Destruction Breeds Ideas

Chapter 10

Trent's foot smashed in to a crate that had the misfortune of impeding his progress around the apartment. It crashed against the wall for its offense, leaving a dent to match the other marks he had added. There wasn't any way to gauge how many times he had crossed the littered floor, but his legs burned from his movements.

Since Erin stormed out Trent had wandered, drank, smoked, and efficiently destroyed his apartment. He didn't know how much time had passed, but it was enough that he didn't know what day it was. She had no cause to storm out that way. He didn't care so much that she had left, but the insult that was implied by her leaving ate at him. How dare she?

“B***h,” he muttered to himself as he turned to cross the room again.

Was he expected to keep up with her unreasonable mood swings forever? He just didn't have the patience to do it any longer. With her gone, he was on his own again.

Trent took a hit off the joint in his hand, and slipped on one of the tupperware lids that was slick with cold grease from the potato debacle. His shoe flew off his foot as he kicked out to keep his balance. He cursed as he viciously kicked the offending lid across the room. His mumbles became more pronounced, building until he screamed incoherently at the world in general. He wasn't really sure what he was saying, it just felt good to express his anger at Erin. She was his symbol for everything that was wrong with the world.

His phone rang in the bedroom, and he yelled at it to shut up. It obliged...after a few more rings. He couldn't have counted how many times he had ignored it since Erin ran out.

He felt a pain in his finger and yelled as he threw the joint away. He growled and bit the part of his middle finger it had burnt. Stupid joint. Just like stupid Erin. He kicked his couch, and then cursed at the pain that blossomed in his big toe. He screamed again.

“What the hell?!” He yelled at the couch before grabbing one arm in both hands and tipping it over. The sound of cracking wood echoed through his empty apartment. He panted for breath, staring at the only piece of furniture in his house that could be said to be whole. Now the stupid girl had him breaking his own stuff. Wonderful. He didn't consider the countless pieces of debris all around him. With a weary sigh he lifted the couch back to its former place of glory and let it drop back in to place. It cut the back of his hand as more wood splintered.

“D****T!” He kicked the couch again, and yelled at the renewed pain in his toe.

He collapsed to the floor and slumped against his injured couch, taking the time to avoid the newly broken sliver of wood that stabbed out the back. Trent didn't notice the other little wounds he had acquired in addition to the cut on his hand.

“You gotta be kiddin' me.” He looked around and snatched a bottle that had somehow not broken in the pandemonium. He spun the top, stared at the open mouth of oblivion, and lifted the bottle high.

“Here's to you!” He chugged the three quarters of the bottle that were left and slung it against his door with every ounce of strength he possessed. It exploded, and Trent slumped again, strangely content after watching the spray of glass.

*****

Trent came to. His mouth tasted like an ash tray or something worse, and his head pounded so hard he thought something had snuck inside and was breaking out with a sledgehammer. His foot felt broken, and the rest of him wasn't in much better shape. The damage from running into the wall from a few days before had healed up a bit, but still ached a little when he moved his face. The devastation he had perpetrated against his apartment barely registered in his conscience.

“Welcome to hell,” he muttered in what was meant to be a jovial tone; it sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

Life suddenly seemed as if it had begun again, in spite of how bad he felt. All of the black rage of the previous...however long...was gone. He needed to find a way back to the world.

The trick to getting back to the world was money, and he didn't have a dime. Another way was with a nice joint.

His eyes hunted through the debris, but he had to stand and crunch through the broken glass and old potatoes surrounding his TV to find one. He sighed and lit it, and his eyes fell on the empty baggie still on top of the TV. Empty.

“Crap,” he fell on the couch, forgetting the broken board behind it. It groaned in protest, but held. Then his eyes popped open, and if he had felt better he would have stood with his epiphany. He could fill the bag of weed and his wallet at the same time. It was so simple, it was amazing he hadn't thought of it before.

The only snag could come from Lex. If he didn't agree, then the plan was over before it started. It was his only option, though, Lex would have to go along with it.

If it worked, Erin was gone for good. He wasn't sure why that made him pause, but she had already left, she wasn't going to leave anymore than she already had.

“Good riddance, too,” he mumbled. So, Lex needed to agree. Erin was gone. For good. What else did he need?

He took another hit. He wanted Bobby with him, too. Bobby was always willing to ride with him, no matter what the game was. Trent could count on him, probably even further than he could Lex.

He wondered where Dave had gotten off to. Trent figured he was long gone, just as mysteriously as he had appeared. He didn't know why, but Trent didn't like the idea. The old bum knew life on the streets better than anyone else Trent could turn to.

The plan was Trent's only way to get ahead of the financial issues headed his way. In spite of how low the rent was, it still cost something. Even with everyone that crashed at his apartment whenever they wanted, he didn't think anyone else with a place would let him live with them. And honestly, he didn't want to give up his home. It wasn't much, but it was his.

Once he had everyone on board, he would approach Crazy Pete. He didn't give a second thought to the actions he would take. And he certainly couldn't believe that it wouldn't turn out the way he wanted.