Beneath the masks | 𝘀𝗮𝗹𝘃𝗶𝘀

7. underneath

Travis pov

I didn't know how long I stood there after Sally left. Maybe minutes, maybe longer. My feet felt rooted to the ground, but inside, everything was spinning out of control. My chest still hurt from earlier, my breath coming in shallow bursts, but I couldn't move, couldn't do anything except watch the empty street where his bus had disappeared.

I hated myself for standing there like that, for feeling so helpless. I wasn't supposed to feel like this—not scared, not confused. I was supposed to be strong. I'd built everything around that—being the guy who didn't care, the guy no one messed with. But the truth was... I was terrified. I had been for a long time.

Eventually, I forced my legs to move, turning away from the bus stop and heading home. The walk felt endless, each step heavier than the last. The dread of going back home wrapped around me like a weight. I knew what waited for me there, the same thing that always did—my father.

As I got closer, I could already see the church looming in the distance, its shadow falling over the small house next to it where we lived. Most people in town respected my dad. To them, he was a man of God, a pillar of the community. But they didn't know him the way I did. They didn't see what he was like behind closed doors.

I walked in as quietly as I could, hoping he wouldn't hear me. The door creaked, and for a second, I thought maybe I'd made it. Maybe I could just slip into my room and be left alone. But then I heard his voice.

"Travis!" His voice boomed from the living room. I winced, the sound tightening my stomach like it always did.

I stopped in my tracks, staring at the floor. My body tensed up instinctively, bracing for what was coming next.

"Get in here, boy," he barked. "Now."

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to walk into the living room. My father was sitting in his chair, Bible open in his lap. His eyes were hard, cold as they fixed on me. I stood there, waiting for whatever lecture or punishment was coming. It was always the same. He'd find something—anything—to be angry about.

"You're late," he said, his voice sharp. "Where were you?"

"At school," I muttered, knowing it wouldn't be enough.

"School ended over an hour ago," he snapped, standing up, his towering figure casting a shadow over me. "Don't lie to me, boy. You think I don't know where you go? Who you spend time with? That freak with the blue hair, Sally something?" His voice dripped with contempt.

I clenched my fists, trying not to react, but inside, I was burning up. He didn't even know Sal. How the fuck did he know his name? He's new here. He didn't know anything about him. But that didn't matter. It never did.

"Your soul's in danger, Travis," my father continued, pacing back and forth. "That boy—he's a sinner, just like the rest of them. Those people are lost, twisted by their own sick desires. And you, you're falling in with them." His voice rose, his face red with anger. "I didn't raise you to be weak. I didn't raise you to be like them."

Every word cut deeper than the last. It was always like this, his twisted beliefs strangling me, suffocating me. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was wrong, that he didn't understand. But I couldn't. I never could. Because if I did, he'd destroy me. He'd destroy everything.

"You need to repent," he spat, his hands tightening into fists. "You need to get rid of those thoughts, those people. Do you hear me, boy? Or you'll burn like the rest of them."

I couldn't look at him. My throat felt tight, my whole body trembling. I knew what he was talking about. He didn't have to say it. The looks, the way I felt when I saw other guys, when I looked at Sal. I'd tried to bury it, to push it down, but it was always there. And the more I fought it, the more I felt like I was coming apart.