I wrote chapters 1-3 all today, and at this point am about to start on chapter four. Please know this was done with little planning as I really tend to just run with my ideas. I'm holding this chapter back for the night just so this isn't all shoved together at once. I may go back and flesh out chapters a bit but as I said, I need to get more familiar with the game and story. I also dont want to make it too wordy and describe everything to the point of dragging on.

here's chapter three!

"NO"
"Is that the only word you know anymore?"
"No, no, fucking no!"
"My dudes" Franklin said coming out of his house. "Good fucking morning. What happened?"
Trevor was wearing some new jeans, and a plaid button shirt, buttoned incorrectly. Michael was still in his suit, now a bit wrinkled.
"Franklin I need you to come with me," Michael said, tired.
"What's. Happening."
"I made the mistake of saying maybe Trevor should talk to my therapist-"
"You soft prick!"
"And I can't do this by myself so I'd like your company."
Franklin sighed. "Well, it's nice to see you being… yourself, T."
"Suck a fuck Michael." He was completely ignoring Franklin.
"You're going to drive your therapist crazy." Franklin said to Michael.
"Better make you an appointment too, before that happens."

Truth be told, it was the therapist's day off. But Michael said it was an emergency and he'd be more than compensated.

Franklin leaned against the door with his gun ready. Michael and Trevor were on the couch. Trevor wouldn't speak and after 45 minutes if trying, the therapist finally said "Ok, maybe he doesn't need to talk." Exasperated, he handed a pad and pen to Trevor.
"Write. Draw. Whatever you want. They don't need to hear. Think right now. Just out down whatever you want, what's bothering you or something completely unrelated- just whatever you want."

Trevor eyed the doctor, then undid his shirt and gestured at his tattoo, the smile on his face saying "fuck you!"
"Oh dear…" The therapist said. "T-tell me about that."

Trevor spoke finally, but he was all over the place. Suddenly, he was spilling stories about murder and sex and particularly memorable shits he's taken. He talked in small snippets about abuse, but nothing new to Michael or Franklin, and then went on to talk about various traitors and people who "had it coming". He went on for a long time, only stopping for water and to piss in a trash bin when he was told not to touch the fish tank. He asked about the doctors life and interests and how ice cream and coffee should be sold together all the time. It all ended with him shoving a branch from the lucky bamboo plant down his throat and he threw up into his piss.

"Word vomit" he said. "I don't have a terrible gag reflex. But sometimes if you really get something in there it all comes out."
He plopped back down on the couch, missing a boot. Franklin had to try hard not to laugh. Despite all the ranting as movement and all, Trevor's hair was fuller and shiny and he looked like some kind of almost handsome lumberjack.
Michael looked at Trevor and back the his therapist. "None of that was what this was for."
"O-on the contrary, Mr. De Santa. This… This is very, very good." He nodded firmly at Trevor at each syllable.
Michael blinked and looked at everyone around him. "Doc, did you not hear ANYTHING? Calm your psychology-boner for a second, got it?"

"Look," he said, organizing the piles of notes he took on everything. "I just-"

"Should have stayed in shrink school, ya shit," Michael barked. "You just gonna use this shit to write another fucking book?"
"No. Friedlander is a poor excuse for a therapist and didn't seem to put his patients before himself, obviously."
He handed another cup of water to Trevor. "I know you didn't want to be here, and you are bursting at the seems to make fun of my profession, but hold that and answer me this. How do you feel?"
"Oh, well, like this," Trevor reached over and groped Michael's penis harshly.

"Cu-UT IT OUT!" Michael said trying to get away. Franklin laughed and put his gun down on a small table.

"Dang T, you really-" Trevor sprang up, knocked Franklin aside with a "make it up to you later!" and just like that he was gone.
Michael sank back into the seat. He sighed, and then, as mockingly as his tiredness would allow, said "VERY VERY GOOD."

It was a week before Michael saw any sign of Trevor again. Not that he wasn't looking. He searched high and low, at Sandy Shores and the Vanilla Unicorn and bars and every skank covered corner. Trevor wasn't in the hospital or bumming around Franklin's house. It wasn't until his ninth drive up to Sandy Shores that he saw him, still wearing the new clothes. He got out, tried to call out to him. But he stole someone's motorcycle and sped off before Michael could catch up.

The therapist had been calling him, every other day for a month. He didn't pick up. He didn't know what to do. Trying to not give a fuck about T never ended well, and it was even more exhausting than all the running around he'd been doing. The phone rang again and he rubbed his temples. My god, shut up, he thought. Yeah Trevor is a therapist's wet dream but there's no point in talking. T was probably never going back to any shrink.

Amanda was getting annoyed. She started to complain more again, saying how Michael keeps running around after Trevor who obviously doesn't want to be found. How he'll show up again like he always magically does. How you can't keep running after someone who was unbalanced and such trailer trash-

"DONT YOU EVER CALL HIM THAT!" Michael demanded, slamming his drink on the counter, spilling what was left in it. "Don't you ever call him trash! Don't give me your namaste bullshit about whose balanced and whose not! It's not your business anymore. Jesus! Fuck!"

He ignored whatever the fuck else she said in response and went over to see Franklin, maybe go to a bar.

So they did. But it wasn't fun.
"Yo," Franklin said. "I hate going out with you when you're pissed. What happened? You find something out about T?"

"Nah," he said, swirling his drink. "It's… It's stupid fucking Amanda."

"I thought it was cool."

"No, its not 'cool'. I just want to know where T is, and she's trying to make me feel bad for it. I don't give a shit what she thinks about him, fact is, he was there before her, and he'll be there after her. I just wish I knew where he fuck he is!"

Franklin shook his head, then laughed a little from his seat at their booth. "She's always been jealous of Trev, huh? That's always what it sounds like. Glad she's bouncing soon."

"Jealous?" Michael asked. "She's pissed cause she thinks I'm just snubbing her. She doesn't know what happened. She's not jealous of T, just too self important. She's mad no matter what has my attention, even if she has no claim to it."

"Jealous. Jealous, and she has a grudge against Trevor. But she can't deck Trevor." he took a sip. "So you take the hit."

Michael stared with his mouth slightly open. "Heh, n-no, its not like some girl fight or something, she-"

"She's a stripper."

"EX. Ex stripper…"

"Thats a lot of attention for nothing."

"Yeah. So?"

"You married her. You married a stripper." Franklin licked his lips and learned closer. "She won you, and thought it was some big ass adventure, and you we so suave, with your ties n shit. And it probably made her friends jealous." He observed Michael's face. It wasn't in any disagreement per se, so he continued. "And then she stopped stripping. She thought she won the game. And maybe if she could keep you for herself, she could feel bitches hating on her far and wide, forever and ever."

Michael had a strange look on his face. He wanted to say "are you fucking kidding me", he wondered how Franklin could have come up with this stupid idea but he didn't interrupt. He wanted to hear all of it.

"You had so much going on that she wasn't a part of. She's not a thief or even smart. She doesn't crack jokes and she's always this tight ass, naggin' ass voice in the background of your phone calls. She sucked the life out of you and couldn't stand when Trevor was around. Trevor is like and adrenaline shot or that machine that shocks you till you wake up. You'd think those things aren't good for you, but they could save your life."

Franklin raised his empty glass when the silence lasted too long. "Order me some more."

"Since when are you a fucking doctor," Michael said finally. "How'd you cook all that up?"

"You guys didn't tell me a lot of shit for a long time. I had to connect the dots somehow. Before this happened and everythin' was coo', You talked more. You talked about her like you were reading a bad book. When you talk about T and getting in trouble and farting on your face when you slept-"

"ONCE" Michael said in a harsh whisper.

"Heh, no." Franklin smirked. "Anyway, you talk about it like that shit like it cures cancer. Like every word earns you a dollar. Ya always were a package deal."

"How do you… look, I, I dunno what to think right now. But you're right, it's a package deal."

"You remember when Chop got out, and got lost back in January?"

"Yeah."

"And after we found him, you both tried to punk me about being a scared little pussy?"

"We like the dog too, F."

"Right now, you look like I felt."

Michael's eyebrows raised slightly.

"Pussy nigga." Franklin said.