Travis Phelps is God's devotee. He will bleed out his sins through his wounds, suffer his punishments. He will repent until his knees bruise and his tongue is dry.
He will pray to god to cleanse him of his sins. Of himself.
And then he meets Sal Fi...
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𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭
♱♱♱
Travis misses the bus.
It isn't the first time he's missed the bus, though it seldom happens. His father had dealt him a few good blows this morning for spilling the milk on the counter. He must've been in a pretty awful mood, seeing as he rarely keeps Travis home past 07:50 during school mornings. But Kenneth had been at his wit's end since yesterday, and this morning's incident must've tipped the bucket.
Travis messed up, he knows, but he'd been preoccupied since yesterday.
Sal Fisher wants to be his friend.
Travis, at the time, couldn't respond. He grunted, let go of Sal, and went back to the piano, burying his face in his arms to hide his blush. Sal prodded him a bit, but at his lack of response, he'd eventually left. Though, not without declaring, 'I'm taking your silence as an okay'.
The remaining day all he saw, thought and heard were Sal Fisher. Sal Fisher's rat-nest blue hair. Sal Fisher's determination to befriend him. Sal Fisher's soft voice as he provoked Travis and called him 'good'.
Sal Fisher, Sally Face, Fisher, Sal...
He feels like he's lost his mind.
At night too, Sal became entangled in his nightmare. It is the first time Travis slept and saw someone outside of his family and him in his dreams. Though he's harboured an interest in Sal for a while, other thoughts always took the forefront in his subconscious. (His mother; his heart; his pain; his blood; his father; his fists; a kiss; hellfire.)
'Damn you, Fisher.'
Accepting his face, Travis pulls out his flip phone to call for help. He'd jog back and ride his bike over, but his body wouldn't be able to withstand it in his current state. His sides and hips still ache from the force of the kicks, and the slightest bit of pressure on his right ankle makes his knees buckle.
He only has four contacts: his mother; his father; the man who gave him a fake ID; him.
His thumb hovers over his contact, nervous. Their history is water under the bridge now, but Travis can still remember vividly the look of horror on his face as he...
'Don't. Not now. Not ever.'
Travis shakes his head. This is no time to think about that. He and Travis still maintained contact, though they kept it under wraps nowadays, and he'd always been a reliable friend. Bracing himself, he clicks on it.
The phone's ringing sounds louder than it is, the seconds between each 'beep' feeling like hours. Travis squeezes his arm with his free hand despite the dull ache of a still-healing bruise. It rings three times before someone picks up.
