You laid on your side on Trevor's bed. Your eyes burned. You'd been crying continuously for what must have been hours and it started to feel like you had run out of tears. You felt dirty, you felt humiliated, you felt the weakest you've felt in months. You listened to the creak of Trevor's rugged boots pacing the linoleum floor of the living area.
"How could you just SIT there and watch them take her?!" he yelled at Ron who was also out there with him.
"I-I-I tried, Trevor…" Ron stammered.
"Tried?! You tried? She's laying in there with a fucking black eye and cuts and bruises on her beautiful fucking body and you're telling me you tried? Where the fuck was your gun, huh? Sitting there, watching her get kidnapped while you're twiddling your fucking dick is not trying!" you heard Trevor rant.
"Listen, listen, I know you're mad…" started Ron, before being interrupted by a loud roar from Trevor, "B-b-but I followed them and called you to tell you where they took her. Besides, I-I-I don't think I could have taken them on myself."
"You didn't think. That's your problem. You never think! And look what fucking happened! I could kill you, I'm so fucking angry!"
"N-no, please… Come on, Trev- I'm sorry!"
"Oh-ho, you're sorry? I'll give you a reason to be sorry!"
You took a deep breath, got up, and entered the room with them. You were tired of the yelling.
"ENOUGH!" you shouted, gaining the attention of the two of them. Trevor had Ron by the collar of his shirt with a fist raised at him. Ron was bracing for impact.
"Hey, baby…" Trevor spoke softly, with a sad smile on his face. He lowered his fist and released Ron, causing him to fall to the floor. He turned toward you, "Are you okay?"
"No," you answered without hesitation.
His smile faded, "Oh… What's going on?"
"Nothing much, aside from the fact that I had probably one of the most stressful days of my life and now I have to hear you scream at Ron when he did nothing wrong."
He stepped toward you, "You could have been dead!"
"But I'm not, thanks to Ron's help. If he hadn't told you were I was then yeah, I would have been dead and then you would have had every reason to murder him. But that didn't happen so excuse me, Trevor, but could you shut the FUCK up and leave him alone!?" you snapped.
Both of their mouths hung open as they watched you close your eyes and take a deep breath, calming yourself down.
"Ron," you started in a softer tone, "Could you give Trevor and I some privacy please?"
Ron processed the question for a moment before nodding quickly. He clumsily rose to his feet and began rushing toward the exit to leave. Then it was just you and Trevor.
"I-I'm sorry—" Trevor started but he was interrupted by you holding up a finger.
"For the love of god, can we please just lay down and have some peace and quiet right now?"
He responded with a nod and followed you to the bedroom. You laid down on your side while he took off his boots and jeans, kicking them haphazardly across the room. He climbed into bed and began spooning you, planting a small kiss to the nape of your neck. For a few minutes, the only sound that could be heard was the sound of light breathing. You took that moment to close your eyes, resting them.
The silence was broken by Trevor, "Emily?" he whispered.
"What?"
"I'm so sorry."
"It's okay."
"It's not okay."
You didn't want to say that you felt like you had it coming, that you knew the risk of being with someone who lived a dangerous lifestyle and took that risk anyways. You just hummed and shrugged.
His grip on your body tightened as he held you closer, "I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you." You hummed again, too tired to give him an actual response. You felt him move, positioning himself so that he was able to look at your face. You tried looking away but he placed his hand softly on your face, causing your eyes to meet. He wiped a tear off your face. You didn't even notice you were crying again. He opened his mouth as if to say something but promptly shut it again. He just smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
You drew a deep breath and closed your eyes, "Hey, Trevor…" He tilted his head and furrowed his brow, "Can you make love to me?" you asked softly.
And so he did.
He worshipped your body that night with such soft passion, handling you as if you were fragile and could break in an instant with any wrong move. It was different than any other time. It was as if fucking was completely thrown out the window. It was nothing but love, complete and utter love. For a moment, you felt right, as if nothing was wrong, as if everything was going to be okay.
If only that feeling lasted.
Nightmares.
Weeks gone by, and you began to wonder if you would ever have a full-night's sleep again. You wanted so badly to just sleep continuously without the memory of the kidnapping playing over and over again in your head.
Every nightmare was the same, some more vivid than others, but always the same movie. You remember thinking with certainty that you were going to die. You remember hearing the gunshot that killed the man in front of you and for just a moment, thinking that was the gunshot that was going to kill you. The blood and guts splattered on the leaves were forever engraved in the back of your eyelids so that whenever you closed your eyes, you saw it.
You'd wake up in a panicked sweat almost every night and curse the fact that the night wasn't over so you couldn't just wake up and start your day.
It got to a point where you were almost terrified to go to bed.
You spent your days exhausted.
It was as if that horrible event happened every single day and there was nothing you could do about it.
A knock at the trailer door sounded. You barely heard it over the sound of your own heart beating in your ears. Trevor had left hours earlier to run some errands, leaving you behind, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Before long, you began having a full-blown panic attack. It was starting to dawn on you that you might never get use to the feeling of utter dread and despair that came with these outbursts.
"Um, excuse me… Emily…?" You heard Wade's voice call as he let himself into the mobile home. He turned and saw you as you shook and cried. You both made eye contact, "Uh… I'm sorry to barge in on your cryin'."
You quickly moved to wipe the tears from your red blotchy cheeks. You took some deep breaths to slow your heart rate.
"N-no, I'm sorry…" you replied, voice cracking. You cleared your throat.
"Sorry? For what?"
"Oh, it's just…" you searched your scattered mind for an excuse but you had none. You waved your hand around, gesturing vaguely, "I… just… nevermind. Sorry."
He offered you a kind smile and walked toward you, coffee in hand, "You apologize too much for someone who does nothin' wrong, ya know?" He held the beverage out to you. You took it in your hand and took some more deep breaths, "You can thank Trevor for that coffee. He told me you don't sleep good no more. I can tell, you look tired but that could be from all the cryin'."
You shrugged and took a sip from your drink.
He nodded, "Is that why I never see you out with Trevor no more? You're too tired?"
"Kind of… I guess I'm too tired to get out of bed most days."
He nodded for a moment and then opened his mouth, as if an idea hit him, "Wanna know what I do when I don't wanna sleep?" He reached into his pocket and started digging around. He pulled out a sandwich bag with thick white crystals in it. A giant grin formed on his face.
Your lips parted in a small 'o' shape, "Oh, Wade… I-I-I'm sorry, I just don't think that's for me."
He frowned and looked at the bag, "Are you sure? It's a Trevor Philips Industry recipe so you know it's the best meth in Los Santos. One hit of this and I don't feel like sleepin' no more."
Your mouth was gaping, "I-I don't know, Wade…"
He pursed his lips and began storing the drug back in his pocket, "It's okay," he said, "I was just tryin' to help."
"And I appreciate it," you offered him a smile and patted his shoulder. You set the coffee down on the nightstand and ran your fingers through your hair with a deep sigh.
Rising to his feet, he smoothed out his jersey. He smiled at you, "Well, miss, I gotta go. Good luck with the whole sleep thing."
You nodded and watched him leave. Once he was gone, your eyes began scanning around the room before settling on your hands in your lap. You turned them over to look at your palms. You examined the four red, crescent-shaped indentations on each of your hands. They must have come from your fingernails digging into your skin during your anxiety attack. You massaged the marks with your thumbs, wincing at the touch, and took a deep breath.
Abruptly, you ripped the blanket off of you and rose to your feet. You sped to the door of the trailer and opened it. The bright sunlight from outside blinded you momentarily. Once your eyes adjusted, you directed your attention to the driveway.
"Hey, Wade!" you called, "Hold on!"
He turned to look at you with a raised eyebrow. He was pocketing his cell phone, and was just about to mount his four-wheeler.
"Ca-can you come back here a second?" You drew a deep breath, "I… I changed my mind."