About halfway through a brush stroke, Travis decided to wake up with a yelp. Larry jumped back, ruining the straight line that he was painting. Cursing under breath, Larry turned to check on the boy. Travis's head ran faster than he ever could keep with. His recollection of the past few hours was heavily fuzzy, but with the look Larry was giving him, something had gone bad. Discomfort swam into the room in waves. "Dude, do you remember what happened?"

"Well we were playing video games, I won Mario Kart, I was bragging, t-then I fell…" Travis trailed off, eyes widening. "No. No, no, no! Y-you did not." His head swinging his head sharply back and forth.

Unsure of how to proceed, Larry put his hands up and slowly walked forward. Travis shouted at him and scrambled backwards, tripping over the beanbag. Travis turned, bolted up the stairs, and left the door to slam behind him. Larry grabbed the walkie talkie before running after the blonde. Fortunately, he saw Travis's tennis shoes disappear into the tree house. Larry reached the tree's base and began to climb.

'"Go away, Larry!" A cracking voice made him pause.

"Okay, okay man. I won't try to come up, but I just want to let you know that it is alright, man. You won't go back to him. Not back to that monster."

Sobs sounded through the night. "Are you sure you don't want me up there?"

A quiet plea whispered, just soft enough from Larry to hear it. Slowly, Larry climbed towards the damaged boy. Each creak of the holds made Travis tense. His breath escalated, nearing hyperventilation. Larry paused just before the last step. He was sure that Travis would rather have Sally as comfort, but how would he feel if Larry, or god Trav, had to explain what this was about. Gathering his courage, he hoisted himself up and sat down next to the crying boy. A brief silence passed before Larry spoke in the most soothing voice he could muster. "You know you can always talk to Sal and I, right? We really do want to help you, kid. That being said, no pressure, alright?"

Through his tears, Travis nodded. He wanted to believe them so bad, but he was constantly waiting for them to leave him. Finally, they will realize his pathetic ass isn't worth it. To be fair, Larry just learned about one of his worst secrets. "I-It...T-this isn't my fault." He gasped out.

"Hate to break it to you, but no one blames you for this. Hell, you were a kid when this started. This is completely your dad's fault and no one doubts that. He is the worst human I have ever met. He is an incredibly disgusting person. I would kill him if I got the chance." Larry finished off his rant absentmindedly, watching the Puerto Rican curl into himself. Larry cursed himself internally. "Sorry."

Travis tried to slow his breathing as best he could after Larry going off. Maybe, just maybe, these people could become okay with him. His tears dried and he sat back. Travis moved to leave, but Larry stopped him. "Friends?"

Equally happy grins faced each other as Travis nodded. They clambered down the steps one after the other and settled back into their 'beds'. "So, you paint?"

"Yeah, man, it's my passion. I can show some of them to you, if you want."

"Hell yeah, man. After that we gotta sleep, dude."

Travis awkwardly jumped up and started to flip through the multitude of paintings and draws around the room. However, one made him pause. Was that Sal? It was the same hair and stature, but without the mask. He had scars similar to claw marks across his cheeks. Sal's nose and a piece of his lip were lopped off, but Sally certainly wasn't ugly. Travis's cheeks turned a pink, rosy colors. Larry glanced up to catch Travis lightly stroking a finger across his painting. Curious, he stood up and walked behind the pink boy. Larry felt internet dial tones go off in his head. Travis, still just as oblivious as always, tried to memorize Sal before continuing to flip through this stack. "You like Sal! That's why you were blushing!"

"W-what?! I am not a homo, Larry! What the hell? And I especially don't like Sal." His face continuing to get redder with each word.

"Hey man, those cheeks say another story. I don't care if you are gay or not kid, you got a crush on little dude."

"S-shut up, please. Okay. I can't tell anyone about this, and I certainly didn't want you to know." Travis sighed anxiously, hand tearing at his hair.

"I am not gonna out you, bro. Just tell little dude one day, okay?"

"I-I have had a crush on S-sally Face for years, but my father told me if I didn't save the f-fags he would b-break my leg. It makes me so angry, seeing him happy with his friends, when I have none of that." Travis's hand twirled into his shirt.

"Your secret is safe with me, dude."

Both kids passed out soon after, considering it was very early in the morning.

Sunday morning arrived with two messy blue ponytails barging into Larry's room. He flounced over to the stereo and turned up some nice, quiet, heavy metal. Musical shrieks had Travis up and scrambling, while Larry kept sound asleep. Sal grinned and slipped outside. Finally, Larry woke up as cold water collided with his face. The most peaceful way to wake up, cussing vigorously, had Travis and Sal smiling from ear to ear.

"Come on losers, we are going to pick up some of Travis's things. Because it is currently church hours, it should be all clear to get clothes, meds, ect. We need to be concise because this man cannot get Travis. Unfortunately, we don't know the area well enough without Trav, so we need you to guide. Larry will act as protection and Trav and I will gather things. You guys ready?"

With everyone in agreement, they made the trek to Travis's old place. Fear was steadily pulsing through the tan boy's veins. What if they see father? Then we'll give him a nice hello, beg him to take us back, and make him less disgusted by us. We'll offer us right up to him. Oh! Maybe your 'friends' could watch. That would be delicious. They would cheer your father on, you know. How they have wanted to treat you. Finally getting what you deserve. You are useless otherwise. Travis clenched his fist and forced himself to keep moving forward. His father would not catch him.

His house appeared before him, more daunting than before. Sal put his hand in Travis's and squeezed. Ew. The homo is touching you. Tell him to get away, you dumb fag! Blood rushed to Travis's face, but he held firmly onto Sal. In the least gay way possible, Sal was his lifeline currently. The hand clasped in his kept his mind off the tainted memories of the house before him. A choking sensation brushed against his throat, the outline of his father's shoe in his side, the whip lashing against his back. Tremors ran through his shoulders and down his arms. Empathy flooded Sal's senses as they entered the house. As concisely as possible, Travis marched to his room. There was no time to look around, no time to hesitate. Mechanically, Travis threw a bag towards Sal and grabbed one for himself. They began to fill them both in silence.

"Hey, Trav? Do you have any medicine you need?" Sal asked, putting the last of his clothes away.

"Y-yeah, it is in the kitchen. Lemme go grab it, then we can go."

Travis practically flew into the kitchen and grabbed his nice, orange cup of drugs. Zoloft stuck out on the label, making him sigh. He hoped that Sal and Larry wouldn't recognize this. He didn't want them to realize how screwed up he is. His thought was interrupted by the back door of his house being opened. Travis turned, running. He had to warn his friend. Now. A bone-breaking grip landed on his shoulder. "Hello, son. I thought I told you to return in the morning. I had to get someone to take over at the church so I could retrieve my garbage bloodline. Your mother would be disgraced. Now, come, we have to get to the church for confessionals."

A hand came up from behind him and clapped itself on his mouth. "If you think for one second to call out, I will gut you and feed you to the school. You will follow me outside without a single sound of protest. Don't make your punishment worse than the hell that will be placed on you."

Mr. Phelps removed his hand with disgust. The boy had got his fucking tears on his hand. He turned Travis and shoved him forward. "Get walking."

The forest was exceptionally today. Neither the crickets nor the birds sang. Mr. Phelps felt a malicious smile swallow his whole face. Oh, boy, you have made a mistake. He expected promptness from his kin, no matter how useless. When the back of the church came into view, Travis stiffened in terror. He wished his feet would stop moving on their own. Mr. Phelps yanked his collar back, making him come to a complete stop. "I don't want to be seen with you currently, so" He kicked around some leaves and sticks, uncovering a small door. "we are going to go through the back entrance."

Musty air hit Travis hard. He felt like his brain had stopped in its tracks while his feet mindlessly clambered down the old, wooden steps. Please let my friends be okay. I wonder if they have noticed I am gone. Save me. Mr. Phelps grinned at his obedient son. He made Travis so obedient. He hadn't protested, he had no right to because he was in the wrong being late, but still. The minister lifted his leg and jetted it forward, into the shoulder blades of his son. A long string of crashing and pained noises played musically to his ear. By the time he reached the base of the stair, Travis was able to sit up again. His son shrunk back from his imposing form. Laughing, the minister slung his son over his back. Travis felt about as useless as a sack of potatoes. His still sore back landed forcefully on the chair. Travis felt his wrists ache as they were strapped down.

Mr. Phelps hummed as he gathered his tools from the tray. Travis gulped as he watched specific tools being selected. He had seen these before….his lungs burned as he remembered the pain each of those tools had done.

This is a graphic scene. Specifically, it is torture, nothing else. If you don't want to read this, go ahead and move on to another chapter. This scene is the last bit of this chapter, so you won't miss anything.

Travis couldn't bear to watch, all he could bear was to hear the creak of the metal tool opening. He felt it close around his fingernail and begin to pull. Small cries subconsciously flew away from him as the nail gave way. His nerve endings flared spectacularly as blood dripped down his hand and into the seat of the chair. This action was repeated nine more times, each making Travis cry harder than the last. Once he counted all ten of his fingernails removed, Travis slumped back in relief. Mr. Phelps almost giggled at his only son. Brave of him to assume that this is over. Picking up the knife that looked like a shorter version of a cleaver, he moved Travis's fingers to where only one was pointing out. The upswing made him cherish the look of fear on the boys face before he swung down with all of his might, cleaning removing one of his fingers. Raggedly gasping, Travis began to shake. Pain flared so heavily around him, he felt his vision begin to tunnel. One after the other, four other fingers joined the single on the floor. His right hand swelled and bruised.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the grand finale! Please welcome, this lovely bucket of acid."

Travis tried to scramble back, but to no avail. His right hand was unbound and grasped at the elbow. Then, all he felt was burning. Each individual nerve ending sung with pain. He felt his hand get eaten away, blood dripping before dissolving. Finally, desperate, he cried for his father to stop. "P-please. I'll be a g-good boy. I will do whatever you ask, just p-please forgive me. Give me my hand back!"

Groaning, Father walked up to him. "You fool. Give me back my hand? Are you serious? It is gone, kid. Maybe it will stop you from stealing things and getting caught red handed. You remember that, right? When you stole money from me, but I caught you with your hand in my wallet? Today, you stole my time. I just took back the thing that enabled you. Now, hold still, I need to remove the bone."

Once again, the knife whistled upwards and crashed back into bone. It didn't hurt per-say, but it felt weird. The weakened bone clattered to the floor and broke into pieces. "Well, I plan on coming back tonight, so you wouldn't mind if I just left you here, right? Alright great. See you in a few hours. I'm bringing the camera."

A shiver of disgusted ran up and down Travis's spine. He was still so distracted by the numb at the end of his arm that he didn't hear the minister leave.