Get Me To A Church

CHAPTER 18: DENIAL

TRAVIS

           I hate feeling like I'm out of control. I always feel like that at my house, with my dad yelling and pushing me around and kicking and punching. Tears flood my eyes and there is no dam to stop them. It's the fucking worst. 

           That's why school used to be so nice: it was the one place where I was my own sailor, tough with a set jaw and curled fists. There were so many kids I didn't like, and by using the skills my father taught me by yelling and pushing me around and kicking and punching, I could get them to cry. I was the tough guy and they weren't.

           Then math got a thousand times harder. I don't know why. My brains just didn't process the information correctly. That and I couldn't stop staring at the back of this one kid's head. He bugged me so much. I wanted to rip his stupid fucking faggot throat out every time he talked. That's what I would think about every time I saw him: Just punch him in the mouth. Just make him go away.

           Why was I so aggressive towards decent people? Though I'd answered it before — it felt good — I felt like there was something else there. When I buried deep into my brain one day during math class to find the real answer, I immediately tried to shove it back into the depths of my head. Too late. I already knew why.

           I hissed like I'd been burned, opened my eyes, and remembered the math test on my desk. I soon realized I didn't understand shit about the numbers and symbols on the paper. I glared over at Sal. Nope. No fucking way. I was not going to stoop to this fag's level.

           What did gay people even think about if they were in love? I'd never been in love with anyone, but I'd probably know what that would feel like. So Sally Face and I... I wasn't going to humor that thought, either. I was not in love with anyone, especially another guy. Still, I was curious. What would they think about? Probably sinful, horrible things that I wouldn't want to know about. My brain continued to linger on the thought.

           Let's say a boy was in love with a girl, instead, my brain decided. Alright. I could imagine that. It would be like how they talk about love in books. Heart-eyes, a lot of staring, and wanting to kiss the other person. Yeah, I didn't want to kiss... Sally Face. That just felt wrong. I didn't even know what his mouth looked like.

           I set my head down on my desk. Mrs. Packerton kept saying Sal's name. Eventually, the idiot woke up.

           "That doesn't look like math to me," Mrs. Packerton said.

           "Oh, sorry," Sally Face replied, finally. "I must have dozed off. I already finished the test."

           I stared over my shoulder at Sally Face. What a fucking loser.

           "I know, dear," the teacher assured him. "You aced it as well, very good! Just try to stay awake for the remainder of class, okay?"

           "Sure. It won't happen again."

           I wrinkled my nose at him in disgust. Every word he said was gross to me.

           "And Mr. Phelps," Mrs. Packerton added more harshly, "eyes on your own paper."

           Groaning, I slumped back down into my chair and looked so hard at my dumbass math test that it hurt my eyes. 

           After a minute or so, Mrs. Packerton gently said, "Class is almost over. Make sure everyone turns in their tests before leaving." Though she didn't mean to be upsetting, she couldn't have made me more mad. Fuming, I circled a few random answers and put my head back down on my desk. Soon the bell would ring and I would have to walk by fucking Sal. Then I would be subject to the next class's mental torture.