blue hair and bruises.

10 - Kill The Director

Travis slept well that night. With his father leaving him be for the moment, his mind was oddly at ease. He'd entered some kind of auto-pilot mode after retreating to his bedroom for the remaining hours of the evening. He was so blissfully unaware that it was almost odd when he eventually returned to reality and found that he was sitting at his usual table in the cafeteria at lunch time on a Friday, no food before him. Instead, there was a hand. A hand with small scratches and scars and nails painted black. Travis followed the hand with his eyes up the arm and saw exactly who he'd expected. 

Suddenly, he'd forgotten how to speak.

"Ah, F-Fisher," he uttered, "Um, hi. What do you want?"

Sal slid a folded set of clothing towards him, a note set atop a purple sweatshirt. Travis picked the paper up.

We washed your clothes. No more blood.

Travis took a moment to process, mind still lagging behind. "Oh. Thanks." he eventually replied. "I... I have your clothes in my locker. Come get them later."

Sal nodded and took the note from Travis's hand. He flipped it over to a second message on the opposite side and pressed it back into the boy's palm, fingers gently grazing his skin.

Please eat today.

Travis had to read those three words thrice for them to sink in, still unaccustomed to the interest his classmate was showing. After all, he'd only known the affection of his mother. He looked back up, expecting to meet crystal blue eyes from underneath the peculiar mask.

Alas, there was no one. Sal had disappeared again.

Of course, Travis had absolutely no intent on following any further instruction from him. Henry had spoken of his borderline anti-social behaviour. It frustrated him that Sal was actively making an effort to communicate in some manner. It frustrated him that he cared.

Despite his frustration, this fact almost made Travis want to cling to those few words granted to him by the boy who had none, until the implications of such a thing nearly made him gag.

Still, it was undeniable that he was drawn to this strange boy in pigtails, and that the more he showed compassion, the weaker his knees became. He'd feel a little lighter when he walked into the room.

Travis was determined to brush this off as an irrational attachment, formed solely on the basis of the events of the previous day, and home issues seeping into his school life.

It may have been just that, but one thing was for certain; he'd never felt anything like it. This was completely uncharted territory. Sal was too close for comfort.

It made him sick.

Sick enough to tell himself that he most definitely would not eat, especially as he had been instructed to do so.

He ate two bites of a bologna sandwich.

~~~

Travis was laying on his bed in the darkness of his quiet bedroom, illuminated only by the dim glow of his phone's small screen. He furrowed his brow.

Sal Fisher has sent you a friend request.

Oh God. Just leave me alone, will you??

His stomach flipped. He just couldn't escape the torment, it seemed.

Travis was quite tempted to hit the 'delete' button and be done with it. He'd made it clear, mostly to himself, that Sal was not to be let onto a friend basis. The kid was weird. His mask was creepy. He was a faggot - or at least half. Perhaps worst of all, he made Travis feel vulnerable and turned his legs to jelly. Travis caught himself growing defensive, though for no apparent reason. Still, against his better judgement, he tapped the 'accept' button, reassuring himself that this did not mean they were really friends.