Love is Painful

Sticks and Stones

TW!- Abuse

Travis's POV
I walk down the empty street.  My feet ache as they hit the asphalt pavement sending sharp pains to echo through my entire body.  At last after a long, agonizing walk back from school, I reach my house.  My house is a modern two story brick building with a silver cursive letter P nailed above the door and a welcome mat embroidered with tiny crosses.  I slip my house key carfuly into the lock and turn it with a click.  I enter the hall and quietly close the door behind me.  I slip off my green vans and place them in the shoe rack by the door.  A hang my backpack up on the peg and sigh heavily, dreading my life beyond this point.  If you thought my life at school sucked, you've seen  nothing.  I've just leaped out of the frying pan and into the blazing fire. 

I enter the living room which you enter directly from the hall.  The lights are out, aside from the blurry florescent glow portrayed by the television which blares the news.  Father sits on the couch, one leg resting on the other, with a notebook in one hand and an expensive fountain pen in the other.  He looks up from his writing and glances over at me.  "Hello, son," he says monotone, returning his glance back to his notebook.  "Hey," I mumble, cautiously heading towards the stairs. 

"Hey, Travis, we need to talk."  Shit.  This can't end well.  I turn back around towards Father, who had set down his notebook and was rising to his feet.  "Yes Father?" I say trembling.  Father approaches me and pinches my sweater.  He eyes it up and down and then looks me in the eyes.  "It's about your choice of clothing, son."  I clench my eyes shut tightly, trying not to cry.  It's just a sweater, what's the big deal?  Father lets go of his grip on my sweater.  "Why," he says in a deep voice, "Do you wear such girly sweaters?" 

My heart plunges into my stomach, racing at an increased pace.  He really thinks a purplish-pink sweater is girly?  What's the big deal with gender stereotypes anyway?  I like purple, so I am going to wear purple.  "I- I like the color Father," I stutter, careful not to sound aggressive or disrespectful.  Father glares.  "Purple is not for straight boys," he says my heart pounds.  I can't swallow.  I can hardly breathe at the moment.  Does he know about Sal?  Holy shit, this is terrifying.  I sigh heavily, my eyes watering.  "I- I just like the color Father.  Does that really bother you?"

Instant regret fills me as I feel my father's knuckles against my chest.  His wedding ring digs deep inside my skin, leaving a bruise.  He grabs me by the collar of my sweater and pushes me up against the wall.  "Does this show you how big of a deal it is to me?" he grunts, his face growing red and sweaty.  I nod carefully, tears streaming down my cheeks.  Father finally releases his grip and let's me fall to the floor.  Blood shoots out of my nose and my chest hurts.  I struggle to breath, for he knocked the air out of me.  "Next time I catch you looking like that," he shouts, "you'll feel a lot more pain.  And if I ever find out that you have feelings for a boy-" Father gestures with his hand a knife slicing his throat.  He stomps out of the room and slams his bedroom door.  I can hear him shouting at Mother and the latter crying.  Suddenly, I hear a loud smack and Mother screaming in pain.  I can not take this.  I limp up to my room and shut the door.  I collapse on my bed, tears staining my cheeks.  I push my pillow deep onto my face, letting my sobs drench the pillow. 

I'm afraid of what will happen to me if Father finds out my secret.

If he finds out I have feelings for Sal..