Chapter Text
Travis had a pretty depressing routine he would follow, Almost like he was on auto pilot.
Wake up
Make himself presentable
Tell his father good morning
“Forget” to put a lunch in his bag
Head out before sun rise
Complete school
Bully Sally face to cover up his weakness and inferiority complex
Head to church after school keep up with his perfect church boy appearance
Head home, go straight to his room
Rot in his room until his father went to sleep or left for the night to meet another women on one of his dating apps
Grab a snack so he doesn’t parish from hungry although he wouldn’t mind
Barely get sleep
Repeat
This was a cycle he grew accustomed to. Being the pastors son was a tedious task. Always having to put a front on. No one would be able to tell the boy and his father had issues. He always had a backup plan for if someone was gracious enough to ask, he fell, he went dirt biking and fell, he fell down the stairs. He could make endless story’s up and no one would bat an eye.
How fortunate, how convenient
Travis found a small secluded spot with a shed that barely manages to stay together, but just sturdy enough to seek shelter. Travis would retreat to his hide away and often found himself staring at the sky laying listening to music on his iPod, laying on his back smoking a cigarette he managed to score from the ground with over half of it left. Travis felt the nicotine and tar and other toxins fill and coat his lungs, a wave of clearness washed over him but only temporarily
He needed a new self destructive weapon,
simply cutting himself wouldn’t quit cut it anymore. His arms felt like texture mats. He made sure there was no more skin left for him to slice into. He didn’t flinch anymore, no wincing, no shaking, no hesitation. He felt nothing now, no rush no exhilaration Travis needed a new outlet before he decided to for sure he’ll try one last time and he was going to make it big.
Travis collected a few tools for his operation after church had concluded. His father could’ve cared less about how late he strolled in back home after church as long as he showed up to church presentable, Just to keep the picture perfect family image.
Travis was soaking up the scenery this time on his walk to his secret hiding spot. Taking in details he never bothered to notice before. The ridges on the trees towering over, The nature sounds all around him. Enough to distract him a little bit before his ultimate decision. The sun that slowly started to set. A gentle breeze slipping past him
Travis could see his little shed in the distance calling his name maybe even taunting him, Travis couldn’t tell the difference
Travis meticulously laid out his tools before him once he arrived. He used a cushion to sit on he was lucky enough to score it before his father threw it out. He rolled both sleeves up examining the flesh he sees before him tracing the keloids and scabs trying to figure out where would be best. First he would try a glass bottle shard, he lined it up vertically instead of horizontally this time. With one swift motion Travis pushed the shard into his skin with a steady pressure craving a straight king deep enough to definitely need stitches however he has no interest in healing these wounds properly. For all he cared they could be infected and he would feel deserving of it.
Yet no satisfaction
He put a paper towel over the wound with a half ass wrap job.the next subject, a razor from his deceased mother’s sour dough kit. Travis compared the tool to a surgical grade scalpel. Travis then rolled his other sleeve down transferring the tool to his non dominant hand.just like previously he lined the razor up vertically and started to drag it towards him watching the blood pool up was satisfying however not the rush he had once felt. Travis sat back and took in the whole scene blood dripping onto the old rotting wood seeping into the crevices. This was the final push towards his inevitable fate.
Everyone should have expected it in the long run. It would be more unlikely that he didn’t end up on this path. His next step was to test his immortality. He’s seen the warnings the psa’s he was a dare kid growing up.
He knew he wanted to get high not just from weed he’s felt that and it’s never been enough. He needed to experience pill high, maybe even get his hands on some type of upper, or perchance even drift away with a downer he knew he wanted to experiment with the fine line between death and consciousness, dance hand in hand.