I woke up alone in Trevor's bed. Last night had been a roller coaster of a night, and I knew I fucked up. I blamed him for everything that happened, and it wasn't fair. I wandered out into the living room, looking disheveled after just waking up. Trevor was gone.
I decided that making pancakes was a good idea. Trevor loved when I cooked, and it was early enough that making breakfast food was still acceptable. I even put chocolate chips in them; loads of them. Trevor came home just as I flipped over the last pancake.
"Good morning," I said quietly. My voice was filled with guilt. No response. He disappeared into the bedroom, but left the door open. "Busy morning?" I asked, my voice a bit louder this time. No response.
He stalked out into the living room in a different t-shirt and sweatpants, and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator.
"I made pancakes," I told him. I was desperate for a response. I wanted some sort of gauge on just how angry he was, but his silence spoke for itself.
"Not hungry," he muttered. He grabbed the TV remote and stood directly in front of the TV, flipping through the channels.
"I'll leave some in the fridge for you... For later." I gripped the spatula tight, trying to hide my anxiety.
"No thanks."
"They have chocolate chips in them," I said quietly. No response.
He turned off the TV, apparently changing his mind, and threw the remote on the couch on the way back out the door. And with that, he was gone again. I stared down at the pile of pancakes on the counter as I listened to his engine revving and his tires squealing as he left.
I felt incredibly guilty. I would have almost preferred for him to get angry; to yell at me. The silence somehow felt worse. It felt like he had given up on me, and that was far worse than him simply being angry. I ate breakfast by myself. It tasted like cardboard; dry and lacking in flavor. Which should really say something, because I make a pretty good pancake.
I sat at the table and tried to focus on my schoolwork, but my mind was elsewhere. I wondered what Trevor was doing; where he was. He was probably just out fucking around so he didn't have to see me. I wouldn't have wanted to see me, either.
Wade showed up at the trailer around noon, looking for Trevor. "Hey, Tara!" At least Wade still liked me.
"Hey, Wade," I answered, sounding dejected.
He looked at me with genuine concern. "What's wrong?"
"Does Trevor hold grudges for a long time, Wade?"
He nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yeah," he told me, "A real long time. He's practically the king of holding grudges." Great.
Wade sat around while I did my schoolwork, switching between watching TV and watching my computer screen over my shoulder. He gave up on waiting for Trevor two hours in, and said goodbye before leaving me alone. I had to make things right.
I pulled out the pack of plain white paper that Trevor had brought back for me a few days earlier, and started sketching something out. I was going to try and fix this the only way I could at the moment. I put all of my effort into my work; a sketch of the diner that Trevor and I had eaten at the previous night. He told me that he loved that place. He was a regular there.
I thought it came out pretty well. I held it away from me at arms length and squinted at it. Yeah, it was good. It would've been better if I had my watercolor set or my acrylic paints, but I made due with what I had.
Trevor reappeared late afternoon, just as quiet as he had been that morning.
"I drew you something," I said from my seat at the table, offering the sheet of paper to him. He stood in front of me and grabbed it from my hand. He studied it for a moment. "It's the diner," I told him. Duh, Tara.
"Thanks," he answered, and slid the sheet of paper back onto the table. I looked at it with disappointment.
"Trevor, wait." I stopped him on his way to the bedroom. He stood in place without turning to look at me. "I'm sorry. Really, I am. I know I fucked up. I just feel so guilty that I cheated, and I tried to put it on you. I thought it would make me feel better... But I just feel worse. I didn't mean to make you feel like it was nothing to me."
"Well, you did," he answered coldly. He turned to look at me. "You know, Tara, I really thought you were different from everyone else. But you're fucking not. You're just as bad."
I blinked back tears as I tried to think of a response. "I swear, Trevor, I didn't mean it! I wanted all of that to happen. And it was such a good night until I fucked it up. I'm just... I'm really sorry."
"Save it." His words were cold and he sounded bitter. He headed for the bedroom door again, but I sprung to my feet to intercept him.
"You can't just keep dismissing me! Talk to me!" I hated my voice when I got upset. It was high pitched and whiny. I couldn't help it.
"Get out of my fucking way, Tara!" He was becoming angry.
"No!"
He grabbed me by the shoulders and moved me out of his path. "Get out of my face! I don't want to see you!"
"Fine! I'm leaving! I'm going to the fucking bar and if you don't like it, you'll have to stop me!"
"Really?!" He shouted, "Because you didn't learn your lesson there the last time?!"
He knew. He knew that I left the trailer and he knew that I was at the bar. "Y-you... You knew?" I stuttered.
"Of fucking course I knew, Tara! I've got connections all over this town! Did you really think you could show up in the bar right around the corner from my place and not have me find out?!"
I was dumbfounded. Here I thought that if he found out I had left, he would've killed me, and instead, he let it slide without even saying a word.
"Why didn't you say anything?" I asked quietly.
"It didn't matter." And with that, he was in his bedroom, closing the door behind him. For once, he didn't slam it.
I made myself scarce, going off to the bar to get myself good and wasted. I wanted to drown my guilt in cheap beer and shitty country music. I sat at the counter, tossing back my third beer and watching a bunch of drunk meth heads playing darts.
Things had been going so well between Trevor and I. I was just finally starting to feel more comfortable with the idea of essentially being his hostage, as silly as that sounds. I missed Patrick, but I also enjoyed Trevor's company. I guess I had to kiss that goodbye. He hated me now.
But when I tripped up the front steps at two in the morning and dragged myself into the trailer, I looked across the room to find my drawing pinned up on the fridge.