Ride {t. p.}

2: Eyelid Soup

The next morning I woke up in Trevor's arms. My back to his chest and his arms strung tightly around me, as if I would slip away in the cold dark of the night.

His breath was hot on my ear and his legs bent under mine, as if he was a chair I was sitting in. Almost every inch of our bodies were touching.

I took this opportunity to carefully and quietly slip out of Trevor's death grip and grabbed my bag. I stuck my head out of the door to make sure the coast was clear of people so they wouldn't see me naked and walked to the bathroom. I turned on the shower and got in with my shampoo and body wash. I didn't see the need for conditioner on my salary.

I took a ten minutes shower and got back out. I dried my hair with a towel and I changed into a different pair of clothes that consisted of an old and faded black band t shirt and shorts. I slipped my combat boots back on. I put on my jacket and opened the bathroom door. I tip toes to the front door and my hand rested on the copper colored handle.

"Where are you going?" Trevor asked behind me. I jumped and turned around. "Dammit, you scared me!" I cried with a hand over my pounding heart.

"Where are you going?" He demanded this time. I looked down at the wood floor next to his feet. "I don't know really. I don't have a place to go to." I admitted.

"Don't you have a home?" He asked. I shrugged. "I stay in motels with whatever nights pay I get." I replied. Trevor stepped closer to me and put his hands on my sides. "Why don't you stay with me?" He asked. I met his eyes that towered eight or so inches above mine. "Here?" I asked. He shook his head with a smirk. "No, in Sandy f*ckin Shores. Home of the meth labs and Hoosiers." He chuckled.

"I can't." I backed out of his grip. "It wouldn't be right. I don't even have money to pay yo-"

"Shut up." He half yelled. "I wouldn't turn me down. I don't often invite people to come f*ckin stay with me. So I suggest you do it." He said.

Something told me not to be scared of Trevor. That he only wanted the best. Hah, who am I kidding? He wouldn't give two shits if I walked outside and got hit by a car. He'd probably get quite a kick out of it.

"Alright." I mumbled. He smirked.

"Floyd!" Trevor called out. He growled after there was no response. He walked over the the other door and kicked it open. Floyd was no where to be seen.

"Wade!" Trevor yelled and turned his head towards the living room. A figure in braided hair and covered in mud or something popped up off the couch.

"Yes Trevor?" He asked. He sounded like a dumb hillbilly meth head. "Me and Lana here are going to Sandy Shores. Probably won't be back for awhile. Don't wait up." He said. Trevor grabbed my hand and pulled me outside. "Okay Trevor!" Wade called after us.

Trevor pulled me down the stairs and back to his prehistoric truck. We both got inside and the car roared to life. A heavy metal song came over the radio.

"So princess," Trevor smirked as we drove down the street away from Vespucci beach. "Hungry?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I am." I replied. I threw my bag in the back. "What are you in the mood for? Eyelid soup or something?"

My face twisted in disgust. "Kidding, damn. It's not human eyelids." He said.

"That's gross." I said. He laughed. "Still kidding. Really. What do you want." He asked. I shrugged. "I don't care. Not your eyelid soup though." I said. He chuckled.

After a few minutes of silence, I asked "What brought you to Los Santos?" He stared ahead but I saw his expression change to anger. "I saw...a ghost, you could say." He replied sternly.