❛ ᴀ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ʀᴇᴜɴɪᴏɴ ❜

T R E V O R

"So this is where dead men come back to life." 

I fixed my hoodie, looking both ways as I walked briskly across the street. The gates to the mansion were open, so of course I just let myself in - only fair, right? 
I hesitated at the door, my hand hovering over the handle for a fraction of a second. Deciding I was being an idiot, I yanked it open and stepped inside. Voices echoed through the space; I followed them. 

"Y'know, you're a real asshole." 

"What did you just fucking say to me?"

"Stop it! You two are ruining my fucking Yoga!"

I rolled my eyes. I see Amanda's still an entitled bitch. I couldn't surpress the smirk tugging at my lips from the pure thought of throwing a spanner in the works. And this spanner has a lot of time to make up for.

"Somebody say yoga?" I asked, walking out into the kitchen with absolutely no fucks given - only to be met by silence. 
After ten years, I didn't know what I was expecting to see. A change maybe, somewhere, anywhere...but his appearance stayed exactly the same. I mean, aside from a few more creases of stress on his features and the total mess of locks that once was a carefully combed hairstyle, that is. His fashion sense certainly didn't change - it still fucking sucked. I almost pitied the ghost of a man gawking at me from the other side of the kitchen island. Then Brad came to mind - the betrayal this fuckpig has lived with for an entire decade - and all pity boiled away in rage. The pure foundations of his fucking house were built off of my damn cut from that heist - heck probably the entire motherfucking structure was paid for by my idiotic self. Something about that day didn't sit well with me. No matter how many nights I laid awake recounting the events, I never saw the totally obvious scam. Fuck him. When I get Brad out of prison, I'm so burning this shitty building to the ground - with this dickbag clawing at the window. 

"Trevor..." 

"Oh good, for a second there I thought you gone mute," I spat back at Michael's sorrowful tone. He didn't get to look like that. He had no right to look at me like that. Remorsefully. 
"What's this psychotic bastard doing in my house?" Amanda questioned, her squeaky voice still as irritating as ever. 
"Your house?" I repeated, "I'd be willing to bet that none of the money put towards buying, furbishing or maintaining this shitty place came out of your pocket. No...it probably came out of his...and the contents of his was robbed from mine."
"He stole nothing from you," she continued, so cock-sure of herself. I hate to burst someone's bubble, but...
"Not directly," I conceded, "but he has money that doesn't belong to him. Isn't that right, Mikey?" 
I'd never seen him so pale. He clung to the counter so hard that his knuckles turned white from the pressure - probably an attempt to stop him losing his balance.
"He's gonna barf," Jimmy noted grimly, stepping back a bit.
"He's not gonna barf," Amanda answered, although she didn't seem too convinced.
"Jimmy, go to your room," Michael mumbled.
"What? No-"
"I said fucking go! Why can't you just listen to what I fuckin' tell you for once and stop being an entitled little shit?!" He barked, suddenly slamming his hands against the island. I half expected Jimmy to argue, but I guess something in Michael's eyes warned him against it. He disappeared through the doorway, his footsteps echoing through the house until a loud slam of a door silenced him. No doubt the fat little shit was going to be doing a hell of a lot of cursing.
"You," He pointed at Amanda, "make yourself scarce."
"Excuse me?" 
"You are excused," I answered for him, giving her a subtle grin, "or didn't you hear him?"
I'd never seen her so angry. She grumbled something under her breath, turned on her heel and trotted to the patio doors. Sliding then open, she screamed one last "fucking asshole!" before disappearing. 

And then there were two.

"You want a drink?" Michael offered quietly. He couldn't even bring himself to turn in my direction.
"No," I slid round the island and grabbed him by the shirt, pushing him back flush against the kitchen cabinets, "I want you to fucking look at me, or am I not even worth that now?" 
Slowly, his head raised to meet my eye level. His eyelids were hooded; but I could see the moisture building in those crystal irises of his.
"Don't cry you son of a bitch," I quickly wiped a bead of sadness from the corner of his eye with my thumb, "Don't you fucking dare."
"Why are you here, T?" He asked, his tone quivering slightly, betraying him. Now he knows what it feels like. 
"Money?" He guessed, "Well I don't have it. I'm running out, and fast. Or is it revenge you're after? In that case, have at it you sociopathic fuck, 'coz you'd be doing me a big big favor." 
"Has it not registered in that thick skull of yours that maybe, just maybe, I came for you? Because I actually gave a shit about you?" I gripped his shirt tighter subconsciously, hoping that the aviator sunglasses sitting on my nose didn't hide how desperate my eyes were. I needed him to know just how deep the pain he caused ran.
"No," He whispered, "it hasn't. You didn't give a fuck about me then, why would that change no-"
"BULLSHIT!" I roared, pushing him away and taking a few steps back, "You fucking know that's far from the truth you cocksucker."
He just stared at me; totally void of life. Like my presence had drained the pure essence of who he was. I wanted nothing more than to put a bullet in each eye socket to destroy that empty gaze of his - and hopefully that empty head too. I paced to the other side of the island, placing both palms on the cold surface as I took a stress-relieving breath. I couldn't look at him anymore.
"Remember those nights we spent together, Mikey?" I threw out there hopelessly, "I do. I saw through every one of those 'I'm fine' texts. I rushed over, held you until the darkness passed. Why? Because I gave a shit. It's called love, asswipe...and it was always totally one-sided. Before that whore showed up, you looked at me with such admiration and care...and I thought...I hoped...maybe you'd be with me forever. I didn't see competition in a fucking stripper. Sure she had tits, but she didn't know which buttons to press to make you scream. She didn't keep you safe, or actually care about more than what was in that wallet of yours. I did. But sure enough, beauty won, didn't it?" 
Michael shook his head; that much I caught in my peripheral vision.
"Oooh yes it did," I looked up at him, challenging him to look back at me, "Because you married it. That's a victory if I ever seen one." 
He covered his face with his hand. The silver band hugging his ring finger glittered in the kitchen light, almost mocking me from across the room. 
"You didn't love me, T," He began, "Amanda did. Does. Kind of....fuck."
"Do you really believe that?" I probed.

"...Yes."

"You hesitated," I noted.
"No I didn't," He became defensive.
"Don't fuck with me," I crossed the room again, only inches away from him, "Do you really believe that I didn't love you? Honestly, Mikey?"
He paused; lip trembling. I already knew my answer, but I wanted to hear him say it.
He nodded his head slightly.
"Say it," I growled. Of course, I knew he wouldn't. Because it wasn't true. 
"Please T," Michael begged, "Just go. Leave me and my family alone." 
"There was a time when I was your family," I snorted mirthlessly, "I guess that word doesn't mean very much to you." 
"My family is all I have," He pressed.
I had to laugh. Why was he fighting so hard for people who were using him so bad? 
"And you only have them until the paper runs out," I smiled sadly. He just stared down at the brickwork flooring under us, his hands clasping the counter behind him; squirming uncomfortably under my heated gaze. 
"I used to love making you squirm," I sighed, backing away from him, "but not like this." 

This was such a big mistake. I don't know what I was hoping would happen. That he'd fuck Amanda over and run off with me? That he'd be happy to see me? That he'd tell me how much he loved me? And that he missed me? Bollocks. I needed to get out. I couldn't breathe in here anymore. I turned to walk away, when two arms wrapped around my waist, halting my escape. My head dropped; eyes widening to find that silver wedding ring staring back at me. 
"I can't leave with you clinging to me," I mumbled, failing to resist the urge to put my hands around his. I squeezed his hands gently - in a loving way - for no reason at all other than my own benefit. My own kind of goodbye. 
"Wait," He whispered into my back, his voice vibrating through my body even with the low volume, "just...wait." 
I wanted to flip him off. Pry his hands away from me and walk out with my dignity still intact. But I couldn't. I slowly managed to turn around, my hands settling on his waist as his hands curled into fists on my chest; clinging to my jacket. He just stood there, without saying a single word. 
"How long are you expecting me to wait, M?" I muttered, gently brushing my hand across his cheek. 
"Long enough for me to figure out what to do," He replied, leaning into my touch. I scoffed softly, retracting my hand and stepping away from him. It hurt him to see me back off like that, but what can you do? I'm done putting everyone else first.
"I've waited far too long already for you," I started, pushing my glasses up slightly, "...I can't keep waiting for something that's never going to happen, Michael. Not in this lifetime, anyway." 

"Trev-"

"Tell Tracey I said hi," I smiled, "I miss that little squirt. Such a beautiful little girl...I bet she's a real sight for sore eyes now." 
"...yeah," Michael looked off to the side, "she's something alright." 
Loud music suddenly put a stop to our 'moment' of sorts, the source seemingly coming from the lounge. I walked in, curious, and raised my eyebrow at the large flat-screen that had miraculously turned on by itself. The 'Fame or Shame' logo glistened on screen, followed by the annoying voice of the presenter. He was introducing the latest act; of course I didn't really give two fucks....until the name of the contestant was spoken. 
"Tracey De Santa!" Echoed through my ears, and suddenly my legs went numb. Tracey, that cute little bean I used to have sitting on my lap, was smiling proudly on a national television programme that was no doubt going to be a source  embarrassment for the rest of her life. 
"Michael," I turned back to face him, "Get your fucking keys." 

▪*:･°✧°･: *▪

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1900

ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ: 25/09/2019