Chapter Text
Ever since his mother had passed, Travis has been arriving at school early. He just can’t stand being home anymore. It was barely hospitable with her around. Without her around, his father finds more and more things to blame on him. If he didn’t avoid his house, he’d look a lot worse for wear from all the beatings. As it is, he looks like he’s been put through a ringer. He flicks open some concealer, dabbing it lightly onto a brush. He carefully puts it on, being sure to cover all of the bruises he can see in the mirror. This includes his neck and wrists; he applies it heavily over his wrists, worried the makeup might wear off throughout the day. When he’s finished, he puts the concealer and brush back in his backpack. He slips out of the bathroom quietly, heading toward the cafeteria for breakfast.
He’s one of the first people there, as usual. He accepts his breakfast gratefully, going to sit at a table in the furthest corner of the room. He eats quickly, pushes his tray aside, and pulls out a book to read until first period. It’s a nice distraction from memories of his mother. He gets through a few chapters before the bell rings, signaling ten minutes to get to class. He places his bookmark just above the line he’s on, closes the book, and stands. He stretches himself out a bit before taking care of his tray and heading to first period. It’s physics, which he rather enjoys because there’s barely any students in the class. Today, they’re learning about friction through a hands-on activity. He and Phillip are paired together for the activity. It requires wrapping a rope around either wrist, then loosely wrapping them around each other and pulling. He cringes a bit at the tug on his wrist, but other than that the class is good.
Second period is chemistry, which he has with Todd Morrison and Sal Fisher. At the same lab station. He’s not started a fight with Sal in a little over a year–since his mother passed–but he still has a distaste for his kindness. He doesn’t understand how someone with a prosthetic face can still find good in the world. It makes him jealous, honestly. The world hasn’t been good in his eyes since his father started beating him. It’s been so long, he honestly doesn’t remember when it started. His mother used to talk about what a happy baby he’d been, though, so he supposes it didn’t start until he was at least three. Sal sits across from him and points at his wrist. “What happened there?” Travis yanks his hand off the desktop, covering his wrist with his other hand. He narrows his eyes at Sal.
“Must have happened last period. We did a friction activity with ropes.” Sal leans closer.
“Let me see. I might have something that can help.” Of course he would. Travis reluctantly holds out his arm, wanting the pain to subside more than he wants to stay away from any rumors that might start circulating if he gets close to Sal. “Oh. That’s peculiar.”
“What?” Sal shakes his head, releasing his arm and bowing his head to grab something from his bag. He comes back up with something to rub on it, which nearly instantly makes the pain go away completely. “...Thanks,” he mumbles, looking away and taking his arm back.
“You’re welcome.” Travis glances down at his arm to see if he can tell what was so peculiar to Sal, and his heart drops. The bruise is clearly in the shape of a hand. He wants to disappear. He can’t believe he let anyone see that! If word gets around, his father’s going to kill him.
“Listen, you can’t-” he’s cut off by Todd joining them.
“Sorry I couldn’t walk with you Sal.”
“It’s alright. Did he answer your question?”
“Yes. And then we spoke about it some. I’m lucky to have made it before the bell.” As if on cue, the bell rings to signal the start of class. A few seconds later, the fourth member of their lab station walks through the door. Travis doesn’t even remember his name. He never does any work. Which is probably better for him, since he likes to perfect his measurements. Todd would likely be a better partner for him, but he was paired with Sal. Probably because of the history of fighting. He focuses his attention on the teacher, shushing his wild mind. Sal’s not likely to tell anyone that will spread a rumor about what he saw, so why is he so worried? Soon enough, he’s enveloped in learning.
The rest of the day is super uneventful, aside from Travis having to reapply the concealer on his wrist. Once school is over, he wanders over to Phelps Ministry. He’s been coming here a lot recently to visit with his mother. He sighs when he sees her gravestone, the live flowers he’d put on it a week ago wilting. “Sorry mom. I’ll have to get you some more tomorrow.” He sits across from her, sliding his bookbag off his shoulder. He leans back on his hands, tilting his head up to the sky. “I’ve been doing better in math recently. I don’t know how, honestly. None of it makes sense to me. I guess I’m more of a science guy.” He lets out a small, broken laugh. He feels tears come to his eyes, so he closes them. “It’s been getting colder lately. It won’t be long before I have to take out my winter clothes.” He pauses, thinking. “Sal’s being nice to me again. He’s persistent about being friends. We both know how Father would react to that.” He sighs heavily. “He helped me today. One of my bruises was hurting and he made it better.”
He shifts to sit up, opening his eyes to rummage through his bag. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes. “I smoke now. Have since you left. I try not to smoke in front of you, but there’s a lot going through my head right now. I’m sorry.” He takes a lighter from his pocket, a cig from the pack, and lights it up. He draws in a big, long puff, trying to quiet his mind. “I know Father would have my head if he ever found out. That’s why this is a secret between us, okay?” A tear falls onto his cheek. He’s quick to wipe it away. He makes a point of talking to her every day like she’s still here, but it hurts sometimes. Usually when he asks a question he knows she’ll never be able to answer. “School was boring, as always.” He shakes his head. “It’s the same thing every day. Wake up, go to school, avoid father, talk to you, go home to an angry man, rinse and repeat. I want something more, but I don’t know what.” He lets a comfortable silence fall, thinking about nothing and everything at the same time. When he’s finished with his cigarette, he stubs it out in the grass and tosses the butt into his bag. He lays next to his mother’s grave, curling in on himself a bit. “I miss you,” he whispers, letting himself cry now.
Travis wakes up when a cold wind washes over his body. He shivers, sitting up and pulling his knees close. The sun is starting to set, which means he has a few more hours before he should head home. He grabs his backpack then stands and stretches. He lets out a yawn, glances at his mother’s grave, then heads toward the playground across town. He keeps his head bowed on the walk, staring at the bruises around his wrists. He always washes off the concealer before leaving school, as his father would beat him more if he knew he dared wear makeup of any sort. He kicks at the mulch on the ground, watching it launch into the air in an explosion. It drops to the ground limply, not moving after. He wishes he could be so carefree. “I didn’t know you visited this park.” He jumps at the voice, whirling around, fists up. Sal raises an open hand. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” Travis drops his arms, making a noise of discontent. “Hey, you’re in my stomping grounds, don’t give me that.”
“Your stomping grounds?”
“Yeah. Larry and I visit here often. We like to swing and talk.”
“Then I should go.” Sal shakes his head.
“No need. Larry’s back at the apartments, and I could use some company. You look like you might need it too.” There he goes, seeing right through him again. It’s annoying how often that happens. “Did you get in a fight last period?” He’s suddenly very aware of his black eye, the bruise around his neck, and the bruises wrapped around his wrists. He can practically feel them throbbing like they’re new. He shakes his head slowly, cautiously.
“These are a few days old. It’s easier to hide them than to answer question after question.” Sal steps closer. Travis stiffens, ready to run if he needs to.
“Relax. I’m not going to tell anyone. Whether you use makeup or not isn’t any of my business. But the bruises are. More specifically, who I suspect is giving them to you.”
“And who might you think that is?” He snaps, fingers clenching into fists. He feels like a cornered animal, despite the open area around them. Sal is perceptive. He’s already preparing an excuse for what name he says.
“Your father.”
“It’s not-” The words catch up with him, and he becomes light headed. He drops himself to the ground quickly, not wanting to faint while standing. His bottom lip trembles; he hadn’t been expecting a right guess. Sal hurries to his side, dropping to his knees.
“Are you alright?” His mouth opens, but no words come out. He eventually gives up and just shakes his head. Sal carefully takes one hand into both of his, careful not to startle him again. “It’s okay to not be alright. Especially in this circumstance.” He brings up one hand to brush Travis’ hair out of his face. “Now that I know I’m right, I can’t let you go home.” Travis closes his eyes.
“Where do you suggest I go?” He asks hoarsely. “He’ll find me wherever I go.” Sal squeezes his hand.
“I don’t know. Out of Nockfell, maybe? He can’t find you if there’s no one around to tell him where you are.” Travis scoffs.
“I can’t leave. I’m expected to take over as pastor.” He shoves the hands away, though he finds himself longing for the touch immediately after it’s gone. “I likely already have a wife lined up for me as well. I can’t just leave her behind. I can’t leave my mother behind.” Sal grabs his hand again, persistent as ever. He knows she’s passed, but he of all people understands not wanting to leave her grave behind.
“Do you want the future he has set out for you?” This gives Travis pause.
“Want? Does it matter if I want it or not? It’s what an abusive prick has decided, so it will be. No matter what he has to do to make it happen,” he thinks out loud. Sal shakes his head.
“That’s not true! There are people who will protect you from him!”
“Like who!?” He’s cornered again. The angry beast in him has risen its head to fight. It’s tired of fleeing. Sal squeezes his hand again. And again and again.
“Me. Todd and Neil would definitely help; they actually kinda like you now. Ashley won’t take much convincing. And Larry-”
“Hates my guts.”
“He’s protective. If I can talk to him about your situation, he’ll change his attitude. He’s very family oriented and hates when things like this happen.” Talk to Larry Johnson about his father being abusive?
“ Hell no! If he learns Father is abusing me, everyone in school will know about it by tomorrow.” Sal sighs heavily, shoulders dropping.
“He won’t tell anyone. But it’s your decision.” He releases Travis’ hand. “Please think about it. I’m worried about you.” Then grabs it again.
“Why?” He swallows thickly; no one’s ever cared about him like this before. Not even his mother. But he doesn’t blame her, she was afraid.
“Because I want to be your friend.”
“Not this again. We can’t be friends. My father-”
“ No. What do you want?” Travis is taken aback. What does he want? To be himself, for one, but that’s not what he’s asking. He rubs his thumb over the back of Sal’s hand thoughtfully.
“I want a friend I know I can trust. Someone I can talk to in confidence, and not have to worry about what I say being passed around town.” His hand is squeezed.
“You know I’d never tell something you told me in confidence.”
“Do I know that?” Sal gives him a look. Travis sighs, letting out a groan. “Yeah, I do. But it’s hard to believe. I’m so used to my life being known by everyone…” He’s talking about his father’s following. The cult half the town’s in. He doesn’t want to be part of it, and he’s told his father that countless times, but he keeps pushing it on him. He’s attending meetings as the heir now, and he absolutely despises it. Sal’s not a part of the cult though. Neither are any of his friends. Maybe he can trust them? Or him, at the very least. “I want to try being friends. Try. If something goes wrong, I’m out. And we should hide it, for now. Father is… More easily annoyed right now because it’s so close to Mother’s passing. But I do want to try openly being friends. His reaction can’t be any worse than what I already get.”
“I don’t like that he has a reaction that leads to this,” he motions at the bruises. “At all. I’m still going to try getting you away. Friends is a good start. Thank you for listening to what you want, instead of letting your dad control everything.”
“You have no idea how accurate that statement is,” he mumbles. Then, louder, “Thank you for being willing to put up with me. I know I can be difficult. It’s mostly fear.”
“I can see that now.” Sal stands, pulling Travis up with him. “Come to the swings with me. We can talk more there.” He nods, following after the blue haired boy. They each sit on a swing. Sal pumps his legs expertly, soaring high in the air within a matter of seconds.
“Confession.” The other drags his feet on the ground, coming to a stop quickly. He tilts his head at Travis questioningly. “I’ve never been on a swing before. Father never let me. He said it was senseless. That I’d be better off learning to read or write. I like reading, and my handwriting is prettier than other guys, but… I dunno. Was it worth it to miss out on playing?”
“Absolutely not! I can’t believe he’d do something like that, seriously? He wouldn’t even let a child be a child?”
“That’s not entirely true. I was allowed to play strategy games.” Travis has a feeling if he could see Sal’s expression, it would be a sour face.
“It’s simple to swing, really. You might want to start with kicking off the ground. Then move your legs back and forth to keep the momentum. Like this.” He shoves off the ground, launching himself into the air. He does it a few more times to gain height, then starts pumping his legs. Travis watches him for a long while before trying himself, albeit hesitantly. He swiftly learns he does not like being so high up in the air while moving so fast. It makes him nauseous. He lightly grazes the ground with his feet, trying to stop himself without throwing up his lunch. He hears Sal laugh and looks over at him, already stopped. “Not a fan, huh? That’s okay. You might like letting the wind push you better. Just keep your feet off the ground and let nature do the work.” He cautiously does as Sal says, clinging tightly to the chains. Soon enough, his grip loosens.
“Okay, I like this better. Less vomit-inducing.” The other snorts in laughter. Travis shakes his head at him. “I blame my father for this. I’m sure I would have loved it as a child, but now it’s mildly terrifying.” He smiles a bit, something he never thought he’d do again a year ago. He’s already healing from the loss of his mother, isn’t he? It’s sad, but it’s to be expected. The pain will never go away, but things will get better.
“That’s okay. If I think about the aspect of it for too long, it becomes scary to me too.” He feels like he’s just saying that, but it’s a nice thought either way. A comfortable silence falls between them for a few minutes. Travis tries his hardest not to think of anything. When Sal speaks again, it’s clear he wasn’t trying to think of nothing. “Hey, Trav? Are you gay?” He flushes at the use of the nickname.
“Why would you ask something like that?” His reaction isn’t as negative as he expected.
“Two years ago, when I first offered to be your friend, I found a note by the trash in the bathroom. It was in your handwriting, I think, and it talked about being attracted to a boy. Sorry if I’m wrong.” Travis sighs heavily.
“You’re right, that was mine. But I’m trying to get over liking boys.” He closes his eyes tightly. “It’s harder than I thought it would be. Why would God make me gay? Does He hate me?”
“No, He doesn’t. You’re in His perfect image, right? Then that means if you like boys, He meant for you to be gay. He doesn’t love you any less.”
“Yeah, I guess. But that’s hard to believe when I’ve had homophobia shoved down my throat my entire life.” Sal places his foot down on the ground hard, bringing himself to a fast stop.
“Did I mention I hate your father?” Travis laughs.