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(6 P.M. - the next day)
Trent rolled over, finally dragging himself out of bed. He hadn't gotten home until six that morning. He had driven around all of Sacramento before he finally got tired, and his brain hurt from the pictures of Lauren that seemed premanently burned into his skull.
Sitting up and looking around blindly, he rubbed his eyes, then stretched his long, lean body by raising his lengthy arms. He groaned, then stood up and scratched at his ribs. He walked over to the mirror in front of the dresser and looked at himself, scratching his chin. "Hmph." He said, looking at his teeth. What the hell was she attracted to?
He rubbed his hand over his whiskery jaw, he sure as hell needed a shave. He looked down at his muscular torso, and then realized his ribs were showing. Although they were covered by a layer of muscle, they still protuded just about as much as his hipbones did and Trent narrowed his eyes at it in the mirror. He needed to eat.
Yawning, Trent blinked and then walked down the stairs, click play on the CD player. Marilyn Manson started singing The Nobodies Wormwood, Trent's favorite mix from the From Hell flick.
He sleepily walked into the kitchen, his bare feet moving slowly over the black and white tiles. He opened the fridge and stared at it, feeling drowsy and bleak. Closing the refridgerator door, he sat down on a metal chair with a red built-it seat cover and stared out the window.
He wanted to do something; go outside and enjoy the chilly night. Lauren popped into his brain again, and he closed his eyes, leaning his head back. His chest tightened and his pulse sped up, which pissed him off for reasons he hated to admit. He didn't want to want her this much, especially not this fast. Just being around her made him feel better about him self. Her special smile that lit her whole face up drove him insane, making his palms sweat and his heart pound against his ribs painfully. He felt like a fucking thirteen year old again. He wanted to erase his past, he wanted to be seventeen again. Maybe if he had met her earlier, things would be different. "But how? What would be different?" Trent said to himself. He was more open with her than he was with anyone else, and it seemed the only thing they weren't doing was having sex. His body tightened at just the thought of it. He wanted to hate her because he hated himself and he didn't deserve her; he had had one, no, more than two dozen too many one night stands, sleeping with anyone who was willing then running away.
I am such a fucking coward, he thought. She'll probably think I'm some sex-starved, intercourse-obsessed freaky animal.
Groaning, Trent ran his hand through his thick hair and opened his eyes. What if she wanted something from him he couldn't give? Trent's mouth quirked to the side, his eyes glazed over from the sleepy thoughts. He could give her his body... but... he wanted to wait. Maybe this was something that might work out? Who knew? And, he told himself, the best things in life are worth waiting for, right? How the hell do I know she's the best thing? Trent let his breath out slowly. He didn't, but, it was worth a shot. But tonight, he couldn't be around her. He wanted to loose himself in her, bury himself in her, in more ways than one, and he knew it was too soon. He didn't want to jeoperdize (a/n: I can't spell worth crap right now, sorry.) anything that might, just might, be going on between them.
Changing the subject in his mind Trent began to think. Another idea came to mind. He grabbed his cell phone off the table and turned it on to text Aiden. Maybe they could do something tonight? Raising his eyebrows and puckering his mouth in deep thought, deep, thin grooves appeared on his forehead. He clicked the numbers for letter and finally sent the message: Aiden, meet me Harlow's after work. What time does your shift get off?
Setting the phone on the table, Trent got up and made himself some coffee, and was pouring it when his phone began to beep loudly. Carrying the mug in his left hand, he made his way back to the table across the kitchen and clicked a button, and a message appeared: I get off at 8:30, thank God. See you at Harlow's at 845.
Trent grinned. He could get out of the house.
Sipping the hot coffee, he stood up and walked into the bathroom. Tonight, he could bare his soul, if he still had one of those, so his mind about Lauren, to Aiden.
(6 P.M. - the next day)
Trent rolled over, finally dragging himself out of bed. He hadn't gotten home until six that morning. He had driven around all of Sacramento before he finally got tired, and his brain hurt from the pictures of Lauren that seemed premanently burned into his skull.
Sitting up and looking around blindly, he rubbed his eyes, then stretched his long, lean body by raising his lengthy arms. He groaned, then stood up and scratched at his ribs. He walked over to the mirror in front of the dresser and looked at himself, scratching his chin. "Hmph." He said, looking at his teeth. What the hell was she attracted to?
He rubbed his hand over his whiskery jaw, he sure as hell needed a shave. He looked down at his muscular torso, and then realized his ribs were showing. Although they were covered by a layer of muscle, they still protuded just about as much as his hipbones did and Trent narrowed his eyes at it in the mirror. He needed to eat.
Yawning, Trent blinked and then walked down the stairs, click play on the CD player. Marilyn Manson started singing The Nobodies Wormwood, Trent's favorite mix from the From Hell flick.
He sleepily walked into the kitchen, his bare feet moving slowly over the black and white tiles. He opened the fridge and stared at it, feeling drowsy and bleak. Closing the refridgerator door, he sat down on a metal chair with a red built-it seat cover and stared out the window.
He wanted to do something; go outside and enjoy the chilly night. Lauren popped into his brain again, and he closed his eyes, leaning his head back. His chest tightened and his pulse sped up, which pissed him off for reasons he hated to admit. He didn't want to want her this much, especially not this fast. Just being around her made him feel better about him self. Her special smile that lit her whole face up drove him insane, making his palms sweat and his heart pound against his ribs painfully. He felt like a fucking thirteen year old again. He wanted to erase his past, he wanted to be seventeen again. Maybe if he had met her earlier, things would be different. "But how? What would be different?" Trent said to himself. He was more open with her than he was with anyone else, and it seemed the only thing they weren't doing was having sex. His body tightened at just the thought of it. He wanted to hate her because he hated himself and he didn't deserve her; he had had one, no, more than two dozen too many one night stands, sleeping with anyone who was willing then running away.
I am such a fucking coward, he thought. She'll probably think I'm some sex-starved, intercourse-obsessed freaky animal.
Groaning, Trent ran his hand through his thick hair and opened his eyes. What if she wanted something from him he couldn't give? Trent's mouth quirked to the side, his eyes glazed over from the sleepy thoughts. He could give her his body... but... he wanted to wait. Maybe this was something that might work out? Who knew? And, he told himself, the best things in life are worth waiting for, right? How the hell do I know she's the best thing? Trent let his breath out slowly. He didn't, but, it was worth a shot. But tonight, he couldn't be around her. He wanted to loose himself in her, bury himself in her, in more ways than one, and he knew it was too soon. He didn't want to jeoperdize (a/n: I can't spell worth crap right now, sorry.) anything that might, just might, be going on between them.
Changing the subject in his mind Trent began to think. Another idea came to mind. He grabbed his cell phone off the table and turned it on to text Aiden. Maybe they could do something tonight? Raising his eyebrows and puckering his mouth in deep thought, deep, thin grooves appeared on his forehead. He clicked the numbers for letter and finally sent the message: Aiden, meet me Harlow's after work. What time does your shift get off?
Setting the phone on the table, Trent got up and made himself some coffee, and was pouring it when his phone began to beep loudly. Carrying the mug in his left hand, he made his way back to the table across the kitchen and clicked a button, and a message appeared: I get off at 8:30, thank God. See you at Harlow's at 845.
Trent grinned. He could get out of the house.
Sipping the hot coffee, he stood up and walked into the bathroom. Tonight, he could bare his soul, if he still had one of those, so his mind about Lauren, to Aiden.
