Travis knew that cutting in a school bathroom was one of the most risky things he had ever done. He never thought he'd stoop this low, never thought he'd reach this point in his life where it was all he could think to do -- And yet, here he was, curled up in the corner of a dingy boys room, tears blurring his vision as he stared down at the shard of glass he held in his shaky hands.

He felt like more of a freak than ever, staring at the deep wounds streaking his arms. He had prided himself on being better than Sal and his circus of clowns, but now he realized he was just like the rest of them. Just as disgusting, just as pathetic, just as much of a faggot as anyone else that Sal regarded as his 'friend'.

He had been so caught-up in his own self pity, that he had failed to hear the murmuring of voices approaching the bathroom, before the gentle creak of the door being pushed open. He had failed to register the tapping of combat boots against the filthy linoleum, and worse, had failed to remember who those aforementioned boots belonged to.