The Degenerates - Under Edit

t w e n t y e i g h t

Trey's caller I.D was displayed on my screen. My hands were frozen in place, and my heart had sank so deeply it physically hurt. I felt sick, I felt scared, and I felt like I had been stabbed in the chest. Tears fell onto my phone screen as I stared at his name.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Some people are just born bad. It's in their blood.

He's a dangerous person.

I wanted to disagree with these things so badly, I wanted to defend Trey, but how could I? The evidence was right here in front of me, and on top of that, he lied to me about it. Sasha had warned me, and he knew that. After everything, he still didn't tell me.

I felt angry, I felt stupid, but I mostly felt hurt. This cannot be the Trey I know. But it was. There is a photo of Martin with his son in the children's ward when the baby needed stitches because he fell trying to walk, he hit his forehead on the corner of the table, just above his eyebrow. There was no mistaking those big brown eyes.

But I also believed that evil could not be passed on through genetics; and if Martin were locked up before Trey was two, he really could not have predisposed him to violence, or forced him to grow up in an environment of crime. Trey was one, he was not exposed. Trey is not his father. Trey is not a killer.

My phone vibrated and I furiously wiped at my eyes, but let out a sob when I saw the message on my screen: 'I have Thai, found a documentary, starts at 8. Up for it?'

The man in the newspaper was not Trey. Trey is not this man. But Trey lied to me.

I threw the newspaper to the side and I aggressively started the engine. I slammed my foot on the accelerator, taking off. Before I knew what I was doing, I had the newspaper in my fist and I was up Trey's stairs, pounding a the door.

"Okay, have you not eaten in days?" Trey asked as he opened the door, but then his face crossed into confusion, and then into worry.

"Neijla? What's wrong, what's wrong?"

I felt an uncontrollable rage roll over my body, I threw the newspaper at him, and he flinched, his eyes wide with complete and utter confusion. He bent and picked up the paper, not taking his eyes off me.

"You fucking lied to me," I said to him as he stood back up, "you promised me you wouldn't lie to me."

"Neijla, what-"

"Stop talking," I growled, "you fucking promised me."

Trey studied me intently, his worry apparent. His hands were raised as if not to pose a threat, his eyes now appeared hurt. I struggled as a sob rose in my throat, and I felt my heart shatter.

"You knew this would change things. You knew this was bad." My voice broke and Trey stepped forward, hands still raised.

"Do not, come near me."

Trey backed away, "Okay,"

"I trusted you," I cried softly, "I trusted you with everything I had."

"Neijla this doesn't change anything." Trey told me calmly, but his face was twisted with worry.

"Yes it does. This changes everything," I yelled at him and his jaw tenses, but his eyes are sad. "If this did not matter, why would you not just be honest with me?"

Trey sighed, his eyes lowered to the ground, "I don't know."

"Yes you do,"

Trey did not meet my eye, "No, I don't."