freaks 𑁋 salvis

XXIII

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i'm on a fucking writing spree so yay more updates!

He's let out a week later. A whole week. A week of anxiety and cold and passing out from exhaustion and malnutrition. Travis almost thinks he's going to die when the one week mark comes around, but alas, he's not so lucky.

When the door opens, he almost thinks it's a hallucination. But when Kenneth steps in and walks over to him, he knows it isn't. Kenneth towers over Travis, of course he does. Travis is laying on the floor, hardly conscious, curled into a ball, while Kenneth stands tall at 6'2. Travis was only slightly shorter than him, coming in at a whopping 6'1 when he was standing straight up.

Kenneth kicks Travis a few times in the stomach, then grabs him by the collar of his shirt and pulls him to stand. Travis wobbles a bit but eventually gets his balance, looking at Kenneth as he waits for him to speak.

"If you ever. And I mean EVER go near that faggot again, I will kill him. And I'll make you watch. Nothing else I've ever done has worked, so this better. Because I fucking mean it, flamer. Get right with God, before I make you get right with Him." Kenneth states, voice low and angry. His eyes are narrowed into slits, but what scares Travis most is that he knows Kenneth isn't lying.

Kenneth walks out of the room again, leaving Travis alone in there. He wants to run out, get the fuck away from that fucking room as soon as humanly possible, but his body won't let him. One step has Travis seeing spots.

So he slowly, slowly walks out of the room. He ends up in the kitchen, eating and eating and eating past the feeling of being full.

And then he's in his room, and God, his stomach hurts so bad. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. Make the pain stop, please. Please. God, someone, anyone, whoever's listening. Make it stop.

Travis' eyes well up with tears that flow down his face and land on his mattress that still smells like Sal. And that just makes more tears come pattering down, darkening the sheets and making the area under Travis' head cold. Cold, cold, cold.

Suddenly someone's sitting under him. There's a brush running through his hair. When did Sal get here?

Doesn't matter, it feels so nice. Travis never wants Sal's beautiful humming and gentle hair brushing to end. And yet, at the same time, it has to end. Travis is caked in blood and he stinks from being in that room for a week... Being locked away for a week with no shower or sink or anything like it won't exactly make you smell good.

But Sal doesn't seem to mind. He's just humming and brushing Travis' hair, slowly, slowly. And then Kenneth's words are in Travis' head. He lurches upwards to yell at Sal, tell him to leave.

Only to come to learn it was a dream. A cruel dream. One that had seemed far too realistic. Sal isn't there. He never was.

Travis sighs and finally stands from the bed. It's dark outside. He must have been out for a while.

He gets random clothes from his closet and goes to the bathroom, turning the shower on as hot as it'll go. Travis doesn't even wait for it to warm up before he's stripping and stepping under the spray, hissing as it hits his bruised back and the burns on his hips and shoulder.