Salvation

Michael was floating somewhere between the cusp of dream and the sliver of wakefulness, where his mind usually placed him. He'd fought this battle long and hard for years, especially in the ones following Ludendorff, often because he had battled internally with himself after that mess of fucking shit. He'd never quite forgiven himself for how miserably that had all gone down, and he had a feeling he never fully would. And someone else would never let him live it down either.

It's not like he didn't want sleep, didn't chase each fucking dream. God knew he was happier in them. His marriage wasn't exactly a failure yet. His kids were forever young and idolized him, didn't swear back at him or try to drug the ever-loving shit out of him. There was a never-ending supply of heists to run for him and his crew, and he felt like a fucking king in them.

And Trevor was next to him, young, not too thin and scarred from the rampant drug abuse that would later plague him, and a head full of long hair that hadn't faded away with age, time, and stress yet. Looking every bit as beautiful as he remembered him in those days. He yearned to reach out, grab him, and never let go, but as usual, the minute he would, everything would erase into oblivion and repeat the next night. It was a sick, sad cycle that haunted him time and time again. Sometimes he felt that his answers weren't at the end of his shot glass but at the end of his pistol chamber.

And sometimes he had dreams where he was back in high school, but he'd learned to control his fucking temper this time around, and he hadn't torn his ACL, so his career hadn't had to end, but in these dreams, Lester was some nerdy kid he knew who did his homework and did other shit for him on the side, Mandy was a cheerleader he was going steady with, Frank played slot receiver while Lamar was a tight end, and then there was this wily new Canadian punk who played wideout and thought he could do whatever the fuck he wanted....

Like pushing the team captain against the lockers when no one else was around and fondling him in places that made him sweat easily.

So Michael was having one of those again, and he could feel the pull of Trevor's arms around him, hugging him closely, feel as one hand drooped languidly towards the crack of his cheeks, and just as things were starting to get so achingly good, something that sounded like an alarm started going off.

Smoke was billowing into the room, filling it like storm clouds, causing Michael to go into a coughing fit, and somewhere to his right, Mandy's voice called out that he needed to do something...what was it?

Trevor disappeared so suddenly, it's like he was never there, and he felt saddened by the lack of his warmth surrounding him, but Mandy's voice was getting louder and more urgent by the minute. What did he need to do again? Get out? Was something on fire?

Then someone was hitting his fucking arm with a book. "Will you get the hell up! Your phone has been going off like crazy since about three in the damn morning, and I can't take any fucking more, Michael! We all know who it is anyway, so answer it while I go tell Jimmy to lay off his bong because he's laying the smoke on a little thick for everyone!" Amanda yelled next to him while yanking herself up off the bed angrily.

She took her book with her so either she was prepared to beat Jimmy with it next or she was mad at everyone and planned to stay up reading for a while. Probably a bit of both, he sighed as he listened to her shout at their son who was, in turn, whining back at his mother. Michael pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to clear the crust from his eyes as he squinted at the time on the alarm clock.

The phone sounded again.

"Will you answer that goddamn phone already, Michael!!" Amanda's voice called from the stairs, and he tried to pretend it was the loving one he heard in his dreams, but they were probably beyond that at this point, so he snorted at his own dumb thoughts.