Chapter Text
He was falling into a deep, pitch-black hole. Nothing of it felt real, yet very familiar. The harsh smell of iron that bore into his nostrils, the force of gravity pushing him down, and the sweat on his hands that were clasped around a worn handle. There was someone beneath him, someone falling. He couldn't see their face, but it didn't matter anymore as they hit the ground, the sound of bones cracking before everything went black. A familiar figure stood in front of him. Unrealistically tall, the body wasn't flesh but a plague of shadow with burning red eyes filled with uncontrolled rage.
Travis woke up abruptly, sitting up in bed, the sweat causing his dead-bleached yellow hair to stick to his forehead. He looked around until the sharp pain in his right eye became unbearable and he forced himself to get up, stumbling towards the bathroom.
It's only been a few months since his father took him to that godforsaken temple for his 18th birthday. Travis knew he shouldn't have expected an actually nice birthday vacation when he was told they were going somewhere, but he couldn't help the hope that had sparked inside him. And now here he was. His eye was infected with something he didn't want to, or couldn't, name. It loathes him. His father told him he would be of great use, and ever since his 18th birthday, his worth has been weighed by that useless organ in his skull. That day wasn't real, Travis told himself. Just another one of those horrible visions.
Travis stared at his reflection in the mirror. It made him sick. Countless times he had shattered that glass and countless times he had gotten in trouble for it. Even he could see the rage rushing through him. He pressed the right eye closed as it played tricks with his vision, making him look like that monster. He found himself brushing his teeth harsher than he needed to till the familiar iron taste hit his taste buds. He didn't bother to wash his hair and slipped into a purple colored sweatshirt, short jeans, and a pair of grey socks. He grabbed his bag and held it lazily in his arms.
Travis found his way down the stairs where he could already hear the yelling. He slipped past the livingroom without daring to glance inside and joined his sisters at the kitchen table, dropping his bag next to him on the floor. He grabbed himself a toast and smeared butter on it rather hastily, stuffing it into his mouth in three bites before getting up and fleeing towards the front door. He put on his shoes, grabbed his jacket, and left, closing the door behind him with a rather heavy thud. A relieved sigh he didn't know he was holding left his lips as he started walking down the grey pavement.
He felt nausea involuntarily settling into the lower part of his stomach. He had known his father was a madman, absolutely insane and not trustworthy. Travis was the reason the cult got to bloom again, his father said. That with his vision, Travis could see more than the average person. It was true, and it sickened him. Ever since that day the real world seems to mix with another dimension Travis couldn't name. Uncontrollable and maddening. He felt rage bubbling beneath his skin, not that it wasn't there before; he never lived without it, but it had never felt like this. Like it was trying to crawl out of every pore of his skin. His father kept talking about a Child of the Abomination and about how he had to prevent theresurrection. Travis didn't know who that child was supposed to be, but if his father didn't like them, then they couldn't be a bad person. Before he could progress his inner turmoil, he found himself standing in front of that sorry-looking school building.
He wasn't stupid, Travis told himself, looking down at the algebra test he had definitely studied for. It wasnt his fault that his vision kept blurring, merging with that red dimension. He put his pen to paper in distress, scribbling down whatever he thought would give him some points. He had failed his algebra class two years in a row, so naturally, his father made him retake it. That man was insatiable.
His thought procress was interrupted as the teachers voice rings in his ear and for a moment he hoped the lesson was over despite his paper being practically empty. Mrs. Packerton, whom he knew better than he liked, spoke up with her annoyingly high-pitched voice. He never found it fitting for a woman like her.
"Excuse me, Mr. Fischer." A moment passed. "Sal, wake up!" Her voice shrieked through the silent classroom. Travis involuntarily found his shoulders stiffening and he couldn't tell if it was because of the name or the rise in her voice. He could hear the blue-haired boy behind him shift with a confused "Huh?"
"That doesn't look like math to me." There was a teasing tone in Mrs. Packerton's voice, no anger to be heard. Travis looked up towards the blackboard, involuntarily following the conversation.
"Oh sorry, I must have dozed off. I already finished the test." Of course he did, Travis thought. Sal wasnt stupid. He turned his head, stealing a glance at the masked boy sitting in the row behind him. His glare went to his papers that were scattered on his desk. There was a neatly folded paper prophecy in the middle of the wooden plate. He remembered playing with them in elementary school.
"I know dear. You aced it as well, very good. Just try to stay awake for the remainder of class, okay?" Something was bubbling. In his stomach and under his skin and Travis didn't like the feeling of either of them. That unstoppable rage seeping through the tissue of his skin, yet the fluttering in his stomach as he got a glimpse of those blue eyes. Sal didn't stare at him with rage, but more with a mutual confusion. As Travis noticed what he was doing and where his mind was wandering off his expression turned into an unpleasant frown. But he hadn't yet turned his back.
"Sure, it won't happen again," Sal muttered, his gaze still fixed on Travis. The blue haired boys gaze shifted as well once the blondes expression had hardened. He was looking at Travis like he was trying to read a book, spreading it page by page. Like he was actually trying to figure him out. And it made Travis furious. Utterly furious. "And Mr. Phelps. Eyes on your own paper." He hated how easily that name slipped over her lips. With an annoyed huff, he turned back, tearing his gaze away and breaking the intense eye contact.
When Travis ran into the masked boy again in the hallway, the anger hadn't subsided. He was holding back already, really. But there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was seeing red, quite literally.
"Hey Freak!" He barked out, towering over the smaller boy despite the still present distance between them. "Nobody likes a goody-two-shoes, Saaally Face." Travis had never understood the nickname. He knew it was supposed to be an insult but it had never made sense in his books. He saw the gears turning behind the prosthetic and felt a rush of satisfaction.
"Nobody likes a clichè bully, Traaavis," Sal mumbled out with a sigh, imitating the way Travis dragged the nickname, as he closed the locker with a huff. "Dont your have something better to do?" He almost wouldn't have acknowledged the girl standing right next to the masked boy. Another wave of rage that he couldn't stop flared up inside of him.
"Shut up, Bitch! I wasnt talking to you," he sneered, balling his fists. He watched the blueeyed gaze in front of him shift at the insult towards his friend. Travis raised his head challenging, daring him to call him out.
"You know, if you took that stick out of your ass you may actually enjoy yourself for once. Maybe even make a friend or two." Stick up his ass? Friends? Every word felt like a personal attack that Travis desperately tried to swallow down.
"Fuck off, faggot! I have more friends than you'll ever have!" He pointed out, an obvious lie. For a hot second, he wasn't sure who the insult was for, him or the blue-haired boy in front of him, who didn't seem fazed at all. But there was a somewhat frustrated huff coming from behind the prosthetic mask. "You kiss your daddy with that tongue? I'm sure he-"
That was personal. Sal didn't get to finish his sentence as something in Travis snapped, causing him to launch forward and land a, in his eyes, well-deserved punch. He heard that familiar sound of skin ripping, but this time it wasn't his own. He shoved the smaller boy off, watching him stumble against the lockers before Travis stamped down the Hallway.
"What the hell, asshole?!" Was the last thing he heard from the blue-haired obnoxious girlfriend, whom he wholeheartedly flipped off.
Travis had tried staying away from home for as long as possible. Dinner was always an awkward and uncomfortable occurrence in the Phelps family house. He dared a glance at his mother, who kept adjusting her shoulder like she was in pain. Travis could imagine why.
"So, son. I heard youre failing algebra. Again." Travis felt his shoulders stiffen as he glanced up into the eyes of that pale man. He glared for a moment, which earned him a sharp glare back. He hated that challenging tone in his father's voice.
"Uh huh. From who?" Travis asked despite the obvious answer. He shoved a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth, not breaking the eyecontact. He should probably work on his tone. But his father didnt deserve the satisfaction of the respect he commanded.
"Mrs. Packerton informed me you're going to take your final test in a week," his father took a bite from his steak almost gracefully. Almost, because there is no grace in that man. The meat looked watery, runny, and sickening red in the center.
"If you fail, I'm gonna make you take summer classes. You're already one year behind, I can't have my only son be a failure. At your age..." he wasn't listening anymore. He had learned to ignore his father's annoying rambling, no matter how sharp that man's voice rings through his ears.
It was roughly one hour before midnight when he found himself sitting above his history homework. But he couldnt focus. His mind kept drifting to a certain blue-haired boy. Along with that the nausea settled into his stomach. He wasnt a fag, Travis tried to convince himself.
He clenched his pencil tightly as he slowly bore the tip of it through the paper. And then he started writing. Whatever came to his mind.
His handwriting was messy, and the words felt incomplete. He wasn't thinking, just letting the pencil drag over the paper before he abruptly stopped. He felt dizzy as he realized what he was writing. He let his eyes drift over the words.
"I know we don't really know each other and you probably have your opinions on me. I thought maybe if I told you how I feel, things could be different. The truth is, I can't stop thinking about you. I'm crazy about you. I think you're amazing! But I know these feelings are wrong. It's not the way a boy should feel. Shame swallows me whole. My father would kill me but I can't live in his shadow forever I just"
Travis stared at the incomplete sentence. He just what? Loved him? Absurde. Blasphemous.
His hand started shaking and he slammed the pencil at the paper, dragging frantic lines where the end should be. He didn't want to finish the sentence, nor the thought. He felt sick. He threw the pencil to the side and put the crumpled paper into the pocket of his jeans.
Travis should be asleep, not writing a love letter to a boy like some hopeless romantic teenage girl.