Grand Theft of my Heart *Trevor Phillips x Reader*

Part 20

        As you waited outside Trevor's trailer, your eyes wandered around his yard and front porch, taking in the sights and sounds of the secluded desert dwelling. The yard was a dusty expanse, scattered with debris and discarded objects, reflecting the chaotic nature of Trevor's life. Cacti and tumbleweeds had found a home amidst the scattered mess, adding to the desolate charm of the place.

The trailer itself looked weather-beaten, its paint peeling and windows cracked. The porch, made of uneven wooden planks, creaked under your weight as you stood there, waiting for Ron to relay your presence to Trevor. A rusty, overturned shopping cart served as a makeshift planter for a few struggling desert flowers, a testament to the small moments of beauty that somehow survived amidst the chaos.

You noticed a weathered wooden chair placed near the door, its backrest missing a few slats. The chair seemed to have seen better days, but it spoke of the makeshift comfort Trevor sought in his secluded hideout. You wondered how many conversations, plans, and moments of contemplation had taken place on that worn-out seat.

The sun was setting on the horizon, casting a warm glow over the desert landscape. The wind whispered through the dry grass, and the distant howl of a coyote added an eerie touch to the atmosphere. Despite the picturesque view, there was an air of unease, as if the land itself held secrets that few would dare to unravel.

As you glanced around, you noticed a small radio perched on a windowsill, the volume turned down low. It seemed to be an odd addition amidst the rugged environment, but it probably served as Trevor's way of keeping in touch with the outside world, however limited that connection might be.

A tattered, sun-bleached American flag hung limply from a makeshift pole near the porch. The flag was a stark reminder of Trevor's complicated relationship with his homeland. It fluttered slightly in the gentle breeze, a symbol of both defiance and a sense of belonging. His beat-up pickup truck was parked nearby, its paint faded and dented. It looked like it had been through countless adventures.

The atmosphere around the trailer was a mix of eerie isolation and the kind of rugged charm that only comes from a life lived on the edge. It was a place that reflected Trevor's tumultuous existence, where chaos and vulnerability intertwined. As you stood there, taking in the surroundings, the voices from inside the trailer grew louder. It became apparent that Trevor and Ron were engaged in a heated exchange. You couldn't make out all the words, but the tone of their conversation was tense and agitated. It seemed like Trevor was berating Ron for bringing you here without warning or explanation.

"Ron, what the hell were you thinking?" Trevor's voice boomed from inside, mixed with frustration and anger.

"Trevor, I thought you'd want to see her. You keep talking about how much you miss her." Ron tried to defend himself, but his voice was tinged with uncertainty.

You winced at the sound of Trevor's voice. The last time you had seen him, his attitude had been nothing like this. What had happened to him that made him so defensive?

"She was wondering around at the liquor store in town," Ron continued, "She had no idea where you were."

"No shit!" He yelled, you could hear something crash to the floor and it made you jump.

You could hear the two of them pacing the floor, their argument continuing inside. It seemed like it was only a matter of time before it erupted into an all-out shouting match, which could get very nasty very fast. You knew you had to intervene and make sure you didn't end up as collateral damage.

"Hey!" you yelled as you barged into the trailer, not wanting to wait for an invitation. "That's enough! What the hell are you guys fighting about?"