Author's Note:
UPDATE: I'm very excited to say that the original artist has given me permission to use their beautiful artwork as my cover! Please visit their deviantart and give them some love! Vrihedd . deviantart. com (without the spaces of course since I can't post links)
I'm not a fan of putting in an author's note but, I felt the need to. I found a beautiful piece of art that somebody did of Trevor in his Air Force days and was inspired to write this. I have hesitated to do a romantic piece about him because coming up with the type of person who could actually love Trevor is a tricky task. I also had to set up a relationship that was doomed to fail mostly because it seems like the only relationship that has any potential to keep Trevor around for long is of course, Patricia.
When I crafted the Narrator, I kept in mind traits that appealed to Trevor, after all I needed someone that he would actually be interested in to make my story last more than two paragraphs. However, I also needed to make some one who would be drawn to him too. The Narrator never reveals her name or her appearance. I did this because at the time Trevor comes into her life, she feels as if she barely registers as a blip on the radar. Her only identity is her belief that she has failed at life due to her crippling mental illness.
Of course, fanficiton is not meant to be serious. At the end of the day this is for fun, I just put in far more work than I should. It amazes me how so many legions of woman are attracted to such a vile character. I am of course one of them. So, this is for all the Trevor fangirls out there.
I am too old for this bullshit. I look around this cesspool of a bar at the gathering throng of obnoxious, pathetic people stuffed into clothes that are ill-fitting and unflattering. I feel like a homeless person that's wandered into a restaurant to try and spend the five dollars I earned begging on a decent meal. I wish that were the case. Its speed dating night at the local tavern and why I bothered to drag my sorry ass here is a mystery. My friend, Kimmy, gave me the pamphlet and insisted in her bubbly voice that it was worth my time. Christ, the only thing I have in common with Kimmy is I'm too fucking old to hang out with anyone else in my college class. I tried school on and off again just so I can stay under my aunt's roof without having to pay rent. In all honesty, I shouldn't be wasting my time trying to find a boyfriend, especially in this forced artificial situation. I am already disgusted with every human being in this bar.
All these women with their painted faces, glittering adornments and skin tight dresses make me look like a rundown cat lady. I feel left out, awkward, sticking out in the wrong way, but I know if I bothered to put an effort into my appearance I'd be feeling even more awkward. The emcee claps his hands crisply with a perfect glistening smile on his face. I can barely hear the words coming out of his mouth. They all laugh at his shitty jokes and my face remains expressionless. I must look like the fucking queen of animosity to them. He explains the rules and all I fucking hear is a bunch of bullshit steadily streaming out of his mouth. Fuck this, Kimmy. Why do I ever listen to the shit that comes out of your mouth? Kimmy has that classic kind of pretty face that gets boring. She has beautiful golden curls that fall down to her mid back and honey colored skin. I'd be lying through my teeth if I said I don't see why she has to resort to shit like this. Kimmy grew up on a farm in the middle of fucking nowhere and has twenty siblings. Her father home schooled them all and she didn't start college until she was twenty-one because she was so scared to leave home. She has the social skills of a rotting possum.
I take my seat at one of the cramped tables. They tried to drape a tacky red cloth on the folding table to make it appear classier than it is. A fake flower is sticking out of the plastic vase and the wretched scented candle does nothing to enhance the mood. Candidate number one sits across from me. The emcee declares he's setting the timer and I realize a whole new level of hell has begun. He looks old enough to be my shithole of a father but, slightly less greasy though. My cold stare instantly turns the situation into an awkward disaster. He cracks some bad jokes, mentions a bitter divorce and I'm over it. How many more fucking minutes are left with this garbage sack?
Every time we change places I feel like I'm looking at the same idiot. Nothing special just the same kind of stupid with a different face. Everyone seems so caught up in gushing about themselves that I'm the only one to notice the late arrival. I thought I was a hot mess but this fucker takes the cake. He's tall with lean muscles and a nasty look on his face. He's got a disheveled Air Force uniform on. I'm not surprised to see someone from the base, its right nearby. His face is made up of sharp angles and a stern brow. A jagged scar flicks up from his upper lip and another across his right brow. The emcee seems angry but, the airman waves them away and his eyes dart around the room until they lock on me. I haven't really been paying attention to the fat fuck who is rambling on about his brilliant accounting career.
I watch the airman swagger over to me, he walks with a purpose that no one else in the room comes close to possessing. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't intrigued. He gives me a feeling in the pit of my stomach that I don't quite understand. He hovers over our table and the fat accountant seems to be confused.
"Hey, lardo," He barks.
His voice is sharp and gravely, and it sends a chill down my spine.
"You're in my chair," he finishes.
The accountant's jaw drops and he looks to me for support but my expression is frozen.
"Get the fuck out of my chair," the airman presses.
"I'm going to complain, this is against the rules!" The accountant wheezes.
The toad barely scrambles out of the chair before the airman pulls it out and slides onto the ripping seat cushion. He casts a shadow over the table, and up this close I can see a strange quality to his brown eyes. There's a fire in him. He looks young but, something in his features is still worn-out like he's seen a boat load of shit. I can't hold that against him, I've seen shit too. I'm a fucking mess. The brown hair on his head doesn't seem to follow regs, and I see a receding hairline barely coming to life on his forehead.
"So…Airman Philips," I say dryly.
"What? How do you know my fucking name?" He hisses.
I gesture to the patch on his uniform with his name. He tugs at his shirt with those thick hands and examines the green patch. He lets out a snort and shakes his head.
"Don't call me Airman, I'm not on fucking duty and you're not a goddamn officer." He snaps.
"Works for me," I say.
I have no fucking clue how I can play it cool with people like this. On the outside I can make it look like I have my shit together but on the inside I'm a jumbled mass of nerves and seething hatred. He's rude, but I am too. I'm just better at hiding it. He runs his fingers through his hair and the timer goes off. Everyone shuffles along and a pathetic looking man tries to take Philips' place. After a cold glare, he moves on.
"So…T. Philips," It sounds so fucking awkward to say that but he didn't bother to give me his name. "You don't seem to get the rules of this."
His left eyebrow twitches. I can't decide if my statement bothers him or if it's just a tick.
"Trevor," he says.
He doesn't look like a Trevor. I don't give a fuck if the name suits him though.
"Well, Trevor, you didn't give twiggy or porky a chance to try and open the gates to my rank vagina, that's breaking the rules." I say.
He smirks and I feel my heart flutter. He has a crooked smile. Fuck, he seems just like every other shithead I've dated but, something in him is different. There's a spark. He quickly glances over the room again and shrugs.
"These other bitches just aren't my type," He explains.
His voice seems to soften slightly with that statement. Oh fuck, does he like me? Why does that notion excite me already?
"I'm your type then?" I tease.
I don't honestly know where I learned how to flirt. I always was awkward as fuck when I was a kid, I got bullied by bitches then those same bitches tried to give me a makeover. I could never pick up boys when I was a kid. But now that I'm a woman-shit, watch your man, I'll snatch that shit up. I know how to play the game when I want to.
"Maybe you are," Trevor says.
I let a small smile slip.
"I've been bored all night, Trevor, but not right now." I add.
He's very twitchy, which makes it hard for me to read him. I don't like that. I fucking hate when I can't read people but, at the same time I find it incredibly intriguing in a man. My history with men like this hasn't panned out well. Any man I couldn't read, couldn't pull the strings, it never worked out and I always cared for them the most.
"So what do you do?" He asks.
The way he presents it is awkward, like he knows it's a standard question to ask but he doesn't want to ask it.
"I mooch off my aunt," I say. "I fuck around at college on occasion too."
"You look too old for school," He says.
His bluntness is refreshing.
"I am," I admit. "But a lady never tells her age."
He gets a kick out of that. The laugh seems to be fake it's so enthusiastic. It's like someone gave him the shittiest dating tips in the world before he came here.
"I didn't bother with school. It's just bullshit. It's boring. There's no excitement, there's not that thrill ya know? Just books and bitches with tight assholes." He says.
Trevor is loud when he speaks, he's drawing the attention of the others and I don't feel a bit of embarrassment. You all fucking suck.
"The Force has a lot of tight assholes too," I add. "If you shoved some coal up an officer's ass a fucking diamond would come out wouldn't it?"
Hot piss he likes that one, his laugh is so loud the room goes silent for a second and I can feel their stares boring in to us.
"Fuck yes! They're a bunch of pricks, they just don't get it." He explains. "I'm in the pilot program, ya know, fuck the only time I feel good is when I'm strapped in and fucking eighteen thousand feet in the air. No one appreciates my fucking talent, my passion-those fucks!"
He slams his fist on the table and the shitty vase falls over.
"Loosen up your asshole, Trevor," I tease. "You're not at work, remember?"
The timer goes off again. The next guy is smart enough to just walk out of the bar entirely. His night isn't going well. Another evening to be spent alone with his steady: Rosey Palmer. Trevor is still seething and I watch his knuckles turn white as he clenches his hand. My aunt told me to look at a man's hands on the first date. It's the best indicator of his hidden assets. Trevor's aren't bad.
"Fuck 'em," Trevor huffs.
I see an opportunity to seize. I'm miserable and I might hate myself in the morning but, I want the chance to say I screwed a hot soldier at least once in my miserable fucking ball sack of a life.
"Fuck them?" I say. "What about me?"
I was hoping to catch him off guard but he doesn't seem surprised, more pleased.
"Well thank Christ, I'd thought we'd have to dance around with a fuck load more of this mamby pamby bullshit before we got to this part." Trevor says.
I chuckle. Fuck, he actually made me laugh? I can't remember the last time I genuinely found someone funny. Normally, I just laugh because I despise people so much but, this guy? Fuck, I like him.
"Your place?" I press. "Unless you have a roommate..."
He grins and he has no idea the way that his face lights up when he does it. Shit, I'd let him do it right fucking here if I didn't know how dirty this table cloth was. I get up from the table and he follows. The emcee tries to wave us down but, we just push our way through the swaying front doors. It's sticky outside. It's just like every other summer night in North Yankton. There's a sky full of thick clouds and the air is heavy. It'll storm tonight by the looks of it.
"I've never been on base," I admit as he guides me to his shitty car.
"There's not much to see," Trevor says. "They got some fucking beautiful jets on display to show off to our families and shit."
I don't expect him to open the door for me, so when he does it makes my heart flip like a fucking little girl's.
"So, what about the plane you fly, Trevor?" I ask. "Is it impressive?"
He cracks that same grin again and I'm done. I can't pounce on him now, as much as I want to, I have to play it cool if I want this to turn out to be more than a hook up. I want to punch myself for thinking that. I barely know the guy and I already want more? I was letting myself slip into something bad again. But my brain kept producing these intrusive thoughts that he was different. He was weird, like me.
I'm surprised at how easily the conversation flows as he races down the road back to the base. He drives like a madman and I love it. I feel like I'm eighteen again and I realize how long it's been since I've felt this way. He doesn't shift gears with any finesse and the car jerks every time, making me slam my head back against the car seat. He makes me laugh and when he laughs I feel butterflies in my stomach. I'm still playing the game but it's getting harder for me. He's breaking down that wall that I've spent so many years building up.
I can see the bright lights of the base's main gate on the horizon. I slip my hand across his thigh. It's hard with thick muscles and the rough fabric of his uniform makes my fingertips tingle. The way he gazes at me turns my legs to jelly. He's not fucking around anymore. Neither am I. I want this. I want this weird Airman to make me feel special like one of those airheaded bitches at the bar gets to feel every day of their fucking life.
He flashes his ID for the guard and they let him in. I wish to god he had an automatic now. I wish he could have that hand free just so I could feel the sensation of his fingertips on my skin. He pulls into a space in front of the hideous looking apartments. This place looks like a prison, not an on base residence. He doesn't get out of the car right away. For a split second, as he gazes out the windshield, I think he's changed his mind and I feel my heart drop. When his fiery eyes meet mine, I feel a swell of joy come up in my heart as if my chest is going to explode. Don't get yourself so fucking excited, you never know how this could go. If you get too invested, you'll just get hurt. You just met him for fuck's sake.
I forget about the game I'm playing when he pulls me in for a kiss. It's rough and sloppy and the stubble of his chin scratches my face. His tongue tastes like cigarettes, beer, and gas station burritos. I run my fingers through his hair and find it to be surprisingly soft. The pressure of his hand on the back of my neck, pinning my face to his, makes it feel like electricity is running through my scalp. When he pulls away, his nose brushes against mine and his eyes seem to be full of hunger.
"Time for bed," he coos.
It's going to be a heartache tonight, I know.