blue hair and bruises.

2 - Wires

Travis hobbled from the living room towards his bedroom, his leg wounded and a hand clasped over his right eye. His eyes stung and his head ached. With his strength dwindling from the trauma of it all, he slowly but surely made it to his room, shutting the door behind him.

The first thing in his immediate line of sight was his mirror, and the boy who was reflected in it. He approached the mirror and moved his hand from over his eye. The bruise his father had left on him would be a hard one to hide from others. He saw the beaten and defenceless boy in the mirror, and hated it. Travis could still hear his father's harsh insults echoing in his mind, and the smell of his alcohol-ridden breath was lingering in his senses.

This isn't right... This isn't how it should be... how I should be...

Travis saw himself in this mirror, the same one that he saw every day, and was disgusted. Before he knew it, he'd drawn back his fist and planted it firmly into the reflection, breaking the glass and further bruising his knuckles. Blood seeped slowly into the cracks. He quietly began to cry.

~

"Hey, Sal. How was your first day, buddy?"

Sal stared blankly at his father.

"Aha, right... stupid question."

Not even Sal's father, Henry, had heard the boy's real voice in years, aside from the times he cried, or on the very rare occasion when he would laugh. He was finding it tiresome to communicate with the boy in the manner that he did.

"Listen, Sal, and I know this isn't the greatest conversation to start with," Henry began, "but it's been years now. I'm your father. You used to talk to me. You trusted me more than anything. I'd like to think you still do, because you know you can. It's fine to take baby steps, and if you only want to say a few words. But what I guess I'm saying is - can you please just find it in you to let me know what goes on in that head of yours?" He paused, lowering his gaze into his lap. "I worry about you, kiddo. I really do."

Sal sighed and sat by his father on the sofa. Taking a slip of paper from the pile on the coffee table, he scribbled a single word:

RELAPSING.

~

Travis's bedroom was dead silent as the boy sat on his bed, absentmindedly bandaging his bloodied knuckles. His mind had gone blank, and his world had turned grey. His body ached dully. The bandages were poorly wrapped and already bloodstained. With a sigh, he laid back on his bed and stared at his ceiling.

Meaningless thoughts passed through his mind, coming and going like fleeting clouds in the sky. His stomach burned, and he remembered the meals he skipped. Dinner and lunch. Lunch reminded him of the cafeteria at school. The cafeteria reminded him of the conversation he'd overheard. That conversation was about -

The blue-haired kid that was eating alone by the lockers.

Travis frowned. The kid was weird. What was his deal? What's with the mask? The pigtails? Why won't he talk? What a little prick. Probably a fag. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he'd pay.