Purity- a Salvis story (completed)

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It started when I was fourteen. I remember I was sitting in class one day in Biblical studies when Mr. Reeves decided that there was a more pressing issue than the unit we were on. A new movie, "the prophecy" or something like that, had just come out.

Reeves called it a slap in the face to the good book. Apparently it made the Ángel Gabriel a villain. Our assignment was to watch the movie in class and take notes on what was blasphemous about it.

On the last day of the movie, I was frantically trying to catch up on the notes I had missed by sleeping through the prior two days when the screen caught my attention.

Lucifer was holding up a disheveled Thomas from behind, black painted fingers tracing down his stomach. Thomas couldn't even get a sentence out as the man whispered into his ear.

I remember, in that moment, I thought about what it would be like if... if Lucifer kept sliding his hand down. If Thomas tilted his head back, and let the devil's mouth attack his neck. I thought about the noises Thomas would make.

Then, I wished that I was Thomas.

I didn't even realize what I was thinking about until I felt my pants getting tighter.

As soon as I calmed myself down I got a hall pass and nearly sprinted into the bathroom. I remember being huddled on the floor of the handicapped stall, barely able to hold back the tears. I was so confused and honestly fucking petrified. I thought I was becoming everything I was told I could never be. I felt so weak and powerless and disgusting.

And I needed it all to stop.

That was the 1st time I used the pocket knife.

I needed to feel better and... and I was taught in religious ed that sinners cut themselves to feel better. I figured if I was already a sinner, it couldn't hurt, right? And I was just so desperate for it to stop...

So I slid a shaky hand into my pocket and grabbed the only birthday gift my father had ever given me, the one I carried with me everyday, and I did it.

And it helped.

So I did it one last time after that.

And then one last time.

And then one last time.

Until I was sitting in the Nockfell high school bathroom, sweater pulled up, with a blade hovering above the burn on my hip.

I took a breath, braced myself, and pressed into the raw skin. I had to do it over marks that were already there. Father would kill me if he ever knew what I was doing.

I let out a whimper, tears forcing past my eyes. I gave one last push before bringing the blade away from the burn.

As the pain dissipated, so did my anger. I let out the breath I was holding, my head falling back into the tile wall.

Then the guilt came. All of the sudden my brain was screaming at me.

Only faggots hurt themselves.

You're pathetic.

What would your father think of you?

People have it so much worse than you and they aren't cutters.

All of the thoughts swirled through my brain. They made me feel sick to my stomach. What was worse was that they were all right. I was fucking disgusting and I knew it.

I just needed the thoughts to stop.

I raised the knife again, bracing myself for the pain, and then relief.

Without warning, I heard the door to the bathroom push open. I scrambled to close the knife, trying to steady my breathing. I didn't need anyone hearing me sob in a bathroom stall.

I watched as dirty blue Converse found themselves outside the stall door.

"Travis? 'You in here?"

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