Purity- a Salvis story (completed)

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My hands shook as I sat, numb in the small chair of the church office. Monsignor had given up on getting me to talk to him about 15 minutes ago. Now all there was to do was stare blankly at the floor, silent tears rolling down my cheeks, while we waited for my father.

Hunched over in that chair, I imagined a world where i got up, walked home, took the shotgun of the wall of my dads office, turned it toward myself, and pulled the trigger right there. I wouldn't even leave the room. I would want him to find me. To know what he did.

I could do it. Dad left it loaded. And besides, what was I sticking around for? So u could go home and be beaten to death anyway?

Suddenly, a wrapping on the door snapped me out of the fantasy.

"Come one in, Kenneth,"  Krueger called toward the door.

The words stiffened my spine, my stomach sinking immediately.

I was so fucked.

I didn't even turn to look at him as he walked in. What was the point of trying to do what he wanted? He was just going to beat the shit out of me when we got home anyway. There was no way around it.

"Good afternoon, Dennis." Dad greeted, skeptically.

"Same to you. Thanks for joining us."

"It's my pleasure," I hated the way he said it. Formal, nothing inherently off, yet it made every muscle in my body tense, "-I was under the impression, Travis, that you had school today. Certainly I wasn't mistaken about that."

The same passive aggressive kindness was in his voice. I stayed there staring down at the maroon carpet.

"N-no sir. You weren't."

"Hmm," He acknowledged curtly, "then why are we here, exactly?"

It was the kind of question he asked because he didn't want me to be able to answer. He wanted to me to falter. Luckily for him, the anxiety rising in my stomach was making sure i did.

"Um- I-" I stammered, suddenly far more flustered than when I had explained it to Monsignor, "it's- uh..."

"Travis came to the conclusion that the fate of his soul was of a bit more importance than geometry. Now, why don't you pull up a seat, Deacon." Krueger interjected, gesturing to a folding chair propped by the door.

If I wasn't so scared out of my mind I definitely would of been holding back a laugh at the way my fathers face twisted in response. He hated anyone making him look anything less than godly.

A few seconds later, dad was sitting next to me,  face plastered with a faux active listening. His body, however, gave him away in a instant. At least to me.

He was tensed and his finger nails dug lightly into his knees. The man was probably already ready to break bones over me skipping school and we hadn't even gotten to the bad part.

Shit, we hadn't even got to the bad part.

I was so fucked.

"Well, first off thank you for joining us, but i think you ought to know why your here," He sighed, opening a desk drawer and shuffling around papers as he spoke, "Travis came to me with a very serious issue today. I think it's important that you understand he knows the thoughts he's having are wrong, and he came here to make an effort to change."

Dad nodded, still holding a fabricated expression of sympathy. I wondered how long he'd keep that up. Surely not when he found out. God, this was going to suck.

"Ah, here it is." Monsignor added, pulling out a small blue pamphlet from his desk. "This is for a- uh- really good program that specializes in what your son is going through. I think it could be extremely useful."

"That's great, Monsignor. However, I still don't think I quit understand what's going on."

Monsignor turned toward me, a knowing look in his eyes. He was clearly asking me something. He wanted me to tell dad.

I looked back, hoping my eyes showed the pleading my mind was doing. There was no fucking way I was gonna tell my dad what I had done.

Apparently it did, because he gave up after a few seconds, sliding the pamphlet toward my father. I caught a glimpse of it as it passed by me.

A photo of a man and woman rubbing noses (ew) was plastered across the front, a halo of light surrounding them. Directly above the couple, big bold letters screamed 'St. Gregory Reparative Therapy Center' at me. The vomit inducing graphics combined with the service it was providing... It all made me want to gag.

With that, my stomach had dropped to my feet. Any lasting numbness had vanished. Here I was, sitting in my priest's office, with my father who was milliseconds away from finding out he had always been right about me, and hours away from making sure I was bedridden for weeks.

I couldn't do this. As the pamphlet passed between the two men's hands, I felt my heart quicken to an almost impossible speed. I needed to get out of there.

Without a second thought, I was on my feet. No plan, just a palpitating chest and a need to get the fuck out. All the eyes in the room were forced toward me. And away from the pamphlet. Good.

"I-" I shot out, suddenly realizing I have been standing too long with too little explanation, "I- uh- I have to go use the restroom."

Father shot me a glare that could cut diamonds.

"And you needed to announce that?"  He spat, a glimpse of his true self oozing through his a crack in his courteous shell.

I looked down at my shoes.

"Sorry, sir. May i be excused."

No sooner had he started his short nod than was I out the door.

I thought about turning back. I really did. I thought about turning around and walking back to that office to get the help I desperately needed.

God knows I should of.

But that's not what I did. Instead, I made a B line for the church doors. And then, I knew exactly where I was going.

If I hurried I could make it to Sal's apartment to right when he got home for lunch.

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