Chapter Text
It wasn't right the way he walked around like nothing was wrong. Like the mask didn't make him look like some kind of freak crawling out of hell. And what the hell was with the random pink bit? Sal Fisher, Sally Face. Every time Travis heard that name, it twisted his stomach. Nobody should look like that. Nobody should be like that.
He told himself it was pity at first. That was what good Christians were supposed to feel in situations like this, right? Pity for the broken, the lost, and the sinful. But the truth was much simpler: every time Sal looked at him with those pale blue eyes behind that mask, it felt like a dare. Like he was mocking him, everyone actually. At least that's how he saw it.
Travis shoved the thought down as he always did. His father's voice rattled in his skull. The wages of sin is death. Evil wears many faces, son. You’ll know it when you see it. And hadn’t he seen it? Right there in the hallway every damn day, shoulders hunched under that ratty hoodie, mask strapped across a face God himself must’ve turned away from.
Travis made sure everyone else knew it, too. A shove into lockers, a hissed "freak" in the cafeteria line. He’d spit out the words before he even thought them, watching Sal flinch or roll his eyes or sometimes just go quiet. That silence drove Travis insane, like Sal thought he was above it all. Like he didn’t care what anyone said.
And that was worse.
Because if Sally Face didn't care, then why couldn't he stop? Why did he lie awake some nights replaying the moments, the sharp rhythm of his own voice, the way Sal’s head tilted just so?
Travis stopped himself. He hated Sal. That was the truth, and there wasn’t room for anything else. Hatred was clean, righteous, something his father would understand. Something he could understand.
So when sitting in algebra, he was called out for staring over his shoulder back at Sal, jaw tight, fingers drumming against his desk, Travis told himself it was only because he was making sure the freak wasn’t up to something. That was it. That was all.
Travis huffed and looked forward. Algebra was stupid, too. Who thought of putting letters in math? Probably the devil if Travis was honest with himself. Maybe that's why Sal was so good at it. Maybe only sinful people were good at algebra? Travis wondered if he could use that explanation with his father when he was inevitably asked why he was doing so poorly in math.
When Travis zoned back into class and what was happening around him, he caught their teacher, Mrs. Packerton, speaking to Sally Face.
"I know, dear. You aced it as well, very good. Just try to stay awake for the remainder of class, okay?" She praised.
Travis's scowl deepened.
"Sure," Sal replied with a little nod. "It won't happen again."
"And Mr. Phelps," Mrs Packerton said, turning her attention to Travis, causing him to jump a little. "Eyes on your own paper."
Travis was reluctant to hand in his test; he knew he didn't do well, he could feel it in the pit of his stomach. He had gone over it over and over again, but he just didn't understand. How could he? How could Sal understand? It was all so stupid. He handed in his paper, deliberately placing it upside down before he left the classroom.
Lunch was next, thank God.
Travis stopped off at his locker to put some books away and grab others for his last few classes of the day. He could do this after lunch, but that was what everyone did, so it was just easier to do it now.
Hearing a painfully familiar voice to his right, Travis glanced around the door of his locker to see if he was right about who he thought it was. Of course, he was; there was Sal Fisher and his friend Ashley Campbell. Travis hated her, too. If anyone could be friends with someone as sinful as Sal clearly was, then she must be sinful by proximity.
Travis closed his locker with a thud, making sure it was locked before he made his way over. He wasn't thinking about what he was doing, just acting on an impulse he was sure was what God would've wanted of him.
"Hey freak!" Travis called out. He paused until Sal turned to face him. "Nobody likes a goody-two-shoes, Saaally Face."
"Nobody likes a cliche bully, Traaavis," Sal snapped back, he was almost teasing, Travis hated it.
"Don't you have something better to do?" Ash said, a scowl etched across her face as she stepped a little closer to Sal.
For whatever reason, that angered Travis even more. "Shut up bitch! I wasn't talking to you."
"You know, if you took that stick out of your ass, you may actually enjoy yourself for once. Maybe even make a friend or two," Sal cut in.
"Fuck off faggot!" Travis snapped. "I have more friends than you'll ever have!"
"Do you kiss your daddy with that tongue? " Sal asked. "I'm sure he—"
Travis didn't remember when he decided to punch Sal in the face, or if he made that decision at all. One moment, he was standing there with his fists clenched, and the next, he was quickly walking away, pretending like his right hand wasn't aching from the blow.
"What the hell asshole!?" Ash yelled after him. Travis flipped her off as he rounded the corner.
Travis stepped into the bathroom, which was thankfully empty. He stood at the sink and held his right hand underneath some cold water. He hated the way the ache in his hand felt good for a second. Hated the way it shut Sal up, wiped that calm, mocking tone from his mouth. He hated that he could still see those pale eyes staring at him.
If he went to the nurse, they'd ask what happened and just give him a shit bag of ice wrapped in a paper towel. Travis was practically doing the same thing, and this way, no one would question him about his hand; this way, his father probably wouldn't find out.
Travis Phelps had a complicated relationship with physical violence. It was bad most of the time, sure, but there were some places where it was deserved. Travis felt this was deserved. Travis looked up at himself and his black right eye.
Sally Face should've never mentioned his father. He didn't have to go there.
Travis shut off the sink and thought over the rest of his day. He was pretty sure he didn't have any more classes with Sal; maybe it would be best to lie low for the rest of the day.