⛧ looking like you just woke up - salvis ⛧

Ⅰ.

{Travis's POV}
༺☆༻

  My knuckle was blood-stained, tiny cuts peppered across my skin as I stood over the blue-haired boy.

  "You kiss your daddy with that tongue?" The words echoed in my head along with the ringing in my ears. I pulled on the collar of my white button-down that rested underneath my sweater, loosening it a bit as the scowl on my face deepened.

"Say that shit again and it'll be worse, fuckin' faggot." I threatened, noticing the blood from one of my cuts got onto the collar of my shirt when I pulled on it. Shit, I'm going to have to get that out before Father gets home. I thought.

I watched as Sally Face started to push himself off the ground with his palms on the sticky tile floor. The red-hot anger within me boiled and I started down the hallway, running as fast as my lanky legs would take me.

I stopped by my locker, hastily spinning the numbers and yanking it open. I grabbed my black notebook, the one that could single-handedly get me killed if it landed in the wrong hands. I shut my locker and ran to the bathroom, angry tears starting to prick at my eyes.

  My vision was blurring from the tears that gathered at the waterlines of my eyes, threatening to spill. I shoved open the bathroom door and ran to the nearest stall, locking the graffiti-covered door behind me.

  I sat with my back pressed against the wall, my head buried in my knees as I hugged my legs tightly. The tears started to fall, streaming down my tan, freckled face. I picked my head up and looked at the notebook a few inches away from me that contained all my thoughts of Sal, my chest tightening and nausea washing over me.

  I snatched the book up, taking my pencil out of my pocket and jotting down whatever comes to mind. Shame corrupted my thoughts and ugly tears fell onto the denim of my shorts. My hand cramped up as I wrote, my vision blurry, I paused for a moment to wipe my eyes and look over everything I wrote.

  "I know we don't really know each other and you probably have your opinions of me. I thought maybe, if I told you how I feel, things could be different.

  The truth is, I can't stop thinking about you. I'm crazy about you. I think you're amazing! But, I know these feelings are wrong. It's not the way a boy should feel.

  Shame swallows me whole just writing these words, my father would kill me. But I can't live in his shadow for ever, I just-"

  I took my pencil to the thin paper and scribbled the rest out, breaking the lead point in the process. I sighed to myself. Of course, just my luck. I shoved the pencil back in my pocket, looking at the note again.

  I balled it up into a wrinkled sphere of paper, my breath catching in my throat as I stood up and unlocked the stall. I walked out and threw the note in the trash, not looking back.

  I warily walked back into the stall, locking it behind me and sitting on the cold ground with my back against the tile wall. No matter how strong my efforts were to keep myself from crying anymore, I broke down, biting the sleeve of my sweater to quiet the sobs.

  Then I heard the heavy thud of the bathroom door closing.

  I clamped my hand around my mouth, ignoring the dull ache from my hand tightening around the bruise on my jawline.