Ride {t. p.}

1: Three Inspirational Words

Another long night in Los Santos, San Andreas. The air was hot against my skin causing me to slightly sweat in my leather jacket, white tank top and blue jean shorts with combat boots.

I trudged down the lit by the street lamp sidewalk with my bag slung across my back and a soft drink bottle in my hand. My stomach growled loudly and caused me great discomfort. I uncapped the drink and took a swig. Normally I'd have a beer bottle in my hand at this time of night.

I walked while closed off in thoughts. Then, I heard a truck roar beside me and come to a stop. I came back to reality and turned my head to a rusty red truck and a man sitting inside it with a arm against the rusted door and the other on the steering wheel. His brown hair was receding and he smelled as if he hadn't seen a shower in quite a while.

I turned into my business self and put on a smile and stepped towards the man in the prehistoric vehicle.

I cleared my throat as I leaned on the ledge of the door. "What can I do for you?" I asked him. "You can do whatever you want to me, sugar tits." He replied. I was taken back by his reply. He must have seen my confusion. "Why don't you just get in the truck. I don't f*ckin bite. Hard." He smirked psychotically. I nodded and let him control me. I walked around and got into the other side and sat on the stained passenger seat and he sped off down the road driving recklessly.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing out on the streets at such a young age?" "Making a living. Money doesn't grow on trees. There ain't no rest for the wicked I guess. And I'm not young." My feet touched something hard. I looked down and saw a gun and a wave of fear flashed over me. What have I gotten myself into?

"Younger than me. Most prostitutes are ugly as shit. But you, you," he chuckled. "Not you. How old are you anyway?" 

"Twenty eight." I replied. "Hah! Way younger than me."

He jerked the steering wheel to the side and the brakes screeched to a halt as we were under apartments.

"Alright sugar tits. Follow me." He ordered as we both slipped out of the car. Normally me and a desperate man would stay in the car and go someplace discrete. But something about this man in a white stained t shirt and jeans and a scarred face intrigued me.

He led me up a pair of stairs up to an apartment door. He kicked it open with his boot and we walked inside. The first thing I was greeted with was EAT, SHIT, DIE in permanent marker over 3 other inspirational words.

The apartments scent matches his beer, cigarette, and sweat scent. "Right this way, sweet heart." He said sarcastically and took me into a room to the right. In the room next to it, I saw a man in pink flower pajamas laying on a bed whimpering with his back to me.

I walked into the mans room and saw multiple clothes spread across the floor and numerous take out boxes carelessly thrown amongst the room.

"This," he put his arms up. "This is my..temporary humble abode. It's my friends cousin Floyd's. He's a coward and I f*ckin hate the guy but I'm crashing here while, vacationing," he used air quotes "in the plastic and washed up city of Los Santos."

He plopped down on the bed and it squeaked a bit. "Oh, where are my manners?" He stood back up. "I'm Trevor Philips of Trevor Philips Interprises," he shook my hand hard. "Your number one source for meth or guns. What's your name?" He shut the bedroom door.

"Lana," I replied with a small grin. "Lana what?" He interrogated. "Lana Del Rey." I finished.

"That's not your real name, right?" Trevor asked in a quieter and calmer tone compared to his semi yelling. "No it's not. But I guess I don't want anyone to know my real name." I said.

Trevor motioned with his hands as if to shoo me away. "Yeah yeah whatever. Lana Del Rey it is." Then he stepped closer to me. "So are we gonna get this thing goin, or what?" He asked in the quiet tone again. I nodded. I was quite nervous to be alone with Trevor, who is possibly a psychopathic murderer by his actions and what he possesses in the car. I slipped my bag off and set it on the ground. I took off my jacket and set it on top of my book bag. I kicked off my boots also.

I noticed a stuffed animal sitting on the dresser and curiosity got the best of me. "Why do you have the teddy bear?"

He follows my eyes and picks up the small bear. "Ah," he says. "You found Mr. Raspberry Jam!" I squint at him as he shoves his finger in an eye hole. "He cures lonely nights."

He looks at me and tosses the bear onto the floor. He smirked and slipped his hands on the back of my thighs and picked me up. He set me on the squeaky bed and hovered over my body, already breathing heavy. I was too, in anticipation.

We watched each others eyes for a moment, then he made the move and connected our lips. Slow at first, then I kissed him back. I slipped my arms around his neck and his hand ran up and down my thigh and the other one planted inside my jacket, against my tank top and under my back.

Our lips moved faster and in sync. When things got heavier and heavier, he pulled me up. He tugged off my jacket and I grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing his hard chest. I ran my hands over his hot skin and pulled his lips back to mine. For some reason I craved his touch as he hugged my body tightly to his. I wanted us to be even closer. No gaps between our bodies.

He grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head leaving me in my plain black bra.

He growled and ripped my bra right down the middle. I shrugged it off and he grabbed at my chest he laid me down and reunited our lips. He kissed my jaw and my neck were his teeth gently clamped down.

His hands angrily pulled off my shorts and tossed them across the room.

During the whole experience, my nails dug into his back and my hands tugged his greasy hair while crying out his name.

"F*ck!" He shouted and collapsed on top of me like he was dead. I thought he was dead from his inactivity. He just laid there on top of me, his face pressed to my chest. I would have thought he was truly dead if I didn't feel his heavy breathing on my skin.

He rolled off of me onto his back and I rested my head on his chest.

"I ripped your bra on purpose." He said after a minute; breaking the silence. "Why's that?" I asked breathlessly.

"So you'd have to see me again. And so I could take it off of you again, sugar tits."