Trevor Philips x Reader: "Lifeache."

"Her."

AN: Hello again! Two chapters in two days, aren't you guys lucky? I thought I would release another chapter as the last one was purely smut.

This chapter delves into Trevor's past and is only in Trevor's point of view, I hope you enjoy. I will warn you, this is a very heavy chapter!

Also, would you guys like it if I brought in Franklin or Michael? Let me know in the comments. Thank you for your support!

TW: Swearing, heavy themes of abuse, gore.

Word count: 1,128

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"Her."

Trevor's P.O.V
"So.. who was that you were with?" Ron asked, his grotty nasal voice as irritating as ever.
I hummed deeply in response.
"Not in a talkative mood today, huh, boss?" Ron questioned, his voice drilling further into my head. My brow furrowed, I tilted my head down and tightened my grip on the wheel. I'm certain Ron took the hint. God, he was irritating - but a loyal employee, I'll give him that at least. Useful.

My eyes focused on the road, the heat waves rose from the charred, grey ground and created a blurry haze as the road travelled further. I had stuff to do today, but I just couldn't focus; my head was all over the place, I couldn't stop think about her...

(Y/N) was the most gorgeous girl I had ever seen. Granted, I had said that about various whores I had taken home and forgotten about. But I know that these flings had been desires of drugged up delusions and acts of various alcohol pursuits. There was just something about her, her angelic innocence overwhelmed me, made me weak in my knees. Pleasuring her this morning lit a burning energy inside me, watching her movements as I moved my fingers into her - God I couldn't wait to see her.

However... that's that's different... I didn't just want her for sex. Last night when I lay in her arms, I felt so safe - which was a feeling I hadn't felt in a long time, I know we hadn't known each other long but she felt like home. A feeling I could most definitely get used to.

You see, my childhood wasn't exactly pitch perfect. My mother was a drug addict by day and a prostitute by night, my father... well, let's just say I'm the son he never wanted. He hurt me as a child, his fits of drunken rage have left me scarred; he used to throw bottles at me if I tried to run, the glass dug into my skin and left deep marks in my flesh that I still see to this day. They act as a reminder of the horror I suffered as a child, I fucking hated them.

My suffering was not all in vein however. I had a younger brother, Ryan.

A sweet boy, my number two. He used to follow my every move, if I threw rocks and pebbles at the neighbours car he would too. If I climbed the trees, he would too. He was the most innocent soul. No amount of innocent could escape the wrath of my father's inebriated spats of rage, however. I tried to protect him, I tried.

Every beating Ryan took, I stepped up and took it for him. Every bottle that got launched across the room, I ran in front of it to protect him. I guess my brother's fate was inevitable...

I went out one evening. I must have been fifteen, sixteen perhaps, I went to see a group of friends. The details are incredibly fuzzy but it was to organise our first score, I spent the whole night out. When I came home that night, I saw my mother smoking on the front steps of the house.

"Trevor, honey." She said, her face expressionless and voice emotionless. "I wouldn't go in there, baby." I snarled at her, who was this woman? She had no right to tell me what to do.
"Fuck you, ma." I growled.

The door of the house was ajar, the paint was scratched - it had been like that for as long as I could remember. My hand pushed against the door slightly.
"Dad?" I called out. My eyes scanned around the hallway, I felt my heart begin to pound as I heard the sound of punches coming from behind the living room door, the hallway was dim and I could see the light up stairs flickering as I made my way to the door. My hand shook, I placed it on the silver coated door handle and turned it cautiously; my breath was staggered and I had a sour feeling in my stomach.

As I opened the door, I saw Ryan on the floor. Lifeless. My father on top of him, punching his face over and over and over. Blood dripped from my fathers hand onto the now blood-stained grey carpet; shards of glass gleamed on the floor like emeralds in a floor of stone.

My breath was rapid. The sight of my brother, the fragile age of twelve, dead on the floor ignited a rage I had never felt inside of me. I roared, threw my bags on the floor and launched myself towards my drunken father. Now I was on top of him, punching his irritable dead-beat face over and over.

Just like he did to my brother.

I didn't stop until his blood coated my hands. It was a nice feeling, satisfying. I was overcome with anger, it felt nice to finally deliver justice for sixteen years of agonising abuse.
"This is what you deserve!" I screamed in my father's bloodied face, my spit spraying on his face, "Ryan didn't deserve this you fucking asshole!" By now tears were streaming down my face, my hands locked around his neck. They pushed down around his trachea as hard has they could, I didn't stop until I heard the final gratifying crunch of his neck.

Only then did I stop, when I saw my father's perished face staring back at me.

I was shaking furiously. Swiftly, I scrambled over to Ryan. I held his frail body in my arms, such a loss of life - a young one too. He did not deserve this.

The rage I felt that night was one I am not all too familiar with, I am overcome with that same rage all the time. Countless lives have been lost to it, I feel guilty about it. There's no denying that but killing just feels... so good. It releases all the rage out of me. However sometimes, it just can't be satisfied. That's when I turn to the toxins.

Come to think of it, I'm not too different from my father. Fuck, the way I am is his fault anyway. At least I don't kill the people I love.

Fuck... (Y/N).

The thought of anything ever happening to her made my stomach sick, my hands tightened on the wheel until my arms started to shake. Fear swarmed Ron's face.
"Uh... boss?" His voice shook as he reclined in his chair. Suddenly, I slammed the breaks at the side of an Ammunation.
"Just buy the fucking guns, Ron" I hissed. He opened the door frantically and ran into the Ammunation.

I would do anything to protect her.

Anything.