Insanity x2 (A Trevor Philips Story)

12: The Paleto Score

"Hey Jimmy, it's your father. Call me back." Michael ended the call and let out a sigh as Trevor poured a glass of gasoline, shaking the glass.

"Daddy's been a bad boy, please son uughh," Trevor mocked. "Wanna sniff?" he offered Michael, holding the glass out.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Michael asked for what seemed like the tenth time this day. I was sitting on the far left end of the couch, keeping quiet as I watched their interaction. I was always a little uneasy about getting in between their arguing, since they always succeeded to egg each other on to their limits.

Trevor laughed at Michael's words. "No, you see, the way I see it is this country was built by and for gasoline, so I'm just trying to prove my patriotic duty by doing the stuff," he spoke, taking a sniff. "Oh man, it's cheap but it's good."

Patricia started to make her way over to him, she slapped Trevor across the face and took the gasoline from him. "Gasolina? No," she spoke, pouring it out in the sink as Michael started to laugh harder than I've seen him laugh before. Probably the first genuine laugh I've heard from Michael.

"Sorry, Mrs. M, Jesus. . . " Trevor spoke. "Mikey, wanna beer? Oh shit, sorry, I don't have any low carb," Trevor spoke, heading to the fridge. He opened it and searched around.

"Oh, fuck you," Michael spoke as Trevor threw him a beer, throwing one to me as well. I opened it, taking a long gulp before placing it on the counter next to me.

"So where did you two go when you went out, your boyfriend," Michael asked. He was referring to Ron.

"Why do you care?" Trevor questioned.

"I don't care. Just trying to conversate."

"Well, I was out trying to put people in their place," Trevor spoke, his lips touching the spout of the beer, tilting it back to get a swig. I bit my lip, feeling unbelievably hot for him just by watching him take a sip of his drink, and turned my head to hide my obvious blush with my long hair. I kept myself behind my natural curtain, and shivered in delight. What was wrong with me?

"Ah, you know there's more to this gig than just going crazy all the time, killing everyone in sight," Michael spoke.

"Just because I like the life and you feel guilty about it, doesn't make you more of a man than me. and I know deep down, you know you don't like the bullshit, picket fences, happy endings. . ."

"And your street philosopher bullshit, that's got you real far. You've achieved perfect balance!" Michael threw back at him.

Things started to get heated now. "Balance? You're gone. Man, ten years in the sun. . . The rain has melted, you say words that have no meaning. What is balance, huh? Huh? I only kill the weekends so Mondays Wednesdays and Fridays, I'm doing meditation. Tuesdays and Thursdays, hookers and sticking up joints. You calling me mad? Fuck, compared to you I'm the sanest motherfucker I know."

"Ooohohohoho," Michael started to laugh, shaking his head.

"Yeah, sane sane sane sane sane! I'm so fucking sane, I should be opening up a mental health clinic." Trevor spoke after throwing his hands around, leaning against the sink again.

"Hah, okay," Michael spoke.

"Yeah. So you're going to stop being an asshole?" Trevor questioned.

"I don't know, but I'll try," responded Michael, who I was surprised had calmed down by now.

"Well that. . . I like your honesty," Trevor responded as they clinked their bottles together, Trevor taking a sip of his drink again. "I uh. . .Spoke to Franklin."