Save me, please. -A Salvis Fanfiction

Why does it feel good to be around you?

y'all had to wait long enough, i'll update again 🤪

Sal's Pov:
I enter the bathroom and my eyes fall on the toilet seat. Yesterday, Travis sat there while I was bandaging him up. I remember how he flinched at almost every touch and my insides make a disgusting turn. All of this must've been living hell for him. He hates to be close to me, he hates me. But yesterday he needed to rely on me helping him, just in order to function. It was so bad for him, he couldn't even look at me.

He really does despise me, huh.

I snap out of my thoughts and finally put the glass with the fake eye on the sink. I reach behind my head and start to unbuckle my prosthetic with a relieved sigh. I've had it on the whole night since I didn't want to fear Travis seeing my face and it was hot as fuck under it. I was sweating more than I'd like to admit and that damn nightmare wasn't a help either.

I quickly wash my face and also kinda clean my prosthetic. Then I take off my clothes and step into the shower, making sure that the water is cold.

A cold shower is what I need after all this mess. I've finally gotten some kinda decent sleep and I feel a lot better than the days before.

After I finished my shower, I get dressed again and clean my empty eye socket. I put in my fake eye, which was still swimming in the water glass and take my prosthetic into my hands.

I hesitate to put it on. It would be a lot more comfortable without it, and the only one awake is Larry...

I quickly shake my head. The risk is too high that Travis sees my face. I close the prosthetic behind my head and shift it into position. Then I take one last look into the mirror.

My hair is messy and still wet and the prosthetic turns my face into a emotionless expression. I try to smile and make it visible, but the only thing that happens is that my eyes crunch up a little bit.

It's useless.

I turn around and leave the bathroom, ready to eat whatever Larry cooked.

As he sees me entering the kitchen, his head turns to me and he has a grin on his face.

"I made pancakes, man. Well, I tried." with these words he holds up a plate with a few dark brown, round pieces of something.

I start to laugh at the sight of it. Larry never really was a good cook but he doesn't stop trying. This dude is unbelievable stubborn.

"Lar, are you sure those are pancakes?" I try to get out in between uncontrolled laughter.

Larry starts to join my laughter "Shut up, shithead."

He places the plate on the table, where I can already see two other plates with forks and knifes laying.

I sit down next to him and grab a piece of the 'pancakes' with my fork to put it on my plate.

"Sooo, man, what happened with Phelps? Why exactly is he here?" Larry starts asking while I unbuckle the lower part of my mask so I can eat.

"Well, he got beat up pretty bad. He's bruised everywhere, it took a while to help him yesterday." I answer, getting a piece of pancake on my fork.

"Wait but why exactly would he text you? Didn't y'all like hate each other?" he looks genuinely confused and man, I am too.

He actually only texted me because I was his only option. I don't think it means that he started feeling sympathy for me or something, he just needed someone and I was there.

"I don't think it's that deep, dude. I was the only one there so he texted me, that's it." I struggle to eat without lifting my prosthetic completely and Larry seems to realize.