Redemption [Larvis]

☆°Part Seven°☆

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

That Monday night I relived the same painful process that I'd gone through many times before. The agonising pain, the uncomfortable material of my old mattress, the voices in my head leading me to nothing but despair and insomnia. When morning came, I was "awoken" by my Father.

I had been up since last night, you could see dark circles beginning to form under my eyes. When father smashed my head into the concrete floor last night, it damaged my coloured eye contact. That being my last one, I couldn't replace it.

My Father came to wake me up that morning. Some habitual routine he had where he'd make sure none of my scars were too visible, and my health condition was still endurable after every beating. Not that he'd treat me himself or book me a doctors appointment, but just because it's what God would've wanted him to do or something like that.

I'd convinced myself that it was to show me he still cared, even if it was only a small portion. When in fact it was not that at all. Part of it was to make sure that I hadn't run away or offed myself after receiving another one of his beatings. Which might seem like an act powered by the concern of a loving but aggressive Father, but that was simply untrue as well. I wouldn't normally consider any of these two options, but this morning I was feeling pretty tired and overwhelmed with a lot of unprocessed emotions.

When he did wake me up though, he looked at me, repulsed.

"Bloody heck Travis, go and wash up this instant! You will by no means go to school looking like that. And fix your hair while your at it, you look like a fucking f*ggot with that horrid brown and curls!" He yelled at me, while pushing and shoving me all the way into the bathroom.

"And while I leave to go to work, you better fucking do those dishes, or you will seriously be dead to me. I'll be back with more brown contacts for you to cover that hideous blue eye of yours, until then, don't let ANYONE see you." Was the last thing he'd said before he left to start work in the Ministry. I'd stayed silent the whole time. I was suprised he let me.

He probably would've made me go with him to work, if it not had been for my appearance. I was in the bathroom now, alone in the house. I'd memorised the sound that his work shoes made when he walked down the stairs and out of the front door.

I was finally alone. Finally safe. Or at least I could believe that for now. I took my time when undressing, trying my best to avoid the bathroom mirror. But it was right there, and I couldn't stop myself from taking a quick peek. Which eventually turned into a stare.

I was hideous. I really was. With my small, deformed and misshapen body. My swollen, red and tired eye. The blue eye that my Father hated so much. My basic brown eye that wasn't as swollen, but showed just as much damage deep within them. My messy bleached blonde hair, it's natural colour attempting to peep out, and my curls swarming around my face and head.

And the scars. So many fucking scars. A long, thin one that lined across my chest and went over my left collarbone. Several scars on my back, some of which came all the way around onto my shoulders like the print of a bunch of ghostly hands. I couldn't stand the sight of myself, yet I was mesmerised by how fucked up and shitty I looked. I really didn't deserve to be alive, let alone be called a Phelps when I looked as atrocious as this. My skinny arms and legs. Actual fucking twigs. Then, I started crying again.

What's wrong Trav? Can't even handle a little self degradation? Weak. Pathetic even. A voice mocked me.

I tried my best to ignore it and have a shower. Which couldn't have hurt any more then it did. But the voice just wouldn't shut up. It wasn't until after my shower, after I'd patched myself up as best as I could. That Larry's contact number appeared on my phone, calling me, then the voice had finally stopped.