly lit apartment.

"Nicer than mine," Trevor pointed out, inspecting the home.

You nodded awkwardly. He approached you so he was standing in front of you. You locked eyes for a moment before you looked away.

"Anyways, thanks for the ride—"

"Are you sure I can trust you here by yourself?" He interrupted.

You shrugged. "I guess that's up to you whether you trust me or not."

He furrowed his brows in frustration, "Don't fuck around with me, Y/N."

"Trevor, I think it's very sweet that you 'care' about me and all," you began, using air quotes around the word care, "but you don't have to treat me like a kid."

He pointed a finger at you with his mouth open, ready to say something but ended up holding himself back. He turned his back to you and began toward the exit of your apartment, "Whatever, Y/N..." And with that, he was gone.

You were finally alone.

Before you knew it, tears began burning in your eyes, easing the lump in your throat. You fell to the floor and uncorked the emotions you had been bottling up since yesterday.

By the time you stopped crying, the sun had completely set and the only thing lighting your home was the streetlights outside. You brought yourself to your feet and wiped at the dried tear tracks on your cheeks with your hand.

You brought yourself to your bedroom and took a look around. Your eyes landed on the piece of paper on your bed. Something about it sparked a fire in the pit of your chest. You stared at it for a moment before storming toward it. You grabbed it and crumpled it up in your hands. You chucked it at the ground with all of your strength, seething as you did so.

Running your fingers through your hair, you approached your laptop and turned it on. Once it was on, you clicked on your web browser and began searching. You searched Weazel News, local newspapers, anything that could get you more information on who exactly Trevor Philips was.

You searched for stories on local robberies, drug busts, shootings, along with an assortment of other crimes. You clicked on a story about a recent robbery of the Union Depository. You scanned the page until you found witness descriptions of the suspects.

One of the suspects was described as a six foot tall man, perhaps in his mid 40's, with brunette hair, and a few scars on his face. The witness recounted seeing a unique tattoo across the suspect's neck but didn't get a good look at what it was. His personality is described as unhinged and psychotic.

As you read, you didn't notice your hands begin to shake.

You shook your head. "Oh, no... Oh, no, no, no, no, no."

It was him. It was Trevor. He robbed the Union Depository of millions. He shot down countless amounts of law enforcement officers. He did it all.

You scrolled to the bottom of the page, and read the final paragraph in the news report:

If you see any of the suspects described above, do not approach them. They are all heavily armed and extremely dangerous. If you know of any of the suspect's whereabouts, please contact your local police department.

Your lips parted as you eyed the landline phone on your desk. Grabbing the phone, your finger hovered over the 9 button. You only heard the faint sound of the dial tone and your shaky breathing.

You stayed like that for a minute. You knew Trevor. You knew where he lived. You knew all you needed to know. You could turn him in. You should turn him in... But you just couldn't.( A/N I'm not gonna turn in my ese I ain't no snitch)

Setting the phone back down on the receiver, you leaned back in your chair with a big sigh. You squeezed your eyes shut and smacked your good hand roughly against your head.

"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" you scolded, smacking yourself with every word. Trevor was a criminal. He deserved to be punished but you couldn't bring yourself to let justice be served. Why? Because you like him? Because you had feelings for some crazed killer? You pinch the bridge of your nose with your fingertips, "Get out of my head!" you shouted. Your voice echoed through the empty apartment.

You stood up from your desk chair and laid yourself on your bed. You didn't get dressed, take off your shoes, or get underneath any of the blankets. All that mattered in that moment was shutting those thoughts out of your head. Within minutes, you were asleep.

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Word Count : 1060