Ok, first of all, I'm so grateful to _jinniecutie , gaurinarkar_ and badatlov_1602 for giving me the hope that at least someone will read my trashy work
trigger warning: this chapter contains a bit of torture and hurt ;-;
let's move on!

xxxxx

The large droplets plopped on the glass slide of the window, sluggishly rolling down the smooth surface and onto the soaking earth.

It has been raining since the weekend and Travis has no ounce of eagerness to attend school. Not that it doesn't always rain, but today, it's taking a more violent form, which means you literally have to walk through the innumerable patches of mud splattered on the way to hell, sorry, school. Same difference. With the narrowed corridors, and cranky lockers, with teachers trying to bite their heads off if their attendance went below the required, not to mention the no so edible food served in the cafeteria, it just a regular high school. The same which Travis came to hate so much. And one person in particular.

Scar was everything he hated. Popular, a womanizer, a drug addict, a complete idiot, treated his girlfriends like video games—brushing them off after they got old; and those are only some of the traits that described him. Some even say he works as a Mafia in secret. Scar believed everyone liked him, but Travis knew, from their eyes. They were scared of him. That's all. Scared to go against him, lest he slit their throats.

And somehow, Travis is still attracted to those piercing blue eyes.

If god knew why, he was entranced by those blue orbs, and why the hell he felt as if his skin was burning whenever those orbs landed on him. He merely found them mesmerising. That's all. Nothing more, nothing less.

xxxxx

Travis tried to walk carefully, avoiding the puddles, one hand holding up the umbrella, and the other clutching onto the fabric strips of his bag—which was itself, trying to hold on to its dear life, maybe thinking about its owner's poor condition. And Travis wouldn't ever ask his mom to buy him a new one because firstly, his mom had too much on her plate to buy him a luxury of a new bag, and secondly, he has gotten a bit attached to the material.

All of a sudden, a hard push on his back, and Travis found himself falling face first on the wet footpath. The puddles that he was trying to avoid so much, were now splattered across his white shirt, as if a mad painter displayed his abstract art over it—which apparently happened to be the shirt he got out from laundry yesterday. Both his bag and umbrella met the same fate as him, as they lay beside him.

With vexed expression written over his face, he looked up to convey a 'thank you' to the person responsible for his fall, and met with a pair of blue eyes looking right back at him, a hint of amusement flickering through them.

"Oh sorry, didn't see you there."

Sure he didn't. Travis gritted his teeth, pushing down the boiling anger in the pit of his stomach and stood up. The rain didn't hesitate to soak his whole being, as he felt the rainwater seeping through his jeans and shirt and on his body, the cold water forcing a shiver to run down his spine. Picking up his bag and the umbrella, folding it and placing it inside his bag, and turned back.

"So rude, I said sorry, didn't it?" The mocking voice cut through his ears, but he didn't respond and kept walking. And he even heard a stifled snigger, but tried to block it out, failing of course. Scar knew. Hell, the whole school knew.

Travis couldn't speak.

Since his birth, he tried moving his lips and create some sound, imitating his mother, but much to his dismay no sound came out. When he was just seven, the doctors diagnosed with slight Aphasia, which his mother linked to the sudden death of his father at five. Maybe sometimes, if he rummaged through his brain incessantly, a word or two might come out. But that's probably once in a year. But Travis could write. He never write more with his brain, but his heart which had so much to tell, the thoughts he couldn't express vocally, he expressed them in paper, as thousands of words flowed as fierce as the Niagara our of his pen.

Scar went past him, giving another last push, but this time he regained his balance.

Travis knocked on the glass covering of the door, trying to revert the attention of Ms.Grey—their history teacher, to let him enter the class.

She let out a tsk of annoyance, and turned in his direction. Travis wanted to say, it's not his fault that he's late, but Scar pushed him. But his mutism held him back.

"Come in, and Mr Meyers, is that a way to present yourself in class?" She tutted, her fingernails coated with a dark hue of red, tapping on the her hips.

He tried to explain her, by moving his hands, but as soon as he pointed at Scar, she held up her palm.

"It's enough," She said. "Don't always try to blame your faults on others, Mr Meyers. Just because you can't speak, you can't always play the victim. Go to your place, and try to pay attention."

Travis clenched his fists, the rainwater still there, squashed in them. Of course, she wouldn't trust him. Everyone knew about her slightly major crush on Scar, and that included Scar as well. And needless to say, Scar has always taken advantage of that. If only he could speak.

He trudged towards his seat at the back of the classroom, and met those eyes again. The mocking flare was still present, which only got more prominent which screamed, "know your position."

Travis plopped down on the chair, trying to ignore the all to familiar giggles, all with a tint of mock, directed towards him and focused on the class.

xxxxx

Travis entered the showers, letting the towel drape over his shoulders. The last period was P.E, and he is way too glad that it ended. He's not a fan of P.E which is quite clear from his lean body and fragile frame, and sure enough, neither P.E nor their coach has a great liking towards him.

"Oh look, he's here." Aaron whisper-yelled, and Scar snapped his head up, a smirk creeping up his face. The other boys finished their shower and somehow all of them were waiting. Waiting for their prey, like ruthless predators. Oh how Travis wished he could just bury himself right now, because his right leg still hurt from his morning's fall and there's already a purplish bruise forming on his knee.

*trigger warning*

"Well, well Mey, why're you so late? We've having waiting for so long you know," Scar cooed, forwarding towards the smaller boy as he backed away. Travis hit his back on the cold tiles of the wall, and he knew he's trapped. Scar had his hands placed on the wall, caging his body from escaping.

Travis shook his head, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes. It hurt so much, the last time–that was Friday–Scar beat him, it hurt so much. But he couldn't protest. He couldn't speak. And he loathes himself for that.

"You've become so rude," Scar said again. "I talked to you this morning as well, you just ignored me. Do you think we'd let you go without any punishment?"

"Right. Bad boys need to be taught how to behave." Zach agreed, cracking his knuckles. The crooked smile marring his lips scared Travis to no ends, because Zach never talked, let alone smile. The only times he let out anything is when he finds something interesting, something that excites him and notches up his adrenaline instincts.

Scar's right hand descended on Travis' small shoulder and pressed down on it, a bit too hard. Travis' face morphed into an expression of pain and he opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"I'm holding him up." Said the taller boy, his eyes gleaming. "You go ahead."

And that was the green signal Zach needed before a hard punch landed on Travis' stomach, and after that, he felt a swarm of another hundred flying down on him. On his face, on his stomach, a hundred kicks on his legs, his whole body.

A hard kick on his bruise made his head fall back on the wall, and seeing his reaction they hit the place over and over again. The place where he got hurt this morning, turning it worse.

"Look at him crying," Aaron laughed out. "Fuck, he's such a pussy man!"

"I fucking pity him, seriously!" Zach joined the laughter, giving a rough kick on his stomach.

And Travis cried more. Wordless tears rolling down his cheeks. His legs wobbled, he was falling down but Scar held him in place, saying "Not yet, Mey," from time to time and let his friends do the deed. Tears were freely flowing down his face, his mouth opened in pain, his mind screaming for the pain on his boy, his vision blurred and Scar let him go.

His limp body swept down the wall, and fell on the floor with a thud.

"Is he breathing?" Scar questioned after a while, his leg poking Travis' body. And Zach nodded, panting, a blown off look on his face–he enjoyed it too much.

"Let's go home. My parents are not home today," Scar said. "Wanna come over?"

"Hell yes!" They cheered in unison. "Man, it's been so fucking long since we had a party!"

"No party." Scar rolled his eyes, putting on a shirt.

"Aw man! Then video games?"

"Fine. Just keep my house in one piece." Scar muttered in reply.

"Let's go people!"

And they were gone. Travis could hear their loud footsteps slowly fading away in the distance, and broke into a violent sob. No sounds were uttered, but the tears followed the previous trail and fell on the floor. Incessantly. His small body trembled, as his hands scratched over the cold, wet floor. His whole body hurt, his knee felt it was shattering into a million pieces.

An he cried.

xxxxx
meh.
how was that?