Sal Fisher is dead. He died of execution last month and ever since, Travis fell into a deep depression. They weren't friends, not even close. But Travis had the biggest, most embarrassing crush on the guy, he hated himself for it, he hated that he was gay, whether he'd admit it or not, which he never would. The closest thing to normal interaction the two shared, that didn't include violence or blinded rage coming from the blonde, was bologna day, when, for whatever reason, made Sal feel obligated to talk to him and try to reassure him, but they didn't talk after that. They didn't talk for years after that and that left Travis to feel this sort of emptiness he's had his entire life but this just felt worse. A lot worse. Anyways, he's gone and it sucks. A knock echoed through his studio apartment. He didn't want to move from the couch, but the knocking continued, then a voice he never thought he'd hear spoke. "Travis, open up!" It's muffled, but he knew who it was. He sighed and stood from the couch. He walked over to the door and opened it, meeting eyes with a sympathetic Ashley. Yeah. Ashley Campbell. One of Sal's closest friends up to the trial when she testified against him. "Jesus, you look like shit, dude." She said, her expression, concerned.
Travis huffed. "If you came here just to insult me, I'm not interested." He replied, his voice low and audibly tired. And he began to shut the door on her, but she quickly slammed her hand against it, stopping it from going any further.
"Wait!" Travis looked up. "I.. Are you okay?" She dropped her hand. "After everything?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"I saw you at the trial, dude. Your face when they sentenced him to-"
"I don't give a shit!" He snapped. "Sal and I weren't friends, like I would want to be friends with a bunch of fags like you anyway. He deserved to die."
Ashley's face softened and she placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know you liked him," Travis' eyes widened and he felt a panicked feeling in his chest. She continued. "I saw the way you looked at him when you thought no one else was looking." Travis looked down. "I know it's because of your dad you feel this way about yourself and about Sal and about the rest of us, you can pretend all you want, but I know you liked him." She claimed, her voice soft.
Travis pushed her hand off his shoulder and he turned. "I don't know what you're talking about." He grumbled. And he walked further into his apartment, the footsteps of Ashley grew close and he shut his eyes, not wanting to remember those times when they were kids. It hurt too much.
"Travis." He didn't move. "I'm going to his grave and you're welcomed to come." Her voice remained soft, as did her demeanor. When Travis didn't respond, she sighed and nodded to herself. She turned and walked toward the door.
"Wait." She stopped and turned. Travis turned as well. "I'll go." She smiled and nodded. And he watched as she turned and walked out of the apartment, turning the corner. He glanced at the table next to him, there laid a picture of Sal and his best friend, Larry. Travis was seen in the background, it was the only thing they had close to a picture together because, well, they were never friends. It was from high school, it was taken with a polaroid camera and Travis stole it from Larry when he wasn't paying attention at lunch that day, it was hanging out of a unzipped pocket of his worn out backpack and Travis was standing behind him in line, so he just took it. He picked up the picture and caught up with Ashley, locking the door behind him.
The two walked further into the cemetery, Ashley leading him to Sal's grave, neither one of them spoke. It was a gloomy night, the clouds surrounded the full moon, the wind made itself known when rushing through the trees and Travis' thin shirt, he shivered at the feeling. He stopped when Ashley spoke. "Here we are." She turned, their eyes met. Travis looked down and to the left. His heart felt heavy. Sal Fisher. 1976-2004. His eyes dropped further, there laid Sal's prosthetic. He huffed silently and kneeled. He stared at the name, reading it over and over again in his mind, each time, his heart shattered just a little more. Ashley stood quietly behind him. He glanced down at the prosthetic and felt emptier than ever, realizing how much it hurt to see it without his face behind it, his blue hair scattered across the top and the different hairstyles he'd always try. He missed seeing him in class and in the halls, the smell of cedar wood when he'd rush by, the sound of his voice, his laugh, that beautiful laugh. God. He missed him so much. He took the picture from his back pocket and brought it in front of him. He stared at it, sort of blankly. Though, he was overwhelmed with emotions. He wished he could have told him how much he meant to him, how much he actually cared about him, how much he loved him. He wasted so much time trying to please a father that would never be happy with him that he missed out on life, he could have been happy, loved, free. He wasted so much time being angry and hating himself for something he shouldn't hate himself for. He wondered what life could have been like being friends with Sal, possibly being with Sal, the thought both angered and saddened him. He broke out of his trance when droplets fell onto the picture, he brought the picture close to his chest and shut his eyes tightly. Tears fell down his face. He sensed Ashley kneel beside him, then she placed a hand on his shoulder. He looked over. She stared at him with tears in her eyes, her expression showed worry. She pulled him into a hug, but Travis kept his arms down. She held him even after he started to break down. He doesn't know if he'll ever recover from this...
