Darling, Let's Run From it All

« Chapter 2 »

As Travis stormed up the stairs, jaw clenched and arms crossed over his chest, he heard the front door open and slam shut downstairs.

Good. That meant his father was leaving.

Thank God.

He paused at the top of the staircase and leaned against the wall, forcing himself to hold back his tears. He was so tired of this. He didn't even know what he had done to piss his father off. Certainly not to the point that he deserved being slapped.

In fact, he probably hadn't done anything. His father was likely pissed off about something that had happened at the church.

Regardless of what had angered him, he had taken it out on Travis. Just like he always did. And even though Travis was used to this kind of behavior from his father, it still hurt.

He took a deep breath and made his way towards the bathroom, ignoring the burn at the back of his throat.

Don't cry. Don't cry. You're being a wimp. There's no need to be a crybaby over this.

He opened the door and turned to face the mirror, leaning against the counter. His hands trembled.

Travis grimaced as he looked at his face in the mirror. He looked worse for wear, with the same black eye that never seemed to go away and his shaggy, messy, bleach-blonde hair with dark brown roots that looked outgrown and in need of a cut.

And, of course, the newest addition to the reasons he hated his face: the bright red mark on his cheek from being slapped earlier that morning. It still stung.

Travis sighed, looked away from the mirror, then turned on the sink faucet and splashed his face with cold water. He winced as he dried off his face- his cheek was sore and his eye hurt like hell.

When he finished washing his face, he walked out of the bathroom and down the hall towards his bedroom. The sun was just beginning to come up, meaning that Travis had just under an hour to himself before he had to leave for school.

He got dressed in the same outfit that he wore some version of nearly every day- a sweater, a pair of jeans, and black sneakers. After he was dressed, he ran his hands through his hair, trying to make it look at least decently presentable.

When he felt as though he had succeeded with that, he picked up his golden cross necklace from his nightstand and fastened it behind his neck, tucking it underneath his sweater to hide it. He caught sight of his reflection in the window and sighed.

Travis opened his closet door and reached into the back corner, where he had his notebook stashed away to prevent his father from finding it. He pulled it out and set it down on his desk before sitting and beginning to write.

He wrote about everything that came to his mind: the incident with his father this morning, his frustrations with himself, how much he was dreading going to school...

The time flew by far too quickly. He had gotten entirely wrapped up in his thoughts and lost track of what time it was. When he finally looked up from his journal, he realized that not only was it time for him to leave, but it was also raining.