Thanks for waiting! This chapter took longer due to length and me start college. All my classes are smushed together purposely though, so hopefully time wont be much of an issue. I'll admit now that Im not sure this fic will be well liked. The more i go, the more I realise im not doing the characters justice at all, but Im enjoying myself too much to stop. I didn't expect it to go on for this many chapters. Still, something to read when you dont want to focus on class. Love you guys! Here's chapter eight - Bedbugs.
Archie had slept in Jimmy's old room that night. He actually seemed eager and happy to. Trevor insisted it was fine, he couldn't jerk off with "some sweet old fart" in the same room, or so he said. Michael woke up and brushed his teeth, put on a robe, and carefully went over to Trevor's door. He opened it slowly, and quietly. There he saw Trevor, in some of his new boxers, standing. He stared, transfixed, at his hand. He rubbed the back of it, slow, but rough, and dragging the skin. It looked like he was trying to get something off. It was irritated and red.
"T?" Michael said, quietly. Trevor kept pulling the skin. He opened the door more and took a step.
"T." he said louder. Soon Trevor was scraping at his hand with his nails and muttering. For a second, Michael recalled Trevor's raw skin in the shower from years ago. He walked in, quickly, saying "Trevor!" and Trevor jumped at the abruptness.
He looked at Michael, then to his hand and seemed to not remember how he'd gotten there. Michael didn't see anything drug related around the room.
"H… Hey man." Trevor said, trying to sound normal. He inhaled through his nose and said "You know, I think you got bedbugs, pally. That's no good. Not that you'd feel it with all the cushioning." He gave a toothy smile, and Michael smiled back, glad the little episode was over.
"I do, I do have beg bugs. One big one named Trevor. And he probably does spread disease."
"Not true. I took the antibiotics and I had tons of diarrhea to prove it."
"You have diarrhea because you don't eat anything that not microwavable. Not when you're not here anyway." He looked down and gently grazed his knuckles against the back of Trevor's hand. "If the… 'bedbugs'… show up again… you can bunk with me."
"Tell you what." Trevor said, moving passed him toward the door. "Winner today gets that room. And you can massage my feet when I need to sleep. Really get in there, cowboy, maybe lace your fingers in my toes- give em a good squeeze."
"Didn't peg you as a foot kind of guy." The started to head for the hallway.
"No one pegs me, actually. Personal hangup, I'd just rather not be in that situat- what?"
"What's that?"
"What's what, pegging?"
"Yeah." Michael said, turning into the kitchen. "Sounds bad, what kind of pegs you talking about?"
"I'll show you," Trevor said, grabbing a wooden spoon while Michael was turned and busy with the coffee maker.
"OW!"
-
They must have looked so strange at the park. As they stomped fast along the paths and turned corners, the began trying to shove each other aside or back. Michael's football instincts were coming back and he shouldered Trevor roughly. He had to, Trevor's long legs were threatening to move him further, faster. Trevor hurled insults loud and proud, but nothing could stop Michael. When he saw their original starting point approaching, and he forced his body forward, he had an idea. Just get there first, just get there first…
"THAT IS BULLSHIT!" Trevor screamed, and then panted hard. "You can't… just… fucking…cheat," He stood up straight. "Look at you!"
Michael was more tired, and he was breathing harder. Still, he grinned. "Feels like… old days."
"Old days Michael wouldn't cheat me!" Trevor was nearly back to normal. "I didn't realize snakes were so-"
"So good at winning! But you've got a point, bro," He took a big sigh. "I owe you another shot, don't I?"
"Fuckin' A you do!" Trevor roared.
"That's mine, T. Here… Let's keep this up." Michael said. "Let's sweat all that meth and speed and everything else out today- Let's reeeally rev up that appetite!"
Trevor growled, obviously livid, but when he looked at Michael again, his eyes were crazed and excited, and there was a feline air to that wicked smile. "I'm going to teach you not to FUCK with Trevor Philips! I was better than you as a kid-" Michael felt a hard blow and Trevor tackled him onto the grass, shoulder first. "- And I'm gonna be better than you today!"
"Not much fuckin' lately, T? Too much testosterone getting the better of you?"
"I'll make you use my cum as massage oil if you open your doughy mouth at me again."
"First one to 50 push ups gets the bed and picks the restaurant."
"And last one to the peddle boat feeds me the entire meal!"
After a few more hard, competitive, idiotic competitions, the finally stumbled their way to an empty grassy spot and collapsed, Michael sitting and Trevor laying on his face. Michael watched him there, in ridiculously short exercise shorts and a light blue tank top with stars on it. Trevor must have stuck in it with the other clothes they bought because Michael would never pull out anything like that.
"I'm not… going to lose…today…Townley!"
Michael laughed, and coughed a little. "I can't believe you… got in the swan boat!"
"I can't believe your boat stayed above water…" He attempted to get up. Right at that moment, there was a loud bang. A bullet priced the ground between them. They scrambled to their feet, Trevor grabbed Michael by the shirt to keep him from running off. "It's cool." He panted, as mothers grabbed their children and started to flee. "Stuart! Good to see you! It's been weeks pal!"
"How come you ain't selling, Trevor?" Said some sickly looking blonde. With one look at his skin, Michael realized he was a meth addict, some lesser known customer to Trevor Philips' grand business. He was twitchy, but kept the gun pointed relatively steady.
"It's my day off, Stu. I'm on vacation! Catching up with- we'll he's been trying to catch up to me, but-" Another missed shot separated him from Micheal, but he ducked and ran to Stuart. He shouldered him hard in the stomach. "You're it!"
Trevor grabbed Michael by the hand and pulled. "C'mon, we gotta get him away from here!"
Michael's legs ached but he ran. Soon enough, they were being chased by Stuart, who hadn't been sprinting all morning and still had energy to burn. They ducked past upcoming cars, Trevor actually clearing a jump over the hood of a Ford Fusion.
"Here!" Trevor and Michael turned into an alley, filled with trash and leading to a dead end.
"Idiot!" Michael said, but Trevor didn't pay attention. Hey pushed Michael to the wall behind a dumpster and hid with him.
"Shh." Trevor warned. Stuart mad it into the alley. "Get out here you piece of shit!" He walked further in, checking behind trash cans. Trevor slowly picked up an unopened can of long expired food, and Michael glanced up when Stuart came up to them.
"I'm on vacation!" Trevor growled. He was on Stuart in a second, beating him in the mouth with the can. "Don't! You! Ever! Try to come find me when I'm out of town!" He grabbed the handgun and pointed it at Stuart. "And I'm not gonna kill on my day off either. You get your toothless ass back over there. If I see you again, I'll fire a rifle straight up your asshole!"
Stuart left, his few front teeth still on the ground. When they went to get back in the car, they had to move quickly and get out of there before the cops that had just shown up questioned them. They drove, albeit still somewhat recklessly, back to Michael's house. They got in and sat in the kitchen, and when they finally looked at each other, they realized they were both feeling a strange rush of euphoria.
"This is great!" Trevor said though some laughter.
"It's just the endorphins." Michael smiled. "From running around like jackasses all day. Ah, man, this feels great. Fuckin' A."
"Wish i was better at separating business from pleasure," Trevor smiled to himself. "Didn't want to see anyone today, not when I finally get to see you moving like you used to again."
"All the shit we've done and you still think I'm out of shape."
"Mashed potatoes isn't a shape. Get out the ice cream."
"No, and you ain't getting it wither. The point of today was to wear you out and make you hungry."
"No it wasn't." Trevor stood up, stretching and groaning loudly. "You, my terrible at jumping jacks friend, did not do all of that just so I'd eat with you."
"Well, you're right T." He sat instead as Trevor rubbed an ache on his neck. "I told you. I miss you. I missed the chase. It's not the same without plans and money, but we didn't always need that." They were silent for a while, still trying to find their breath. They were both drenched in sweat and Michael couldn't wait for a shower.
"I need to go roll in your bed for a while. Let it absorb the essence of the man who earned it." Trevor started to walk out. "Maybe hump the pillows, shit I feel good! I'm never exercising again, but this does feel like the good old days, eh?"
"Later," Michael said. "Go shower. We need to get you something good to wear."
"I've got a mountain of things to wear," Trevor said.
"No. You got a row of things to wear, still in my closet. But you're not wearing those. You, you, my deranged friend, still need a suit."
"I'm not a suit guy, but you can buy my love all you want, sugar tits." Trevor went up the stairs, and realized as he passed Jimmy's old room that he hadn't seen the picture from Father's day. He went in for a moment, and found a small camera memory card. He took it, tossed it into his room, dropped his shorts in the hallway and entered the shower.
—
Trevor had finally gotten into a nice suit, nearly black with a red shirt. After harassing a worker there ("I can give you something to measure there, big boy") Michael paid. He reached into the bag, and pulled out two pairs of black gloves. "Let's put these on."
"You expect me to eat with these?" Trevor said. "Hello?"
"If you want. But these are to, ah… keep those bedbugs from coming at you."
Trevor's fingers twitched slightly, only now remembering the discomfort on the back of his hands.
"You don't need to keep worrying about me. No one ever has. I'm doing just fine."
"I'm not trying to make you feel cornered, T. Just slip them on whenever you get 'itchy', in case my room gives you bugs."
Trevor snatched the gloves. "Don't you wear those when you massage me. I want my toes cracked by the way."
A loud gurgle sounded angrily from Trevor's stomach. They headed out the door.
—
The car pulled up at a place Trevor didn't recognize. It was some big, stuck up place, where he assumed the portions were smaller than the dollar bills used to pay then. He mused over whether or not he could steal some of the cloth napkins, when they saw Archie outside. He was flattering a young couple and their toddler.
"'Ey!" Michael called. Archaimbaud jumped hard, and put a hand over his heart. Michael shook his head. "Sorry old-timer. We're here."
Achie mumbled his apologizes and handed a small paper to the mother. "Let me know if you need any assistance, my dear!"
"Who are they?" Trevor asked.
"I'm trying to find work again," Archie said. "Babysitting, but stable. Something so I won't be on the run all the time." He laughed. "Maybe I can stay around town then." Trevor smiled a little. Michael tried not to glance his way. It was a calmer response than he expected. He wondered if it was from tiring Trevor out. He felt good.
Franklin arrived a short time later. He looked sharp, white on top, dark pants, sleek shoes. He pointed to his watch and gave a funny nod, Michael patted him on the shoulder and smiled.
The dinner went well. Trevor boasted a lot about the times he won whatever contests they had in the day and Michael let him, mostly. He had to save face a little, when Trevor remembered he earned the right to be fed at dinner, fair and square. He sat across Michael and reveled in the "taste of victory". Michael's face showed annoyed regret, but outside it just looked funny. Franklin was very uncomfortable and when he followed with the same regretful face, Archaimbaud said something quietly about it being normal to show public displays of affection. Franklin was sure he could break the fork in his mouth, the way his jaw tightened. It wasn't this old dude's fault Franklin was uncomfortable. It was his own. Still, he had to fight back the urge to punch Michael for it.
Dinner was over, and with heads swimming from their salute to Archie's new residence, they headed out. Franklin pulled Michael aside, whispering harshly about how didn't have to act like he way gay, just say he was. Michael wanted to defend himself, but just patted Frank on the shoulder. "There, there kid. this doesn't change anything between you and I."
"That's it. I'm taking time off from ya'll. I'm gonna go fuck my client with the loud ass St Barnard, and pretend I don't know you. Keep Trevor alive, don't call unless you need me."
"Can do, sport."
Archie apologized and said he "had things around town he was dying to photograph at night." He said he was going to be in a hotel room for the night.
"Don't get hurt, gramps." Trevor warned, and they went back home, pretending they weren't swerving.
—
After forcing Trevor to shower again before he massaged his feet, and taking a rather hot shower himself, Michael went into his room. Trevor was watching the wall mounted TV, laying atop the covers in fresh underwear, and wearing his new gloves.
"Bugs?"
"Huh?"
"…bugs. One creep up on you?"
Trevor looked at his hand, holding the remote. He was silent and Michael worried for a second, expecting maybe for Trevor to start itching or shaking.
"They just feel nice. Should use these next time I robs somebody's place."
They watched something stupid, a show about a family with too many kids and then a show about people who were dangerously overweight. Thoroughly bored, Michael calls it a night.
"Where you going'?"
Michael shrugged. "Sleep somewhere."
"Don't. Your other beds are murder. Really. And your couch is easy to roll off of. Stay here," He tossed a pillow and the comforter on the floor, leaving the thinner sheet for himself. "You'll be my dog."
"You're what?"
Trevor said something about absorbing any residual endorphins from him, and something stupid about how bedbugs probably love fat dogs. Michael shoved him. Still, he folded half the blanket over under himself, the other half over. How the floor was better than a bed, he didn't know, but he glanced at the gloves and agreed. Just for tonight. Just so no bedbugs ruined this end to a fine day.
They were out pretty quick, the television still flashing soft, different color light through the bedroom. Michael breathed deeply, slow, as he started to have vague, short dreams. A small bank robbery about to start, with his normal group and a few he didn't really know, soon switched to what seemed to be an alien abduction. Buying a new car. The trio, all young, together playing tennis. He smiled in his sleep. Chop ran into the court, offering his belly for petting and they all lavished him with rubs. Michael opened his eyes a little, taking a moment to remember he was home. He could still hear Chop panting.
He started to close his eyes again, but he froze at the sight. It was Trevor panting. His body was tight, tense, trying to keep his legs from curling into a tight ball. He wasn't scared, wasn't crying or shaking, but there was movement. Michael should yell at him, should do something, but Trevor was facing him, gripping the pillow under his head. His eyes were set on Michael, but Trevor didn't seem present. Wherever he was it was far, some thought or fantasy clouding his focus, and as soon as it had started it was done. His other hand went from the pillow to over his other fist and he shuddered a shudder different than what Michael was used to. His hips bucked 2, 3 times, and his shoulders slacked. He breathed deep and long, but slow, before he stood up in the space between the bed and Michael. With more grace than he should posses, he noiselessly made his way to the door. As he kept his messier hand up and turned the knob with the other, Michael realized the gloves had stayed on the whole time.
He should punch him when he came back. He should throw a pillow or call him out on his actions. He remembered then, young Trevor in the shower, genitals and skin raw. He swallowed. He should just go back to sleep.
"Wake up you sleepy ass!" Trevor socked foot pushed against Michael hip. He was awake immediately, and flinched at the memory from before.
"I'm sore, asshole. The back of my legs feel like someone grated my muscles."
"If you were in shape," Michael began, ignoring the stiff feeling in his own legs. He got a small kick for it.
He looked up a Trevor, who rubbed an itch on his nose with one finger. He still had gloves.
"It's a pizza for breakfast kind of morning." T declared. He threw on some previously unworn pair of pajamas, and sauntered, still too thin, out of the room.
Michael could feel a small burn in his face. Not enough to be noticeable by looking, but he was warm all the same. The coffee table had pizza bits and cereal bowls, and an open gallon of milk. Trevor was talking about how they really needed to get less fatty milk, but Michael just grunted back.
"Wuds eedin you?" Trevor asked through a spoonful of some sugary garbage he insisted he should have. Michael turned a little to look at him.
"… No bedbugs?"
"Nope," Trevor grabbed another slice. "I don't want to feel this crappy again, but running will put you out, man."
"Why did you do it?" Michael could shoot himself now. He regretted asking as soon as he did and prayed Trevor thought he was talking about running. When a silence came, he still spoke despite himself. "That night… at Franklin's I mean."
Trevor laid back on the couch, his head on the armrest and his legs crossing, resting on Michael's slouching back and shoulders. He had a hand behind his head, the other between his chest and stomach. Michael knew it was a front, he was trying to look relaxed, but the time it took to answer showed he was trying to build up the nerve to speak.
"… She tried to hurt you." He finally muttered, slowly.
"She ain't the first." Michael was still regretting every word as he pushed them out, but if they didn't talk about it now, he didn't know when the chance would come again.
With a sniff, he guessed Trevor was crying, or tearing, but he didn't hear it in his voice. Trevor pointed a gloved finger at Michael, lazy and nonchalant. "It's about where…she hit you, M."
Michael thought about how much courage it was costing Trevor to speak. He tried to remember the fight. His face was scratched, he got kicked, he got hit. He got hit. He got hit. The small revelation made him turn to Trevor. "You mean-"
"Yeah. I mean." Trevor was starting to sound angry. Or defensive. Michael would take his chances. He placed two fingers over the scar he usually never thought about, felt the strange texture, felt his heart beating, beating, beating in his chest when he should have been still and quiet and rotted away so long ago.
He almost said "She couldn't have hurt me, T" but that wasn't right. Trevor would have then attacked her for nothing. Trevor had grown up under the fist of that woman and whoever she dragged into the house. Trevor lived everyday in fear, trying to appease and angry smoky dragon who couldn't be swayed by skinned knees or loose teeth or blackened eyes or pleading. The thought of Trevor as a boy, soft and meek like when Tracey and Jimmy were small, could have broken his defiantly beating heart. He was encapsulated for a single second in the feverish urge of protecting that child, of strangling that heartless bitch, of taking that neglected baby boy away from all the things that would mold him into…
He looked at Trevor and felt just a little ashamed. He couldn't help that child, and the child did grow up. What that child became though, still made Michael smile, was still the same snarky ass he spent years making a life with on the road.
"I love you, Trevor."
He wasn't surprised when Trevor didn't react. He hoped that somehow the words would reach that boy in a trailer, like maybe they would lead him to be with him on the couch like this decades later.
"You too, Mikey."
He took his legs off Michael and sat up, wanting to go into the kitchen, but he was weighed down by Michael's arms. He sank into the embrace. He could say he didn't need anyone to feel sorry for him, get off, I need to piss, but he didn't. Michael was still in a fatherly state of mind, and a brotherly mind, and a friend mind. Trevor put a hand on one of the arms.
"I still… want her." Trevor admitted.
"I know, kiddo."
Silence.
"I wish I didn't."
"I know."
Longer silence.
"You're tits are soft."
"I kn-"
Trevor fell off the couch, laughing. He clutched his sides and Michael wanted to kick him. He just stood and pressed his foot into the floor. He let Trevor drain out all the laughter and stress and bedbugs.
"I'm gonna throw up," Trevor clutched his stomach as he stood up, smiling from ear to ear and trying to hold back more laughing.
"Fuckin A," Michael shook his head.
He remembered last night. He didn't care.
"C'mon." Trevor led him to Archie's room and tried the handle.
"Oh. It's locked."
"Archie ain't in." Michael said, then he looked at the knob. "What the hell?"
"What?"
"There's a key hole!"
"So?"
"So I changed Jimmy's door handle when he tried to hid his pothead friend in here!"
Trevor's eyes shifted nervously, then he started trying to kick the door in. Michael protested but Trevor broke through and the door creaked open defeated.
Trevor glanced inside, "Ah, he's got a printer too!" and went off to his room.
Michael was confused but he went in. There was a printer just for pictures, a laptop, an some of Achaimbaud's few possessions. His small brown briefcase and long jacket were still gone, so no, he hadn't been back. He looked at the doorknob and tried to figure out when the switch happened. Round and silver, all the same except for the lock and keyhole.
Trevor came back in, holding the memory card. "While I'm here," he plopped down on the bed. "Might as well get my picture before you kill him." He opened the computer, pressed "guest" and inserted it.
Michael eyed him up and down, observing the apparent resignation of whatever drew Trevor to Archie. He looked around but there was nothing strange. The room was neat and for a second he felt like he was intruding someone else's space.
"Hey, T. You-"
Trevor jaw was tight. His eyes were fixed, but then scanned the screen. He scrolled down, and his hand uncharacteristically moved to cover his mouth. Michael was next to him in an instant and tried to see what this was about.
Children. Children playing. Children unaware as they played with something on the shelf of a store. Children smiling up at them. Children in their rooms. Children in hotels. Children in the bath. Children nervous. Children crying. Children screaming. Uncomfortable children. Naked children.
Children violated.
Michael slammed the computer shut.
"I'm sorry," Trevor said. "I-I didn't know, he never-" Trevor's face went from white to red. "I'll kill him. I'LL FUCKING KILL HIM-"
"YOU'RE NOT DOING ANYTHING." Michael
"Yo!" someone called from downstairs. They looked at each other.
"Take off the gloves." Michael said quietly. "Just come downstairs, not a word of this to Franklin. We wait."
Trevor looked at him. He shook.
—
Trevor stayed in his room. Michael didn't want to leave him alone but he wasn't going to push it.
Franklin was aware now. "Man, I knew I didn't like that motherfucker!" He hissed."…What do we do?"
"Nothing. We don't call the police. We don't talk to T, we just wait here."
"Man, why!? We don't know where he is, he could be hurting some kid right now!"
"Listen." Michael's voice was hard. "We're not going to be able to find him right now. He's coming home. And we're gonna fix this."
Franklin wasn't satisfied, he was on edge and disgusted, but he wasn't stupid. Trevor was abused. Michael and Trevor had known each other forever. Whatever history was between them, Franklin still wasn't 100 percent filled in on, but upstairs, Trevor was still dealing with the discovery.
Trevor pulled out people's teeth. Trevor electrocuted people and Trevor could get rid of a body. Michael, as always, had a plan. Franklin thought about the kids and their families.
The door opened. Archie came in, wearing a new hat and carrying something. "Oh good, you're awake." He smiled. "Look! Strawberry Swirl White Chocolate cheesecake! I saw it and, well, my sweet-tooth told me I just had to bring it!"
"Looks great!" Michael said, his charm radiating like a nuclear blast. Whatever expression Franklin had on his face must've been a dead give away, but it was totally ignored in favor of the hypnotic swirls in overpriced sugary garbage.
"Go up and change into something comfy. T will be home soon."
Archie look proud of himself as he glowed back. He set it down and seemed to float up the stairs with his briefcase. Still with that dreamy smile on his face, Michael reached under the coach pillow and pulled out a hammer. He gave it to Franklin. "I want you to break his briefcase open."
"Shit, can do." Franklin took the hammer and they walked unhurriedly up the stairs.
Archaimbaud was frantic in his movements, trying to shove things into a bag and moving faster than his age should let him.
"What's cracking homie?" Franklin said.
Archie shot up, eyes wide and looking in all directions. They entered the room.
"What's in the briefcase, shitbag?" Michael said.
"Fuck you," Archaimbaud spat.
"Drop it on the ground." Michael said, too calm. Archie turned to look at a window, then back at Michael.
"You couldn't make that jump if you tried." Franklin said. Archie stupidly tried to dash between them to the door, but with one arm, Franklin caught him and threw him back. Franklin picked up the suitcase.
Trevor, slowly, walked in.
"Where's the party?" He said quietly. He looked at Archie, his crooked glasses resting on his crooked nose. Archie didn't look scared anymore. He was glaring at Trevor.
Franklin's arm swung the hammer, just a few times before the locks broke and the briefcase flew open. Photos and paper fluttered to the ground, and Franklin tossed the briefcase in surprised disgust.
"Man this is what you been doing!? Michael, I can't wait no longer, I'm gonna-"
Michael was looking at Trevor. Trevor was looking at the floor. The aged photos had all of his attention. Different children than before. These we're some of the worst. Some of then showed a man, or men, with the children. There were even some with a blonde woman, and what she was doing to those kids was unspeakable. Sadistic. Violent. The adult's eyes and faces were scratched out when they didn't have a mask covering them.
"You look good in that one," Archaimbaud smiled from the floor.
Michael jumped on him, beating him in the face with his fists, telling him to shut up over and over. When he got back up, he fully realized what was being said.
"How do you know Trevor?"
"T," Franklin said quietly. He stepped closer to him. "T, man-" He stepped on the pictures to keep Trevor from looking.
"A drug ring," Archie said, holding his bloody nose. "I don't know if I'm proud or not."
"Answer me you piece of shit!" Michael kicked him hard in the ribs.
"I'm his father!" he finally said. He laughed a little. "Come to check up on my boy! I might have changed but I recognized my little boy right away."
"N-no," Trevor growled. "N-No."
"You're mother did about as well as I expected her to with you." He laughed, and his body relaxed. He knew he wasn't getting out.
Trevor was almost unrecognizable. He thrashed at the man, and it was raw and cold and sick. It was years of Trevor's mysterious memories coming out in a gruesome display of retaliation. It was sloppy and angry and he would break his hand before he reached pieces of skull into Archaimbaud's brain but it continued. In that moment he was a hundred children, little round faces from the computer screen and polaroids, tiny bodies splayed across beds and little legs curling away from the monsters around them. He was the end result. He was the culmination of babies who would die inside with blood between their legs, and grow up hollow in the shadow of undeserved betrayal. Archaimbaud was countless men, sick bastards who would come in take take from Trevor as if he had anything left to give. He was the asshole who started it all.
As the hammer smashed Archaimbaud's legs and he choked on a scream that wouldn't escape his throat, Trevor was relentless. Trevor was on a rampage.
"That's enough!" Franklin tackled Trevor to the ground, making him drop the hammer. "STOP! STOP!" He was angry as he struggled with Trevor "I've had enough! I've seen you falling apart for moths! I've seen what these people do to you man, it's over! You ain't gonna fix what happened! Stop fucking struggling! He can't hurt you again! Ain't no one gonna hurt you again!"
Trevor couldn't get him off. Either Franklin was too strong or Trevor was running on fumes but he kept trying. "Trevor! We got you man! We family ain't we?!"
Trevor finally stopped. They all listened, painfully, as Trevor let out one more wail. This one was different than the first at Franklin's house. It was still full of anguish, still cold and enraged, but somehow worse. He watched his father the whole time.
"… T." Franklin said. "When I grew up, this shit was all around the hood. I saw what it did to my friends. I saw a girl get kicked out and I saw seats in class that stayed empty. I had to act like I didn't know anything when they told me, because they made me promise. And you think you're all messed up like you ain't worth nothin. But you are, man. It's done. Ain't nobody gonna come near you again."
—
In the car they didn't try to coax Trevor out of his silence this time. When he did speak, it was a command.
"Take him where my mom is."
Archaimbaud struggled against the rope for a while. His feet finally stopped twitching. His mouth was still gagged, his hands zip tied together. A small stream of urine escaped his pants and fell across the woman's grave. Franklin looked to Michael, worried it would set Trevor off, but to their surprise, it didn't.
"Goodbye, Jaques." He said to the man. They looked at each other. 'Archie' had been another lie. The wind caused the body to sway, just a little.
Trevor had grabbed a staple gun before they left and no one asked about it. They didn't disagree when he took some photos out of the suitcase by the hanging tree, and as they left, stapled he them to trees. The last one he put up was a photo of himself.
He was on a bench, with a bandage on his knee and a half empty soda. His hands were dirty and he was so, so young. His eyes were big and his smile was so bright. Michael's heart sank into his gut. It was the most beautiful child he'd ever seen. When he saw Trevor of today get into the car, the stark difference didn't phase him. He saw no difference in the two. Trevor in the photo was the Trevor he knew, the real Trevor.
They tore up the carpet. They destroyed the computer. They stuffed whatever was left behind into garbage bags and Michael dries off wordlessly to dispose of it. Franklin sat with Trevor in the kitchen. They stared at a bottle of Jack but no one reached for it. Trevor got a cake knife, and but himself a slice of the cheesecake. He knew who had brought it.
He took a bite. He let out a slow exhale though his nose. He looked up at Franklin, and appeared thankful despite his straight face. "It' done."
Franklin extended a fist and Trevor pressed it with his own.
"It's done."
They drank.
—-