Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Twilight characters, and I will not be earning income from using these materials. I do, however, own the storyline and any original characters. Thank you.

A/N: Thank you to my ever-loving, amazing, loyal beta, clarabella75.

With no further ado, I present to you our fourth trip into the mind of Trevor. Hope you enjoy!

This mini-moment is a Trevor POV which fits oh-so-nicely into Chapter Fifteen: Please Remember Me

*Side note - Buckhead is an upper class district of Atlanta, GA.*


Mini-Moments With Treward #4
"Open Your Eyes"

Inspired by the song "Open Your Eyes" by Andrew Belle

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The squeal of the tires would have been faint against the backdrop of the crackling fire.

If I had actually heard it.

But I could hear nothing save the beating of my own heart, throbbing in painful gasps.

She left.

She left with tears in her eyes, running away because I couldn't believe her, not enough to break through the bond of love I had for the ones who had raised me, had given me everything I knew.

And yet I could still feel her, sparks in my veins, penetrating my blood, a bond deeper than a casual acquaintance, stronger than a few months friendship.

I should never have yelled. She should never have run.

Familiar heat swept around my shoulders, drawing me into a niche I knew well – my mother's arms.

"Trevor." Her voice shook.

"Am I?" Mine shook harder.

"You will always be my son."

I sank inwards, fighting the familiarity, the warmth which ignited flames of fear and controversy. The voice which already told me who I was not.

"But I'm not, really."

"No."

The word was fire, burning my brain from the outside in.

I expected confusion. I expected pain. I expected pressure, hesitancy, an all consuming displacement to stifle my thoughts and muddy my mind.

I didn't expect contentment.

And I most certainly didn't expect the irrational flare of anger.

"Why?" I heard the word, a growl, gravel in my throat. I shoved away from the comfort.

Tears glistened in her forest green eyes. I still couldn't see a hint of myself in her face.

"Because we loved you, Trevor. Because you had no one, and we wanted to be your someone. You needed us as much as we needed you, and I will never apologize for taking care of a hurt, lost, lonely boy." Her words were firm, the antithesis to her shaking fists.

I stepped closer to the door.

"How?"

She swallowed, stood and nearly fell back onto the chaise, but her eyes held mine.

"There was a plane crash."

I shut my eyes at her words, striving to remember something, anything with a stamp of truth to it. Sad eyes, brown eyes, deep and distraught. A pen, paper, a missing wallet. Images and impressions, springing to the forefront, leaping to my mind and disappearing, but leaving a mark.

It was true.

"You were one of very few survivors, but you were the only one with no identification … and no memory."

I shook, leaning against the door frame.

"We hoped you would remember, and when you didn't, we simply fell in love. You are our heart. No matter what we've done, we've always loved you … for you."

She was telling the truth. I knew it to my core. I had only one more question.

"When?"

She swallowed, eyes calmly fixed.

"What do you remember, Trevor? "

My lips pursed. Before my eighteenth birthday? Nothing.

"You have your answer."

Nearly two decades … missing. And I had chased away the one person who could have opened them up for me.

Adrenaline and a need to know pushed me to turn my back on the woman who had loved me as her own for the past nine years of my life. I would forgive her … I couldn't not. But forgiveness would take understanding and belief.

Both things I needed more of.

Jogging out to meet Eleanor in the garage, I slammed the key into the ignition and headed in one singular direction like a bat out of hell – towards Rosalie Hale's apartment.

I don't know what incomprehensible intuition drove me towards the small two bedroom condo in downtown Buckhead, but by the time I was out of the car, I barely realized where I had ended up.

I hopped up the stairs two at a time and my fist crashed into the fourth floor door, nearly as frantic as my heartbeat.

The door swung open.

"Trevor?"

The body standing in the doorway to the condo which, once-upon-a-lifetime, would have been mine, threw me off. I tried to glance around him.

"Is Rose here?"

Emmett raised an eyebrow and eyed me before swearing under his breath.

"Damn it, Iz."

Rose's head peaked under Emmett's arm.

"Em, who – oh." I felt her eyes brush me over, head to toe. "Shit."

I knew it. My chest was crushed.

Rose slipped past Emmett's broad frame and took my hand.

"Come inside, please."

The lights in the apartment were off, and the thick, spice laden scent of Rose's homemade spaghetti sauce hung in the air. A flood of memories, of other memories of an other self, and the horrible mistake that other self nearly made, spilled into my head, flashes of images and impressions to fill in more of the pieces I had lost.

I nearly made it all the way to the living room when the words spilled, unable to stay unbound any longer.

"Is it true?"

"Trevor?" It was a high, very not-Rosalie voice. Alice.

"Alice, just … listen." The Rosalie voice answered.

I stared at the television, at the frozen image of a heady green forest settled languidly on the screen. I couldn't look away.

"Trevor, you have to listen to me." The Rosalie voice sounded strained, with overtones of calm. "Is what true?"

I swallowed, my name echoing in my ears, realization slapping me in the face.

"Is that really even my name?"

The question was even, flat, and emotionless. Alice squeaked in confusion. Rosalie shifted and sighed.

"No." I started when Emmett answered me. "It didn't used to be."

I looked over at him, wondering if he could see the pain in my eyes, wondering if it matched the pain in his. He nodded and left the room. I didn't have the strength to think his motions odd. The Alice voice finally rang out over the silence.

"Okay, look, I shut up, now will someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?"

I looked at Rosalie. Rosalie looked at her. Emmett's feet made measured stomps back into the room. He moved closer to me than before, then looked at Alice.

"C'mere, Tinkerbell."

Without waiting, Emmett took my hand and placed a slick piece of paper in it. A picture, face down. I turned it over.

It was me at the piano, not so many months ago, green grass floating like a heady sea against a backdrop of blue with stunning streaks of sunlight. I recognized the backdrop from the photo shoot so many months ago. And Bella's voice, whispering a name.

Edward …

Alice had come to stand next to me, her eyes scanning the photograph.

"I don't get it."

Rosalie stood next to Emmett, her hand in his. Jasper, who I hadn't even realized was here, finally stood. His hand brushed across my shoulder before he moved to Alice's other side. The atmosphere was ominous, but I still didn't understand. Was this … how was this proof? I looked over at Emmett. He grabbed my hand and squeezed, uncharacteristically familiar, and placed another photograph, face down, in my palm.

I turned it over.

My chest constricted tightly, my head reeling. My eyes opened wide, studying the image.

It was me. But it wasn't me.

Images, bright, shiny, and new, flickered, one by one before my mental eye. Impressions of love, of hope, of dense, green forests and wet, rainy days with the thick smell of peat moss hanging overhead were sudden and intense.

Alice stuttered beside me, lost as I was. One word pressed against my tongue from the other side of my brain.

"How?"

Emmett cleared his throat.

"Izzy."

With that name, more memories trickled down, sketchy images of a beautiful, brown-haired, brown-eyed girl, shy and spunky, aggravating and effortless. Isabella.

I closed my eyes, shook my head.

Vaguely, I heard Alice ask for an explanation behind me. Rosalie's version was short and clipped, but I didn't pay any attention to the words.

I was lost in the photographs in my head.

They were blotchy and unfilled out; I couldn't have defined a single memory, but they were there, waiting to be tapped, to be coached along and pulled from the lake of my past by someone who knew better.

Someone whom I had loved through the boundaries of time and the distance of memory.

Bella. Izzy.

I needed her. Now.

Turning, I shoved the pictures back into Emmett's hand.

"I have to go get her."

"Wait, Trevor, who?"

Alice's hands were on my wrist.

"Isabella, I –" I shook my head, trying to clear tears. "I have to find her, explain. Apologize."

No one asked me why. Alice pursed her lips together, her eyes watery.

"I'm going with you."

No one questioned us.