Trina grazed her fingers over her face, her expression was solemn as she looked straight into the mirrors. Her eyes, the brown windows into her confident, wild soul were now dim and strained.
Was. . Was there something wrong with her?
No, no there wasn't. She was Trina, the great Trina Vega. She was perfection, she could sing, she could act, she could even be president if she ever gave two craps about politics. But there was his voice, Dylan Crosby's voice ringing in the back-burner of her mind. The voice that kept her glued to the mirror, the voice that kept her fingers checking her face. Finally, Trina closed her eyes, and only winced when she heard his voice again.
"I don't like your kind."
Trina froze, she had been going on and on about what she could do. Her mental list pleas and her abilities to please him tore to pieces as she frowned in confusion.
"What?" She said silently.
Dylan crossed his arms, his cold blue eyes glaring- no- shooting daggers into her. "I don't like. . .Your type of people. Got that? Now leave me alone. And don't come by my house again."
Before the door shut, Trina's eyes travelled to the woman inside. She was about her age, a tall, skinny brown-haired girl stood there smiling sickily at her. Trina's heart broke in two ways, she must've been his girlfriend..His pretty, skinny. . White girlfriend.
And then Trina's eyes widened, she nearly stumbled back on her tall heels. She took a shattered breath, and stormed away from Dylan's door.
The memory lost it's color and broke when Trina opened her eyes again, she pushed her wavy chocolate-colored hair back and sighed before looking down at the floor. She ran home as fast as she could, ran up stairs and shut the bathroom door behind her. Dylan's house wasn't far from hers. And she felt a sting once she realized she'd have to keep seeing him every day. How could she face him now? What if she and him were forced to do an assignment together? She wouldn't be able to decline or put up some sort of complaint. What would she say? I'm sorry I can't work with Dylan because he hates. . Her kind?
"Oh God. . ." Trina moaned. The mere thought of these things happening made her cringe.
Trina backed away from the mirror and let herself plop down on the toliet., covering her face with her hands. She'd never had to deal with something like this, she had grown accustomed to changing for different people. Mainly other guys she thought were hot. Dylan liked blondes? Sure, she could do that, skinny? Of course, she worked out all the time, no skin off her back. But. .How did one change their skin color?
If she was so perfect, why did she need to change at all?
Trina narrowed her eyes, her stomach rumbled, but she felt no real desire to taste any food. She heard Tori knock on her door, she must've sensed something was wrong with her older sister. But Trina didn't answer, and eventually Tori stopped persisting. Trina finally stood, walking to the door and opening it, peaking her head through. She saw the clock, it was nearly three in the morning. Trina rolled her eyes.
"Way to go, Trina. By the time you wake up it'll probably be lunch at school." Trina berated herself, coming fully out of the bathroom and closing the door behind her. She missed the comfort of her bed, but as she laid down and threw her legs aside, the comfort was only a minimum. Trina frowned again, with all this anxiety she'd probably have nightmares. About herself, about Dylan, about everyone.
Everyone. . Everyone always need something from her. Her talent, her beauty, her weight, her ideas. . She even needed something from herself. .
Trina tossed over to the other side of the bed. She was disgusted with herself the most. How could she like Dylan? He was cold to her, he was racist to her, why did. . .did she still like him?
She never thought she could be brought down so easily by someone, Trina bit her lip. Her whole life she was shielded from things like this, they lived in Los Angelos, the place where this sort of thing was least likely to happen. She went to Hollywood Arts, a school that was supposed to accept everyone. This wasn't supposed to happen to her, not her. No.
And yet it did, she fell in love with Dylan, the racist next door (literally).
Trina suddenly bolted right up, did. . did Andre ever have to go through things like this? And then the idea of calling him came to mind. She flipped over to her nightstand, picked up her Pear Phone and dialed his number with a trembling hand.
"Ring. . . Ring. . .Ring"
"Hello?" Came the groggy voice of Andre Harris.
"Hey, Andre, it's me, Trina." Trina said, holding the phone closer to her ear.
"Trina? Girl, what are you doing cal -"
"I need to ask you a question," Trina interrupted him, frowning once more.
"Is it really important?"
"Okay. . " Andre said, Trina heard rustling on the other line. "What is it?"
"You know that guy that goes to Hollywood Arts? Dylan Crosby?" Trina began, feeling her palms begin to collect sweat.
There was a small pause before Andre answered. "Yeah?"
"Well. . I talked to him earlier tonight. .I was trying to ask him out. .And well . .Um. . "
"Yes?" Andre pressed on, the grogginess in his voice was gone.
"He said. . Uh. . Well he said he didn't like. ."my kind" "
Trina swallowed hard as she waited for Andre's response. "My kind? What do you. .Oh. . Oh, I'm sorry Trina."
"It's okay, I mean. . How do you. . What should I do now? I mean, I can't sleep at all . .I don't know what to do, I -"
"Listen, Trina," Andre began, sounding completely serious now. "Sometimes. . Things like this happen, and. . It's best not to let things like this get in the way of what we want. We. . Sometimes people like that. . Like Dylan are left forgotten. .They. . If they judge you like that. . Then you don't need them anywhere in your life, You need to forget about him, okay? You understand, Trina?"
Trina took a short breath, then answered, "Okay. . "
"You gonna be alright?" Andre asked.
"Yeah. . I think so . .Just don't tell anyone, okay?"
She could almsot hear Andre smiling through the phone. "Yeah, okay, sure."
"Goodnight, don't let the stardom bite."
Trina laughed silently as Andre's line went dead, she turned off the phone and laid it back in it's place. Reaching a bit farther, she turned off the lamp. Smiling slightly.
Maybe she'd get some sleep tonight.
Oh God, I hope I don't get too much backlash because of this fic.
Don't get me started on how I got this idea. Victorious was on and I suddenly got this plotbunny that Trina encounter some sort of racist, and it stops her completely in her tracks. I thought it would be much more interesting if it happend to Trina of all people.
Please review and tell me how you liked it! Thanks for reading!