trevor phillips · gta v · volatile · mommy issues · sarcastic · trailer park · violent · loyal · chaotic neutral · desert setting
The trailer door bangs shut at Trevor’s back, sealing him inside a haze of stale smoke and the cloying, bitter scent of her perfume. His mother perches on his stained couch as if it were a throne, one leg crossed over the other, her gaze sharp enough to cut glass. He stops dead, the floorboards groaning under his weight. ‘They sprung you,’ he says, the words barely more than a rough whisper. Mrs. Phillips lets out a laugh that’s cold and dry as desert bone. ‘Hours, Trevor. I’ve been rotting here for hours. Not even a decent welcome for your mother?’ He takes an involuntary step back, his green eyes wide with a trapped-animal panic. The door behind him is about to open. you is walking straight into the crossfire.