Trespassing

Trip's POV

Arriving home this early hadn't been in my plans. After Ava's sudden and most unusual request ever, it became a necessity—almost like breathing.

I stepped through the door, eyes spying at every corner. Though, it wasn't worth it—I was going to have to face my Mother so my "plan" could have a fighting chance. My so called plan consisted on putting up an act. I was going to ask for portfolio's of the possible, future customers—I shuddered—when I saw where she was keeping them—snatch. When night rolled around I'd go into her office and steal Ava's. I'd put it through the shredder and set the remains on fire insuring no one could put it back together.

"Mr. Harrington," Lawrence strolled from the kitchen's hallway. His working suit on, along with the bow tie my Mother insisted on—and of course, the greeting I fought against since I was five. "I wasn't expecting you home this early. I didn't tell Grace to prepare lunch for you—"

"And you don't need to. I'll just eat a sandwich or something."

"But Mr. Harrington—"

"Is my Father home?" Lawrence blinked his light eyes at me, shaking his head. "Then who are you calling Mr. Harrington? That's him, I'm Thomas." I showed the beginning of a smirk when I saw Lawrence's wrinkle rise, the starts of a smile coming on. "I've been saying this for almost eighteen years now. I should just record and play it whenever you call me 'Mr. Harrington'." I joked taking a glance at the living room's entrance.

"Or give up?"

"Come on, Lawrence, you know I'm not a quitter."

"Indeed, Mr. Thomas."

I opened my mouth to make another correction, but... "I'll take what I can get." I knew he wouldn't take the 'Mr' out of the equation.

"Mrs. Harrington isn't home." He informed so I'd let my guard slump—he knew too well I hated running into my Mother. I couldn't say Lawrence knew the exact reason why that was, but he suspected. Every time he opened the doors to girls—late at night, might I add—he could tell I wasn't too thrilled to receive them in my room. "She isn't going to be home until dinning hours."

I nearly dropped the bag onto the floor with my raging emotion—the one time I needed her to be around, for real, she wasn't. The one time I would gladly torment myself by being in the same room with her—she was working late.

"That sucks. I actually wanted to talk to her. It figures she's not around when I need her." On one hand, good, I didn't need to see her face, on another...

"There is someone here for you, Mr. Thomas." I threw my bag over my shoulder, glancing to Lawrence's mild-aged face. "He was wearing down my patience so I took the liberty of sending him up to your suite."

"Him?" Someone who could wear down Lawrence's patience? It was easy to guess who it was, especially if it was a 'him'. "What did he do?"

Lawrence rolled his eyes thinking of the certain person waiting upstairs.

"It's best not to talk about it, sir."

I suppressed a chuckle. Ticking Lawrence off wasn't something I enjoyed, or tended to do—I felt more connected to him than to my own Father—but it was sort of funny to see him fuming imagining ways to murder my best friend.

"I'll just go up—" I mumbled skipping up the stairs. Who knew what that crazy bastard was doing in my room? Infesting the place with pot, probably…

I walked into the suite-bedroom to find an extremely laid back pale blond haired guy on my couch. The relaxed smirk was expected, though I caught a real surprise when his arms were behind his head.

"No joint?" I made sure to lock the door; you never knew who'd walk in next. Privacy wasn't plentiful in this house.

"No hello?" He pushed off from the two-seat couch, patting my cheek. I took a step aside, snorting a laugh. "I can't believe you're alive. Is it really you—'cause you have no idea what I went through to find out what happened to you."

"What happened to me?" I already knew what Gabriel was talking about but I decided to play dumb.

His baby-blue eyes rolled in a big way—I could truly see the whites of his eyes.

"Yeah, man, you know very well what I'm talking about here. I go to study abroad for three months—three months—and when I get back I find out my best friend has apparently dropped off from the face of the Earth." Alright maybe he was over exaggerating this— "I go back to our old school and found out you got kicked out again. Afterwards, I learn that you crashed your car? Seriously, I thought you were dead when nothing else came up on you."

"You should already know me and the social media don't get along." I shrugged throwing the book bag over to my bed. "That's more your scene than mine."

"If your parents paid you to go out and party wouldn't you do it?" I'd do it for free if my Mom allowed me to have a free-sex weekend—or better yet, control over who and when I wanted to do it with. "Ah, forget I said that."

"Trying," I muttered not really affected. "So, Spain? How was it?"

"Don't change the subject, Trip." I held up my hands. Gabe wasn't like this, not often, only when he got really pissed—which meant he was ticked off at me.

My eyebrows scrunched, I placed a hand over my heart, "Is this because I didn't write?" My voice flowed with mocking regret causing a couch pillow to be chucked at my head—but there was a fat smirk on his golden boy face.

"Such a douche," Gabriel shook his head before falling back on his favorite place—the leather couch. "I was genuinely worried." Now it was my time to offer up an eye-roll, though he was telling the truth. "After seven years I still don't know how you manage to pull it off."

"What can I say, I was born with the talent of causing trouble." He stretched his neck propping his blond head on the couch's arm. "Just like you have a talent to keep out of it." We were the most improbable two friends ever. I held the bad boy Oscar and Gabe had the golden boy stamp.

"I keep out of trouble as far as they know." He winked. True, he did the things I did—minus being a sex slave for models—but he was careful with the cover up. On the Upper East Side we all had crosses to bare, Gabriel's was to be the perfect gentleman outside on the red carpet where the light shone, in the background the story was different. "But at least I get rewarded for being a saint," I knew where this was going. "You on the other hand..." He was teasing me, he knew my reasons. He was the only person besides me, Catherine and my Mother who knew about the whole fiasco, what landed me in a hard spot with my Mom. "Hasn't your Mom died of heart attacks?"

"Sadly no, I'll just have to keep trying."

"It's a good thing I'm back then. I have access to all the parties and guess who I'm dragging with me?"

"Me?"

"Well, yeah, no one crashes a party like Thomas Harrington."

"So very true," but I had other plans for now—for this night. I had Ava's problem to worry over. "I can't do anything tonight." Or tomorrow, in case tonight turned out to be a waste.

Gabriel sat up with speed, disbelieve playing on that baby-face of his.

"It's not a weekend—don't tell me she has you working on school nights, too?" His indignant voice made the matter easier to discuss "This has to—"

"No, she hasn't me working on school nights, I—"

Gabriel's eyes were the perfect resemblance of steel. "Still, we've talked about this before. If it were me I'd rather face public humiliation than have unwilling-sex weekend after weekend."

I exhaled, pinching the bridge of my nose. A discussion about the motives for my fame as a womanizer wasn't exactly how I wanted to kick-off with Gabe after three months.

"Being publicly humiliated would lead to a ruined future." And a lifetime of shame. One thing was having sex with girls because I wanted, another was because I was obligated. And I was obligated. That was all about Catherine and a past I didn't wish to revisit. As long as I kept doing what my Mother wanted, I was safe. "I can't risk it."

"Come on, bro, how bad was it—really? You told me what went down, you never went into detail." He pushed with unease.

"And I'm not going to..." I murmured fighting off flashes from that night two years ago. My fingers brushed over my wrists, the marks weren't there anymore, but sometimes... it still felt wrong. I still felt the ropes—enough. This had to stop now before going further down memory lane. "Just let it go." My palms rubbed down my tense expression. "But since you're here," I sat up landing eyes on him. "You can lend me a hand."

He crossed the lean arms, "Talk to Gabe, buddy."

He fidgeted with his ear piercing as I explained about my new therapist, her unorthodox method of getting me and Ava to sort out our problems—issues—together. Then I talked about Ava as well as I could. I wasn't sure what we were doing, we walked around and around—I wasn't sure how to feel about it. Sometimes it was hard to believe I lived without her all this time, it felt like she was oxygen now. Every time we weren't around each other my breath was harder to gain, my lungs ached—my head hurt from thinking about her all the time. By the time I finished Gabriel's scowl was reaching epic levels, never good.

"Not this again." Gabriel groaned face-palming himself.

"What again?" I held out my hands keeping my lips stupidly parted.

The blond haired boy fixated my eyes with his soft blue ones.

"The 'there's this girl' story. I've heard it—actually I lived it, and so did you."

"Gabe—"

"Nah-uh, I remember perfectly well how that story ended six months later. Excluding the R-rated details, it ended up with me getting you so drunk I thought you were going into alcoholic coma." My shoulders shrunk, sinking lower than usual. "In case you forgot Catherine was a model, too. That's why all of this got started—your Mother's work, her models, her brilliant idea of using you to—"

"Give it a rest, alright? I know what she uses me for—can you shut up about it?" I was only aware of what I'd done when I had already done it. I was on my feet, face getting red, fists shaking at my sides. Gabe's eyes lowered to them, they slipped closed as he inhaled re-opening them.

"Okay," I heard him whisper lowly. "Sorry, I just... I know how much it all bothers you. I'm just making sure you know—"

"I know. Like you said," I offered up a bitter smile. "I lived it." I was being awful, in a way, because Gabriel was only looking out for me. He was like a brother, sometimes I thought we got along so well because we weren't related by blood. "Didn't you hear what I said, though? She wants out. She doesn't want to be a model."

"Right, she's the girl who only models to make her Mother happy. Doesn't that strike you as curious? Why doesn't she say 'no'?" His distrust was both enfuriating and welcome—he cared about me, I knew it, I saw it. But doubting Ava… that I hated, it was like he was poking me with a heated fire-poker.

"Why don't I say no, Gabe?"

"Because your Mom is a blackmailing bitch?" A sad grin took up my face.

"Yeah," I walked to the dining table, leaning on it. "I think there's more about Ava's reasons, I just don't know what. She hasn't told me, I don't know if she ever will..."

"But you still want to help?" I nodded. Gabe sighed scratching the side of his neck. "You're unbelievable sometimes. This could bite you in the ass, you know? If your Mom finds out..."

"She won't."

"How are you sure?" I wasn't, having faith never killed anyone, right?

"Because I have you now, and trust your covering up skills completely."

"I'm flattered, man. So, this girl—"

"Ava," I all but growled out, thinking he was forgetting her name on purpose—to annoy me.

"Ava," he drawled with a glint of something in his eye, I couldn't be sure, but I think he was mirth. "How come she's so certain she'll be picked? Modesty doesn't run in her veins?" A single eyebrow itched up a notch. "In your opinion what would your Mother decide?"

"She'll choose her, it's a definite yes." I recalled contemplating about Ava, how Mom would love to have her as a model, back then I didn't know Ava was one. "She's tall, slim, the poses are natural—she has talent." She did, as much as I hated models and no matter how Ava hated the idea, she seemed to have a natural gift for it.

"Hum," Gabe breathed glaring up at the ceiling. "Nothing I say is going to persuade you to turn a blind eye to that request, is it?"

"Nope," Ava was an important person to me, I didn't know when that happened, but it had. I wasn't ready to let go of her. "I'm not doing this only for her," I confessed feeling the selfishness taking up too much room in my chest. "If we don't get the papers with Ava's information she'll be selected—and if she is... she'll find out about me. They all know about it, the models in Lovet, if she gets inside that bubble she'll know too."

Gabriel sat up drawing his legs closer to his chest so he could place his elbows on his knees. With attentive eyes he studied me.

"It's really important to you that she doesn't know, huh?" More than I could explain. My jaw hardened, he took it as a sign. "Alright, I'll help you out. But don't come crying to me this time—"

"Do you want me to break your fingers?" At the moment I wasn't certain I was making a normal empty threat, the idea of him implying that Ava was anything like Catherine... it repulsed me. That and he thought I was stupid enough to get fooled again.

"Better broken fingers than a broken heart," he shot back in a non-aggressive manner making me chill. "What's your plan?"

"I see where she's keeping the portfolios and steal Ava's."

"That's it?" I nodded shrugging lightly. "I think that car crash did some real damage to your brain. If Ava really is as good as you say your Mom is going to recall her—she'll suspect something if the portfolio goes missing, especially after showing them to you." I hadn't really thought it through, had I? A sudden buzz broke us from concentration—"Speaking of parents," Gabe mumbled as he finished fishing out his cell. "My Dad just texted me my new assignment. Ever heard of a Valerie Monet?"

I sputtered a laugh, "Heard of her? She goes to my school—in fact, she's friends with Ava."

Gabriel's golden complexion seemed to glow when he learned this.

"Is she hot?"

"Sure," there was a certain level of perfection to her that Gabe would just love to violate, they'd get along brilliantly. "She's a queen-bee, if that helps."

"Ha, you know how those are my favorite." Sarcasm was easily detected. "Seems like my Father wants to work with hers on... something. Guess I'll be charming Valerie. What a joy." It was wasn't it?

"What about the portfolio?"

In a slow, but deep, exhale Gabe squinted his eyes on me. I wondered if he was trying to read my mind or something equally freaky.

"You're whipped." What?

"You're crazy." I shot back steadily, funny enough I couldn't heave a faint laugh to support my statement. "I'm not. She's my friend—sort of." Sometimes we were more on killing-terms than anything else, but if she really disliked me than she would never have left me stay the night. "I have a debt to pay her." She did something for me, now I returned the favor. It all fit. There was nothing else.

"Whatever you say, bro. I'll pretend to believe you." He winked smugly getting out of the couch, walking to my enormous balcony. "I'm going to smoke one, you in? It might help with the creativity to save your damsel."

I didn't bother saying Ava wasn't my anything, it would only encourage him.

"Is it good stuff?"

"The best money can buy." That said it all.

"Good, we'll need it."

Ava's POV

I walked around my room trying on different dresses; none seemed to please my Mother. This would probably end with us shopping for a new one, perfect for my audition. I pushed down a hopeful feeling not wanting to jinx it. Thomas called me about an hour saying he had a plan—he sounded a little off, I didn't know why exactly but his voice had sounded a bit… dopy? I was too relieved to ask if everything was alright. I didn't want to light the fireworks yet, but if luck was on my side, Mom was going to have a major let down. I, of course, would appear heartbroken and distraught to her, while on the inside I'd be making an amazing fiesta.

"I like this white one." I twirled once in front of my full length mirror. It was strapless, clinging to my waist and hips, opening at the end—reaching inches above my knees.

"Nonsense, that looks like a prom dress." My Mom waved me back into the closet, I was getting tired of fishing around. Half my dresses were never used, we bought them—Mom did—then I never got to wear most of them. "Wait, stop—"

"This one?" I held up a mermaid satin.

"No, not that one, if you wore that no one would see your legs! We want them to select you, honey, not reject you and your legs are beautiful—they'll love them." Okay, I knew that already. My legs were apparently a big weapon. Funny, I had always been under the impression guys eyed my breasts more than anything else… but hey. "Try the pearl pink, the one to your left." She gestured to the dress hanging beside me. It was strapless, chiffon, the edges flapped freely—sexily—well above my knees. It was bare of any other adornments besides a ruche of flowers. It was classic and timeless. "It fits you so perfectly." She came over to take a closer look. Knowing the drill, I turned once, twice—until she was satisfied. "I wonder why you never wore it before."

"I have no idea." I muttered looking myself in the mirror, glad I'd straightened my hair before she arrived home. "You must have bought it in a shopping spree." She had lots of those.

"I'm glad I bought it, it's the perfect fit for the audition! They'll swoon over this dress and of course you. That's the important part. You have to do everything perfectly, like you always do." She never had this sort of faith when I wanted to pursue my photography dream. Of course not, it had always been about Mia's dream, what she wanted. "My little girl is so grown up. I can't believe you're almost eighteen." Me neither, especially because it felt like I hadn't aged at all—maybe 'cause I was living out a lie? "I'm going to get things ready for dinner. Be careful with this one when you put it away." She smiled running her hands up and down my bare arms, I made a robotic smile meet my lips.

The door closed and I found myself toppling over my bed. Could this be more of a hellish prison? Yes, if I stopped being a model, comets would crash through my window. I just hoped Trip was able to get me off the hook. I was counting on him.

After I stripped out of the winning dress, I crawled onto my bed burying my face into a pillow. For a while I simply laid there and as I did, I caught myself staring at my geography book. Sitting up I brushed the hair sticking to my cheek, I grabbed the book off the floor, opening it where I'd stashed… the pinkish flower. Even if it was dead, smashed into a paper-thin state it still held beauty, a little fragrance remained. I had no idea what the smell was but it was sugary. I returned my head to the pillow gazing at the little thing in the palm of my hand.

Why did I keep it? There had been plenty of garbage cans on my way to class and on the way home—I could have tossed it to the sidewalk without a thought. I kept it, though. Eyes closed I inhaled—my eyelids fluttered. One of these pillows had been used by Thomas, not like I knew which one, they were the same. The simple thought of it… played around in my head. Did I keep the flower because he gave it to me? Because it was given to me by him? I never cared about getting flowers. I didn't like to think of myself as one of those girls. The type that needed flowers and candy on Valentine's Day, deep down I knew I had no idea what type of girl I was. I'd never been with anyone. Valentine's Day was something me and Lindsey used to spend together unless she made plans with a guy, it happened. Would I be a clingy girlfriend? Would I argue over everything, even if it wasn't worth it? Would I be sweet and soft? These questions never plagued me before—so why were they bugging me now? Why did they come to mind at the same time Thomas Harrington did? Both thoughts—together—did not match, not at all.

"Stupid flower," I cursed feeling childish enough to throw a tantrum. "Stupid therapy…" I smashed my face into the pillow groaning. It was all her fault, Ms. Coleman's, she was the one who stuck me with him—it was because of her that I was… this way. Thinking about some idiot who only showed interest in sleeping with models—that, unfortunately, was the most surprising guy I'd ever met. I felt me and Trip had come a long way, I started of hating his guts, then he won me over with that outburst—he made me want to know him. Not just read what the tabloids said—and I liked what I saw, the more I discovered the more I liked him. What he'd done for Finn was something so nice and honorable I had trouble believing at first. He was right; he wasn't like all the other stuck-up kids from high society. I both hated and like him for it. "What have you done to me, Harrington?" I mused eying the spot where he had slept—my heart gained renewed strength.