<i>She knew.<br/>
</i><br/>That realization had brought a metaphorical storm cloud, dark and thick with rain, forth to loom over the meeting. Trevor went to speak a lie but it got caught in his throat. He absentmindedly reached for the glass of water, for comfort, and swallowed the lie back down. He remained silent; calloused hands clung snug around the sweating glass of chilled water whilst the other smoothed the length of his thigh, back a forth. It was a nervous tick that he had never been able to overcome.<br/><br/>The silence in the room was uncomfortable and he finally broke it by clearing his throat. His lips parted and a sort of weak grunt escaped his gape mouth. Trevor lifted his shoulders into a shrug and exhaled deeply, setting the glass back down on the table. "I don't know," he began, the cog wheels in his mind searching for the best way to come out with it. "It wasn't<i>entirely </i>my fault. That assistant was egging me on; telling me horrible things."<br/><br/>That was a half-truth. The full truth would have been that Trevor was having a rather horrible night. He was grumpy and the medication he had been given made him a little irritable. "I was in the commons, watching a film and minding my own business, honest. Then that new guy," he paused, brow furrowing as he attempted to recall his name. "Adam is it? He came in and told me to turn off the program before it was over."<br/><br/>His hands became fidgety at that moment, but he continued on. "Everyone knows that I like to finish my shows. I tried to tell him that, but he wouldn't listen to me. Then he grabbed my arm to yank me up and... and I don't know what happened after that. I woke up in a solitary room this morning."<br/><br/>"I only just learned that he had been injured. I blacked out. I would have never hurt another human like that on purpose." Trevor was prone to black outs. To make matters worse, he typically became very violent during those periods of time and those events were one of the main reasons why he found himself in the hospital in the first place. The final straw had come when he was back at home, living with his mother. He drank a lot back then and would have been considered, by most people, a failure piece of shit. The label was pretty accurate. His mother had come home late one evening to find him passed out on the bathroom floor, a chunky pool of vomit lay out in front of him. She began to yell and holler, kicking his side and muttering condescending things. He woke up shortly after and nearly beat her to death. Of course, he couldn't remember doing it. Perhaps somewhere deep down in his conscious lie the truth that he tried so hard to repress, but the details and motivations behind the outburst remained a mystery, even to him.<br/><br/>"I'm sorry, but I just don't remember..." Trevor's meetings with Dr. Prescott had been trending towards pleasant lately, but he cursed at himself in his head. He'd fucked up. One step forward and two steps back. He would never get out of that place and it was entirely his own fault.