Forbidden Love [Sally Face x Travis]

1-Travis' POV

I was woken up by the sound of my dad yelling, again. This isn't the first time, and it won't be the last. He was in the kitchen, probably ranting on about some shit to my mother. She doesn't deserve any of this, no one does. My father just needs to practice on his anger management and not throw such a fit over silly, little things. When he is filled with wrath, it feels like the whole environment is ridden with it. My mother sometimes starts snapping back at him, which always results in someone getting hurt. I don't know why she just won't split up with him. For being a preacher, he sure is doing a bad at keeping his good morals set in place.

As for me, the punishment is even worse. He is a very heavy-handed guy, and when he ever sets hands on me, it hurts like hell. He also likes to abuse me in the same spot too. Whenever a bruise goes away, he just attacks it again, so it's always there. There's a black and blue bruise surrounding my right eye, which also makes the whites of my eye a little red and stingy at all times. It's been there for months. He loves to see me suffer, it feeds into his anger drive. I've grown a little numb to the pain, but that doesn't really make it hurt any less.

The thing that drives him crazy the most is homosexuals. He believes, as stated in the bible, that liking the same sex is a sin. It's an abomination. I know it is, but my tender soul can't help but stand up for homos. They have done nothing wrong, it's just who they are. I have to act like a homophobe freak around him and everyone else. I feel like my mother pretends to hate gays too, but deep inside, she's just as tender for them as I am. I wish she wouldn't put up with this mess and just divorce the shithead.

I start to hear the argument dying down. I sigh in relief, as I get up and start the day. Another day of slow-burning torture, I suppose. My dad is coming upstairs, I can hear his heavy footsteps climbing up here. I quickly shuffle over to the bathroom and get ready for school. He bangs on the door, giving me a little shock, even though I knew he was coming.

"Travis, you aren't slacking now, are you?!" He calls out to me, ceasing the banging on the bathroom door.

"No Father," I call back, turning on the faucet to the shower, "I'm about to take a bath!"

"Very well then, you have thirty minutes before the bus arrives to pick you up," his voice fades away, as he walks back downstairs.

I mumble a very low 'okay', before undressing myself. As I take off my shirt, the scars across my chest are revealed. My father did that as well. They are from a while ago, four months to be exact, but they still sometimes cause me an irritating pain. I wish they would just go away, they make me look ugly. I shake the negative thought out of my head and slip off my black, sleeping shorts, along with my underwear. My feet carefully tap the water to check the temperature. It's lukewarm, which is the perfect temperature for me. I place my whole body in the water to soak up a bit, before I begin washing myself down.

After I take my soothing bath, I brush out my blonde hair and put on the clothes I picked out for the day. It's just my usual purple shirt that is striped on the sleeves, my green sneakers, and jeaned shorts. I overheard one of the kids at school saying that you call those 'jorts', but jeaned shorts sounds better to me. I also place my cross necklace around my neck. I've had it since a child. It was gifted to me by my mother. She said it was for good luck, but I don't believe luck exists, only blessings. It has granted me many along the way. I wouldn't even be up to this point in life without it.

I kiss the cross part and tuck it inside my shirt, only letting the string part visible to others. Sometimes, I think it's best to a be closeted Christian. Unfortunately, most people know my name, since my dad is the preacher of the Phelps Ministry. I get a poor reputation from that. Being religious is not an easy task. You have to be prepared for hate at all times.