Purity- a Salvis story (completed)

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I've always hated being at home. Ever sense I was a kid I would never get it when everyone was excited for the weekend or to get out of school. I remember in elementary I would pull shit constantly just to get detention so I could stay another hour. Most the time I thought if it weren't for Aggie, I probably wouldn't go back there.

However, right now, all I wanted was to be at home in my room, door shut, staring at the ceiling. Even if I could hear dad pouring a glass of whiskey or slamming around dishes in the background. It would be better than the awkward ass conversation I was having with 'Sal Fisher'.

We were sitting outside at the picnic tables. I had a flex hour 1st period, so I guess that was our best option. I was just trying to get through until a lecture could save me from having a conversation with him. The feeling in my chest hadn't gone away. In fact, it was making my mouth go dry.

We had been making meaningless conversation for about five minutes now. Neither of us wanted to be the one to address the elephant in the room (well, courtyard). I knew he knew about dad. I just prayed he wasn't planning on bringing it up. Or worst, talking to an adult.

After a three sentence exchange about the weather, Sal took a long, drawn out breath. I braced myself for what was coming.

Please just don't bring up dad.

"Ok, um... I think I should apologize."

Apologize? The only thing he was doing was making my heart rate spike, and I was pretty sure that was a me issue.

"Why?" I said, emotionless tone the same as it was for the last 5 minutes, cringing at the thought of what he could say next. Maybe 'Sorry but I called cps on your dad' or 'Sorry you can't figure out how to fight back' or 'Sorry but I think your a fucking loser after figuring out how much of a pussy you are, so you're actually on your own finding the next six classes'. Instead of thinking about it more, I stuck to staring a hole into the wooden table.

"Well, Phillip was really a dick yesterday. Sorry."

What the fuck was he talking about? Who was Phillip?

"Phillip?"

"Yeah, uh... the jerk who you kinda got into it with yesterday. His not like my friend or anything I just... we probably should of done more to stop him. He's an asshole." Sal replied.

Oh, that? He was talking about the fight?

"Oh, it's fine. It was probably my fault. I shouldn't have blown up on him."

"Well, it's not like it was unprovoked. He was really being a dick about your dad..."

Here it comes. Shit.

"and uh.. by the way... are you like ok, man? I mean this town's not big. People talk. I guess i thought it was just speculation but... he seems kinda... intense."  He said, the look in his eyes holding genuine sympathy. I fucking hated it.

I could feel my heart racing. People talk? So did the whole town know how weak I was?

I took a breath. I knew how to respond. This was going to be ok. Father wouldn't know I had screwed up.

"I'm fine. Deacon Phelps is a great man. You know, he's very active in the local catholic church. He wouldn't hit-... he would do any of the stuff 'Phillip' talked about." I replied, my first couple sentences sounding rehearsed as fuck. Mostly because they were.

"Deacon Phelps? Not Dad?"

I couldn't manage to say anything. I was gonna get my ass beat. Fuck. How could I be so stupid? I trained my eyes back to a familiar knot in the table's wood.

"I don't know man... it's really not my business but if you need to talk to someone..."

My fingernails dug into my skin. I wasn't weak. I didn't need this flamer's help. I hated how he made me feel. I hated him.

"...me and my friends are here. I know we don't really know each other but like... I don't know. You looked really uncomfortable when your old man put his hand on your back in the office and..."

I dug my nails deeper into my hand. I wanted to draw blood. Could he shut the fuck up? He didn't know me. He was just some faggot and he didn't know a thing about my family. I needed to leave. Right fucking now.

"you don't deserve to feel like that. Did you... did you want to come to the counseling center with me? We can talk to Mrs. Eggum and she can probably help more than I can-"

I was pushing my nails so hard into my skin that it was turning the color of my palms. He was wrong. I deserved everything my father did. I didn't need a counselor because I wasn't some weak little kid.

"I'm not weak. Mind your own fucking business." I snapped, too loud. It should have been embarrassing, but I didn't care. The rage had pushed itself past my throat.

"Woah, dude. I didn't say that. I was just trying-"

"Well, you know nothing about me. If you want someone to pity, look in a mirror, fag. I'd feel awful if I knew god would never love me." I sneered, standing up for the table. I ignored whatever was called behind me as I stormed through the schools green door and into the closest bathroom I could find.

I practically dove into the handicap stall, heart beating so fast I thought I could pass out. I slid down the bathroom wall, landing in a heap at its base. I was shaking with fury. My balled fists flew toward my head a couple of times but it wasn't enough.

I needed it all to stop. I needed to do something. I needed relief.

I reached a shaky hand to my pocket, where I kept the pocket knife my father had gifted me.

I just need it to stop.

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