Devil's Despair: Travis's Stand Part 27

She's so f.u.c.king insistent.

"It's not something I want to share, how's that?" My patience is wavering; my mood is turning dark. "Are we done here? I'll drive back."

She slaps my hand as it reaches for the keys. Removing them from the ignition, she opens her door and gets out. She stands at the front of the Jeep, arms crossed over her chest, waiting for me to follow.

"We're looking inside," she states, loudly enough I hear through the window.

Releasing a heavy sigh, I open my door and step out. The night is cold, my skin is chilled, and Sarah, as always, has no f.u.c.king coat. As I walk to the front of the Jeep, she smirks under the streetlights, which silhouette her small face. "See, not so hard."

"I don't know why you want to do this," I tell her, walking past her and making my way up the driveway.

She doesn't let me get far before coming after me and grabbing my hand. She doesn't say anything as we make our way to the dark porch. Sarah moves from my side and bends down in the brush next to the bas.e.m.e.nt window. She starts pushing on the gla.s.s in all corners before shoving her shoulder into the pane.

I let a small laugh escape as I take in the sight of Sarah's cheap version of breaking and entering. "Are you really going to commit a crime before we've told Ace anything about us?"

She stops what she's doing, stands, dusts herself off, and walks behind me to the side door of the garage. She tests the handle, finds it's locked, and then goes at the window like she just had, pushing and shoving.

"We'll go around back. I'm sure there's a door or window I can get open."

"Breaking and entering," I say again. "I'll press charges, Sarah."

Her face goes blank and she looks up at me, forgetting about the door. "What?"

"This is still my house."

"What?" she shrieks. I hear a dog bark from across the street.

"If you'd like to go in I can just unlock this door," I say, pointing to the lock.

"You have keys?"

"My house," I answer again.

She pulls out my keychain from her back pocket and looks down, figuring which one she's not familiar with.

"You could've told me that before I embarra.s.sed myself. What if I had broken something?"

"I would've laughed."

"That's rude."

"Maybe. It was funny as f.u.c.k, though."

I unlock the door and open it, waiting for her to go in first. I haven't been here in so long, I'm nervous of my own reaction and also about her seeing it.

It's everything I remember, but have tried so f.u.c.king hard to forget.

"It smells bad," she comments, walking up the stairs to the main room.

"I'll phone the cleaning lady with your feedback."

"a.s.s."

Sarah I'm sensing this trip was a mistake.

Travis is walking through the house, room by room, stopping at every entry, but never stepping in. I brought him here to learn more about him. He was older by the time I really knew him, and even then Trav's always kept himself guarded. When he talks about his dad, which is rare, he still looks haunted by his memory. Travis is the one responsible for helping me through the loss of Bean. I only want to help him deal with the death of his dad. It's not the same, I know. Bean lived a lifetime, his dad didn't.

The house smells of old linens and the walls look worn with water or weather. The furniture was never covered with sheets. I had no idea Travis still owned this place. I had a.s.sumed no one wanted it.

Hayden knew more than he had told me. He's Trav's friend first, so I'm not angry he didn't give me further details. I'm happy enough he gave me this.

"Trav?" I call from the hallway.

Walking farther down the hall, I notice Trav's large body is stopped in front of a big bedroom. The bed linens are still in place, unmade on the large mattress. Next to it sits a dresser with matching mirror; its top is lined with pictures. The dust is too thick and I can't make out the faces in them.

"This was Dad's room," he says softly, leaning on the doorjamb. "I don't feel him here anymore."

"I'm sorry."

"He used to feel so big here, ya know?" he states, looking around the small s.p.a.ce. "Even as I grew up he still seemed so big," he whispers.

Before I can make any physical contact, Trav steps inside the room and turns a quick circle, taking in all the pictures left on the walls. His stance becomes rigid and his posture straight. I'll admit I'm a little nervous being in the closed room alone with his possible anger.

"Travis?" I call through the distance that separates us.

"He f.u.c.kin' left me here with all our things," he tells me. "A lifetime of s.h.i.t that means nothing to anyone anymore."

"I don't think he meant to leave you."

"What you think doesn't matter," he quickly returns.

I try not to let his tone hurt me, but it does.

"Why the f.u.c.k did you bring me here, Sarah?"

Before I can answer, he moves from one end of the room to the other, toward the dresser. I watch as Travis bends at the waist, extends his arm, and sends all the items flying through the air in one swoop. Most of the contents. .h.i.t the wall at the side, crashing into it then falling to the floor. The other items fly as well, but land at his feet.

With great effort, I will myself to stay calm. I shut my eyes tightly and blink away the tears.

Travis opens the closet door to the left of the dresser and walks in. I hear banging and more gla.s.s breaking. I stay in place as I watch Travis throwing clothes from the closet out onto the floor of the bedroom. His panting is getting heavy, loud enough that I hear him stopping to catch his breath from the doorway where I still stand.

"Travis?" I call, but get no reply.

Coming out of the closet, he doesn't look at me. He observes the room with satisfied eyes and comes toward me with measured steps. I swiftly move out of the way of the door so he can pa.s.s. He walks across the small hallway to another room and enters.

I follow, but stay far enough behind him and wait.

He walks to the blinds, broken but still hanging from the window, and pulls them down to the floor. He braces both hands on each side of the window and looks out.

"This was my room," he tells me with an incensed tone.

"I thought so," I carefully whisper back.

"Dad was so proud of me," he starts. "He would've done anything I asked."

Trophies line the shelves above the bed. From what I can see from here, it looks like Travis played more football than I had remembered. Posters of music legends decorate the walls. I see Jimi Hendrix holding a guitar while wearing an old beat-up leather jacket positioned in the center. When Travis turns to see my focus, he lifts his head then moves and rips it from the wall, sending it flying aimlessly behind him before doing the same to each picture until the walls of his bedroom are bare.

"I f.u.c.king hate him," he tells me with a vicious tone I'm not used to him using. "He f.u.c.king left me here."

"Travis! Stop!"

Turning around to face me, Trav's eyes search my body. He's so angry and I feel small and weak. I don't recognize him.

"You shouldn't have brought me here."

"You should . . ."

Before I can finish, a small television is picked up and tossed against the closet door, splitting the wood first before going through it.

"I needed him, Sarah. I had no one after he left."

I freeze, not saying anything else that I fear may hurt him. Bringing him to this house was a galactic mistake.

"I was here at the house waiting for him when he died. I had brought dinner over. We were going to watch the game. It was Monday night and he had gotten off work late. He called before leaving and told me he'd hurry."

I don't know what to say. Travis comes toward me, making no physical contact, but again pa.s.ses me and walks down the hall into the kitchen. Before I reach him, I hear pans and appliances from the counter being thrown.

A window breaks; the gla.s.s shattering echoes throughout the small house.

Making my way down the hall, I watch him go into the living room. A small stereo that sat in the corner is over Trav's head before he tosses it into the bay window next to the couch. More gla.s.s shatters.

Travis wasn't just losing control before, and now he's completely out of it.

"Travis!" I scream for his attention. Once he freezes with his back to me, I say quietly, as I walk toward him, "Stop."

He's still not moving, so I place my hands on his shoulders and lean my face into his back. He lets me do this and I can feel his body trembling under my lips as I stand on my toes and kiss his nape softly.

Shrugging me off him, Travis walks to a framed picture hanging by itself on the wall. The dust crowds the face of it and I can't see who's in it. Before I can ask, Travis punches the gla.s.s, shattering it to pieces, and we both watch it fall to the floor.

"Oh my G.o.d," I say aloud, watching the blood instantly start to draw from his hand.

His back is to me so I can't see his face, but his posture remains rigid. Travis continues looking down at the gla.s.s at his feet. His voice is shaky, nearly breaking over his words. "You don't remember what he was like when I was a kid."

"No," I answer, still studying his back. The ragged breathing continues.

His foot prods the picture until it's face up. He stares down while saying, "After Mom left, he promised everything was going to be okay." He looks up, puts his hands on his hips and stares at the empty wall. "It was good for a while. We did things together."

Turning around, Trav's eyes meet mine. I feel him coming back from the past and I allow myself to relax slightly.

"There are no answers for you here, Sarah."

"I wanted to know you," I admit, feeling my heart break for him.

"You know what I want you to know."

"There's more," I quickly tell him. "Tell me."

Once truly feeling my presence again, Trav sinks to the ground in front of me and rests his face in his hands while his knees hold him off the gla.s.s-covered floor.

I kneel beside him, careful to avoid getting cut, and rest my hands on his thighs to offer whatever unsaid comfort I can.

"You have a piece of heaven that you're not reading, Sarah." His voice is raspy and my eyes fill with tears. The letter from Bean sits in my bedside drawer, alone and unread. "You have something from her and you haven't even bothered to look at what she has to say." Pulling his head up, he looks at me with the same expressive sadness I still recognize in myself.

"You didn't get to say goodbye to your dad," I say.

"No. I didn't. You can say goodbye to Bean, though."

"I'm better now, Travis." I am better. Travis made me better. His love, understanding, and guidance have helped me through the loss of her.

Travis moves his hands to my waist and pushes my body up above his, as he remains crouched down in front of me. His arms wrap around my middle and he buries his face in my stomach. I feel the hot tears from his face as he pushes them into me. My hands wrap around his head and rest in his hair. I don't know how to soothe him.

"I miss him every f.u.c.kin' day. It's like he just died."

"I'm so sorry."

"The nightmares came back," he tells me and I feel my eyebrows furrow because I don't understand. I knew Travis had nightmares. I've heard the others talk about them when they thought I wasn't around.

"What?"

"My mom," he says with a broken voice. "Lacey," he murmurs right before he releases a heavy sob.

Tears I didn't realize I was holding, fall down my face when I move to look down at him. "I don't understand," I voice carefully. "What about Lacey?"

"She doesn't know."

"What doesn't she know?"

"Where she came from."

He's talking in riddles and I'm lost. This was a mistake.

"I don't know what you're saying, Trav."

Travis goes still and quiet in my arms but gently rocks me with him before he moves from his knees to sit on the floor. Pulling me down by my arms, but still careful of the gla.s.s beneath us, he situates me on his lap. My back is to his front and he wraps his arms around my middle, resting his head on my shoulder.

"Tell me," I prod.