Redemption [Larvis]

☆°Part Six°☆

In the perspective of:
...TRAVIS PHELPS...

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I was shivering all over. So I started tightening my fist so hard I thought my skin might tear. But in doing so, my shaking became minimal.

Making my way into the dining room, I could see my Father's backside. He was observing the kitchen. It was untidy. And the dishes he used last night to cook for himself were still there in the sink. Even without looking at his face I could see how angry he was. His rage basically radiating from his body with the tight posture he held against the kitchen counter.

I quickly sucked in a breath, before he turned around to face me. His jaw was clenched and his face was contorted with frustration. Yet, he waited. He waited for me to answer him even after I'd come to face him, he continued watching me expectantly.

"Yes Father?" I said. Suprised at how well and even I'd been able to say it, despite how scared I was.

He took one moment, before taking two large steps towards me. It took all my will power not to move. Not to fidget. Not to make a sound. Not to even take a breath, as he got closer. Then, when he was barely an inch away from me. He put a hand on my shoulder.

"You know, don't you? Of what you've done?" His voice kept its stern and deep tone.

I struggled to answer him, knowing I had to answer him quick before he ran out of patience.

"Yes father." The hand he'd placed on my shoulder gripped tighter.

"And you know what this means for you, correct?" This time, his words came out a little louder, gravely as he grit his teeth.

"Yes father."

He nodded. And before I could even blink, the grip he had on me became even tighter. Threatening to tear into my skin and dislocate the joint from its bone altogether. I involuntarily gasped at this. Bad idea. Because Father didn't raise a prissy boy who cried out in pain.

After dragging me to the main hallway, he threw me down onto the floor. A loud bang sounding through the walls as I landed on the floor, my head crashing against the spare bedroom door. My ears were ringing. He bent down and gripped me by my hair, grunting when he saw my natural brown seeping through my roots.

"Disgusting." He snarled.

Pulling me up by my hair, pain throbbed in my scalp as my hair almost ripped out. Thankfully, I stood up fast enough to avoid this. But that only made my Father angrier.

He walked down the hallway, leading me downstairs into the basement.

Oh no.

The basement was the worst room in the house. The atmosphere inside was the most unwelcoming, at least the other rooms had put up a front as a domestic space, however the basement was the complete opposite. It was dark, the brick walls stained with my blood and matched with the concrete floor. It smelt damp, and metallic. The only light sources were the soft glow coming from the heater, and a single light bulb in the centre of the room.

He forced me down on my knees, ordering that I were to remove my sweater vest, and for me to bend forward with my hands by my side. I did as I was told.

Then, he started to pray. He prayed for God's forgiveness of the actions he was about to perform. He prayed that God would lead me in the right direction so that this wouldn't have to happen again. He prayed that I finally become worthy of my religion, worthy of life, worthy of being a Phelps. Afterwards. He got to work. Unbuckled his belt and positioned it against my back so that I could get a feel of the leather.