Darling, Let's Run From it All

✧ Chapter 1 ✧

August. The month all students dreaded. Especially those who were in their senior year, who were tired of school and ready to get the hell out. Now, even though Sal Fisher was a good student and was looking forward to getting to see his friends more often, he couldn't say he was looking forward to having to drag himself out of bed at the crack of dawn to go to class.

Sal's last day of summer had been spent lazily lounging around his apartment, savoring his last moments of freedom. His step-brother, Larry, did the same- he slept in until noon and didn't come out of his bedroom until nearly two. Neither of them were morning people, so the start of the school year was going to be hell.

And it seemed that just as soon as it had begun, the summer was over. Sal's alarm clock, set for 6:45 AM, signified that.

***

Sal groaned as he sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He blindly reached for his phone, attempting to turn his alarm off. After a moment of unsuccessful fumbling, he managed to silence the obnoxious alarm tone. He promptly laid back down and covered his face with his arms, dreading the day ahead.

He wanted nothing more than to go right back to sleep, but unfortunately, he didn't have that luxury. After a few more minutes of laying down, he begrudgingly threw the bedcovers off of himself and stood up. A protesting meow came from underneath the sheets and Sal chuckled, reaching down to scratch his ginger tabby cat's chin.

"I know, Gizmo, I don't want to get up either."

Gizmo meowed again, leaning into Sal's hand, practically begging for more attention. Sal scratched behind his ears.

"Well, buddy, at least you can keep sleeping. I can't."

Gizmo purred, as if he understood how lucky he was for his ability to sleep as long as he wanted. Sal petted him for a few more seconds before heading out of his bedroom and towards the bathroom, running his hands through his hair in an attempt to brush out the tangles.

Getting ready in the morning was one of Sal's least favorite things to do. He struggled to brush out the seemingly endless tangles in his hair and brushed his teeth. He contemplated on whether or not to pull his hair into its signature pigtails, but decided against it. He didn't have the energy to do anything more than leave it down.

Most of all, he struggled with having to stare at himself in the mirror. His mauled face was certainly an eyesore, to say the least. The right side of his face was especially hard to look at, with its misshapen jaw, marred and mangled lower lip, blotchy scars and missing eye.

He shook his head, trying to ignore his thoughts and insecurities. He finished getting ready and headed back to his bedroom to find some clothes to wear. He settled on a black sweater and ripped-up maroon jeans, along with an old, beat-up pair of black converse. He glanced at the chipping black nail polish on his fingernails, making a mental note to redo the paint at some point later.

He grabbed his prosthetic off of his nightstand and stared down at it for a second before carefully placing it over his face and buckling it behind his head. He adjusted it so that it sat comfortably against his face while he was heading towards the door of his bedroom.

When he made his way out into the living room, his father was awake and leaning against the kitchen counter, mug of coffee in hand. He looked tired.