Disciple (Sal x Travis)

I wanna be Painless

{ trigger warning for this chapter}
Sal
Travis hadn't come to school. Not today, not yesterday. He had come to check on me when I was out, so I felt obligated to check on him.

His dad.. however.

He told me nothing was going on with his Dad, not that I believe that, but maybe hes telling the truth?

My eyes lingered over the clock behind Mrs. Punch's desk, then to her. She was reading one of those shitty love novels you get from the magazine section of a Pharmacy.

Not paying attention to me.

Carefully, I grabbed my bag from the floor and nervously glanced around the room. I quietly slid from my desk and walked with ease out of the open door.

As soon as I rounded the corner of the hall I booked it to the lobby and out the double doors.

The natural sunlight compared to the fluorescent bulbs off of the linoleum had my eye watering. Beautiful day, though. Blue sky, minimal cloudage.

The walk to Travis' is the same as the walk to the Apartments. Except when you get to the little convenient store, you go left instead of straight. Then, when you get to the park, it's across the small field.

His house is on flat land, and across the street is woods. The woods we used to meet up in. I smile to myself at the sweet memories. Then I grimace.

Looking at the road in front of the trees, I can practically hear the sound of Travis' head bouncing off of the concrete.

I shake the thought from my head and sit down on a swing, letting my bag drop from my shoulder and into the mulch.

It's probably not a good idea to go up and knock, or go up to his house at all. Regardless of what Travis says. So, I'll wait and see if he comes outside.

And I'll be here for him.

Travis
Mother held me out of school the past two days, and probably until next week. She gave my phone to my Father, to which he destroyed.

He hid my anxiety prescription, cut the strings on my violin..

These past two days I have been with no one but myself and my own thoughts. I haven't spoken to anyone and no ones said a word to me.

As much as the physical tarnishing hurts, the isolation is so painful. I'm my own worst enemy, I bring the most destruction to myself. I can't handle the silence, sitting in the office chair at my desk and staring at the contents of the drawer.

I haven't hurt myself since Sal had noticed.

But I don't have Sal right now. I don't have anything.

Logically I know it's only been two days, but the paranoid freak inside of me tells me that he's forgotten me already. He probably doesn't even remember what I look like. Or what I sound like.

Thinking about him, I run all of his features through my head. Blue eyes, one glossier than the other, scarred, still soft, lips. Silky yet fluffy blue hair. Dainty hands, much paler than mine.

I look down at my hands, scabbed, swollen, and bruised. My left one especially. The skin over my pinky and middle knuckle had pushed back after hitting the shower wall.

I stretched out my fingers and furrows my eyebrows. It hurt to move. Everything hurt.

So desperately, I want to be painless.

Before I really even decided, I jerked open the drawer my desk and dug around for the pack of razors.

Singling out a clean one, I pushed my sleeve up and held the thin metal to the middle of my arm and inhaled.

knockknockknock! "Travis?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin, shoving the pack and the blade back into the drawer, slamming it shut, and facing the doorway.

"Come in." My voice sounded rough and scratchy.

The door pushed open and my mother's tan face peaked through. She looked at me with a blank expression, then smiled.

"Take the trash out?.." She sniffed hard and rubbed her nose.

I tilted my head to the side, and opened my mouth to protest, but she stopped me, "He's not home, baby. You can come out of your hole." She laughed lightly, leaving the room.

My heart pounded in my chest. I don't know how she would have reacted to me with a razor to my arm. I don't know if she would have cared.

She laughed. Like I'm being childish for hiding. It's not fair.

Sal
I had been sitting and swinging for about an hour and a half. Looking up at his house every so often to see if he comes out.

Fatefully, he did. Carrying a bag of trash. I jumped up from the swing with a big smile.

"Travis!" I shouted, waving at him.

He dropped the bag into the can, and his head turned towards me. He was a good distance away from me, but he crossed it in no time and more or less fell into me.

I wrapped my arms around him, happily, but his shoulders shook.

"Trav?" I murmured.

He was full blown sobbing into my hair, gripping the fabric of my sweatshirt. He was saying  something but I couldn't understand him between his sharp wet inhales and sniffling.

I leaned back slightly and cupped my hands on his face so I could look up at him, to which I immediately retracted from. An audible gasp from my mouth.

He looked awful. Like he had been ran and backed over by a semi truck. Tears fell out of his eyes and dripped off of his chin, and I saw realization and fear settle in on his expression.

One of his eyes were swollen shut and deep purple, his other eye, had a big red splotch around the side of his cold gray iris. His nose was swollen, a big gash across his bridge, his bottom lip was double is normal size, and also split open.

There was a ping pong ball sized knot on his temple, and his neck had purple finger prints on it.

"Travis.." I whispered, brushing hair from his forehead and examining his battered face.

He sniffed up his sob and wiped his open eye, "I'm sorry I haven't been to school."