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Trevor didn’t beg. He screamed, hit, killed, hurt, cried, he did everything, but he never begged.
Except for tonight.
“T, what’s up?” It was the way Michael always answered the phone, no matter when Trevor called him. It would be 3am or 5pm, Michael would always answer the same.
“We need to talk.” Trevor was sitting in his Bodhi, grabbing the steering wheel with such strength he was scared it could break. Fuck he was nervous. In all honesty, nervous was saying it lightly, he was fucking terrified.
“What do we need to talk about?” Trevor could hear that stupid sarcasm in Michaels voice. Oh how he hated it whenever Michael couldn’t be serious for a single moment, rather resorting to witty comebacks and sarcasm instead of dealing with the situation like a grown man. It infuriated Trevor, made his blood boil as that familiar rage bubbled up inside of him.
“I fucking mean it Michael. We need to talk. About everything. Brad, North Yankton, us, everything.” Gritting his teeth, Trevor tried his damn hardest not to start slamming his head against the steering wheel.
There was a short silence before Michael seemed to find his voice again. “Oh” he started, “Okay. Come by my place, Amanda and Tracy are out on a ‘girls night’ and Jimmy is wherever, probably smoking pot, so we won’t be disturbed.” Luckily Trevor had originally decided to stay that night at the Vanilla Unicorn, so he wasn’t all too far from Michaels house.
The reason Trevor decided they needed to talk tonight, that they needed to get all this uncertainty out of the way once and for all, was because today was Michael's death day. A day Trevor had spent the last 9 years in agony. A day on which he had contemplated again and again whether or not to take his own life, joining Michael in hell. To Trevor, there was no other place they could ever go than hell, no matter how much he saw Michael as his angel, Michael was far from one. The closest he came was sharing a name with an archangel, although that would never be enough to allow him into heaven.
Now, Michael turned out to still be alive and very much Trevors problem, yet the pain this day brought didn’t subside.
He had contemplated once again, out of sheer habit or because he realized nothing had changed since finding out Michael was still alive, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was the hatred seeping into Michael's voice every time he talked to or about Trevor. Perhaps it was the knowledge that Trevor was truly alone. Maybe there was a slither of hope left in him, that being the reason why he wanted to talk about it with Michael, truly talk about it and tell Michael everything he felt, hoping, praying Michael would understand. Trevor wasn’t particularly great at articulating his feelings, but he would try.
He always tried for Michael.
Arriving at Michaels house had been a weird sensation from the start. Maybe because the house was so much nicer than anything Trevor had ever squatted in, or maybe because it was so unlike Michael, yet at the same time exactly like him.
Ringing the bell, Trevor stuffed his hands into his pockets, thinking he must look so stupid standing in front of his best friends house, his heart beating at what seemed to him like 200bpm, stressful sweat seeping from his skin, causing a cold sensation to brush over him. It caused the hairs in the back of his neck to stand up and shook Trevors entire body. Luckily, it wasn’t long before Michael opened the door, inviting Trevor into the living room.
Having prepared a bottle of whiskey like the delusional alcoholic Michael was, the older criminal swiftly made his way onto the couch, sitting down in the same spot he always did when Trevor was over. Instead of taking his seat next to Michael as usual, Trevor stayed in the middle of the room, hands still cramped into pockets filled with all sorts of junk. Seeing Michael sitting there, staring at Trevor as if he was some sort of unwanted intruder reminded Trevor of that one fateful day, when they had argued about Michael wanting to quit and somehow it ended with them back in Ludendorff, Trevor digging up Michaels supposed grave only to find what he suspected he had always known he would find in it, that being the rotting body of his friend Brad.
Sure, Brad was a fucking asshole, but he hadn’t deserved to die. Not for someone like Michael.
When Trevor had arrived at the graveyard, his feet taking him down the familiar path towards Michaels grave, he had been reminded of the first time he had dared to come there. He had been drunk and high off his balls, crying for hours on end, at some point breaking down on top of the grave, waking up the next day to a cemetery worker checking if he was still alive. Sadly, he was.
“You wanted to talk?” Michaels voice ripped Trevor out of his thoughts, catching him off guard, Trevor not fully ready to face the situation in front of him.
“There’s shit I still don’t understand Mikey” Trevor started, staring around the room, at the wall, the windows, everywhere but Michael.
“Obviously there is, you-” Knowing from Michael’s tone of voice that he was simply out to insult Trevor, Trevor let the anger boil over shortly.
“STOP TALKING” Trevor yelled, one hand finding its way to press against his forehead in hopes of dulling this blasting headache plaguing him out of nowhere. “Just- Just let me fucking talk alright?! Just this fucking once listen!” Michael stayed quiet, prompting Trevor to keep talking. “I want you to tell me the truth. This fucking once in your life do I want you to tell me the truth and nothing else. I’ll fuck off out of your life afterwards. I just want the truth and then I’m gone and you won’t ever have to deal with me again” If being gone meant leaving the state or throwing himself in front of a train at full speed depended on the answers he was going to get.
Michael nodded, knowing better than to give a verbal answer.
“Alright. I know you hate me” Seeing Michael immediately take a breath in order to shoot some stupid response, Trevor simply lifted his hand, shutting Michael up. “It’s not a big secret. No matter how much you try to hide it or I try to ignore it, you can’t keep the hatred from your eyes when you look at me” Trevor was gesturing a lot less than when he normally talked, his body somehow drained of all power. “How long?” A short pause before Trevor decided to narrow the question down a bit. “How long did you work on all this?” Trevor stretched his arms out, motioning to everything around them. He could see the cogs and gears turning in Michaels head for a moment, no doubt wondering if he should take the chance and lie, before deciding to tell the truth.
“Since we started planning Ludendorff. It’s when I met Davey.” Michaels voice was flat, devoid of emotion, putting the dagger just that much deeper into Trevors rotting heart.
Fuck maybe he wasn’t ready for this. He definitely wasn’t ready for this in any capacity, but if he ran now then he would never get the answers he needs.
He tried to make it make sense and in Ludendorff, hunched over that fucking grave, a lot of the pieces had fallen into place, the puzzle that was their last job seemingly solved, only for Trevor to slowly realize that by finding out about Brads death, that fucking puzzle had grown by a thousand fucking pieces, none of which Trevor had.
How it enraged him, the web spun from years of lies, from 10 years of grieving, of mourning a person Trevor loved, adored even, who he thought to be his perfect counterpart, only to be confronted with the knowledge that nothing that person told him was true. How far did the lies go back? Did they start with Michael planning to leave? Did they start before that? Did they go all the way back to when they met? When Trevor buried the flare inside of that old guy's head? When they vomited after getting rid of the body, the smell seeping deep into the inside of his plane? When Michael provided Trevor with a part in his next heist, when Michael took him in, nurtured him, made him addicted to the delicious chaos that was the older man.
Trevor just wanted the truth.
He was weirdly calm through it all.
“How was that supposed to end anyway? Who did you plan to die, Mikey?” Trevor was so fucking scared of the answers, so fucking scared of the truth, but it didn’t matter anymore. His life had been over 10 years ago, he hadn’t felt a truly happy moment for long and even with the deadman in front of him walking back among the living, Trevor couldn’t get himself to care anymore.
“T this is pointless, you-”
“Just tell me.”
Michael grabbed the back of his neck, a nervous tick he had whenever he didn’t want to actually answer and instead stalled for more time.
The hand dropped and Trevor knew Michael gave up the fight.
“Dave was supposed to shoot you and myself, if he killed Brad or not really didn’t matter” Trevor boiled inside, his hands turning to fists in his pockets, the overwhelming urge to do something horribly violent and irreversible to somebody or himself almost taking over, Trevor ready to literally put his head through a wall.
“So that’s what it was, huh? Getting rid of me and living a happy life sulking by your pool?” Trevor didn’t look directly at Michael, he couldn’t, not yet, not ever again it seemed.
“T-” Michael started, but Trevor was having none of it.
“No, Michael, you don’t get to fucking ‘T’ me! This is it! This is where the fucking truth comes to light! Did you ever regret it?! Did you ever look at your big house, your broken family, your lonely fucking exsistence and think ‘if only Trevor was here’?!” The anger was close to exploding, Trevor close to his turning point, but that wasn’t how he wanted this to go. He genuinely wanted, needed those answers, he could always be angry later. Now, he needed to stay calm.
Taking a few deep breaths, he patiently waited for Michaels answer.
“No” Michael’s voice was quiet, careful, knowing lying wouldn’t get him anywhere anymore.
“So you never even thought about me?” Walking up and down the living room, Trevor started picking at the skin around his fingernails. “Because I thought about you constantly. Nine fucking years alone and I thought about you every single day. Did you ever look back?” Stopping, turning towards Michael, Trevor was still picking at his fingers, only now looking back into Michael's general direction. He could see Michaels pitying expression, something which made him want to vomit.
“No” The way Michael sat there, leaning back leisurely on his couch, his body language calm, yet his face strained, it nearly made tears shoot into Trevors eyes. It almost seemed as if Michael didn’t even care about this.
“Did you miss me?” Now Trevor's voice was desperate and he actually looked Michael in the eyes, tearing up the moment he heard the answer he knew he was going to get, yet wasn’t prepared for in any way.
“No” That was the final straw and the moment Trevor started crying. He couldn’t understand why he was wasting tears on a man like the one sitting in front of him, yet the angry shaking of his body with each falling tear allerted even Michael, who leaned forward, reaching out for Trevor. “T, I-”
Trevor took a step back, out of Michaels reach, swiftly rubbing his jacket sleeve across his eyes, desperately trying to swallow down any sniffles trying to work their way out of Trevor.
“NO. Fuck you Michael! Fuck you fuck you fuck you!” Trevor started yelling, tears streaming down his face faster to the point where he pressed both his hands to his eyes, vigorously rubbing at them. “I love you! I’ve always loved you and you do this- this utter bullshit to me?! We were family, Michael! YOU were MY family!” Trevor's hands balled into fists, the urge to hit his own head nearly overwhelming.
“OH FUCK OFF” Michael’s voice matched Trevors in volume, although it was much, much stronger. It caught Trevor off guard, just like the fact that Michael had apparently gotten up from the couch, now stomping around the coffee table to once again try and grab Trevors arm. “Get out of my house Trevor! Now!”
Trevor stared at Michael, the tears shortly stopping out of pure shock. What was Michael saying? Trevor was pouring his heart out and Michael was telling him to get out?
“I fucking mean it Trevor! I’m sick of this! Sick of having to deal with your fucking outbursts just because you don’t know how to deal with your feelings! And now you come in here spurting some fucking shit about loving me?! Fuck off!” Michael had a strong grip on Trevors arm, pulling the taller man towards the front door, apparently planning to simply cast Trevor out into the cold.
“Michael I-” Trevor started, any words suddenly getting stuck in his throat when Michael opened the door, shoving Trevor outside, ready to slam it shut in Trevors face, only Trevor was somehow able to get his foot in between the door and the frame, instinctively reaching for the door and trying to press it back open. “Mikey please, I didn’t mean it like that!” His voice was weak, shaking as new tears made their way, sobs now starting to escape his mouth. “Please, let me back in! I swear I didn’t mean it like that, Mikey please, I love you, please don’t throw me out!” Trevor tried prying the door back open, but Michael worked against him, shoving his entire body against the door in the hopes it would finally fully close.
“Fuck off Trevor! I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit!”
“Mikey, please! I meant it every time okay?! Every fucking time that I told you I loved you I fucking meant it! When you took care of me after, when you got married, fuck when I thought you died in front of my eyes, please Mikey, I love you, just let me in! I swear I’ll behave! I’m sorry, please!” Trying to somehow get the door open, Trevors crying became worse, soon morphing into an ugly, hateful crying. Hateful towards himself for thinking this had actually been a good idea, hateful towards his love for Michael, hateful towards everything, everything but the man currently trying to keep Trevor out of his house.
“I’ve had enough of your faggot shit! GET OUT!” Michael yelled, stomping into Trevors foot, making Trevor pull it back out of reflex, using this opportunity to fully shut the door, swiftly locking it, leaving Trevor outside.
Once again catapulted into a short moment of shock, Trevor stared at the door, reaching for the door knob, trying to turn it, to open the door, yet nothing would budge.
No.
No no no no nonono.
This couldn’t be it.
He was so stupid.
So god damn stupid.
His mother was right, he would have been better off dead.
Falling to his knees, Trevor started pounding against the door, violent sobs once again escaping his mouth.
“Mikey!” he screamed, still pounding, his hands already hurting but he didn’t care. “Michael PLEASE! Please let me in! I take it all back! Please Mikey! Michael! Don’t leave me here!” Trevor started begging, pounding against the door until his hands started to bleed, his voice hoarse from the screaming, yet he didn’t stop.
He didn’t know how long he had been in front of that door, but when he finally came back to his senses, everything around him felt fuzzy. His hands were numb, his throat burning, his knees weak, yet he somehow made it back to his Bodhi, somehow even seemingly making it back to his trailer. Trevor didn’t want to know how many pedestrians he had hit on his way there, as quite frankly he couldn’t remember a single second of it, what he remembered though was grabbing his phone, selecting Michaels chat and typing a simple message before letting his phone drop carelessly onto the floor of his ‘kitchen’.
Grabbing one of the spare guns from his bedroom, Trevor knew how this night would end. Sure, it wasn’t pretty and he’d have to leave at least some kind of note, at least for Ron so that the poor guy doesn’t randomly stumble upon Trevors dead body and get a heart attack, but it had been coming for him one way or another.
All the while Michael was sitting on the couch, already having finished an entire bottle of whiskey, simply trying to forget about what had just happened after the insistent banging on his front door had ended.
Was he scared Trevor would hurt him? No, not really. This was simply another one of Trevors emotional outbursts that he had every once in a while and tomorrow, everything would be fine again and they’d go right back to bickering like an old married couple.
At least that’s what Michael kept telling himself.
Until his phone rang. It was a message from Trevor, a message making Michael immediately realize that no, this hadn’t just been one of Trevors outbursts.
October 27th
{2:24am} [Trevor]: I’m sorry.