child abuse; religious abuse; starvation (developing EDs)

𝐢𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬; 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

♱♱♱

Travis Phelps wakes up on Sunday morning at 5:30 am.

He blinks awake to his ceiling, off-white like his walls. They are barren save for a single, large cross hung right across from him. Routinely, he climbs out of bed and makes it, pulling at the grey blanket until it's crease-free, fluffing at his single pillow until it is pristine and laying it against the wooden headboard.

Travis Phelps moves to his closet at 5:36 am.

He stares. He does not own many clothes. Kenneth tells him all forms of overindulgence are sin. Travis does not tell him that new articles of clothing are not overindulgence. Defiance is sin too. He picks out a blue-collared button-up and grey slacks; church clothes.

Travis Phelps heads to the bathroom at 5:38 am.

He does not stare at his ungodly reflection; stripping himself of his sleepwear and into his clothes. He stares at his hair, yellow-like-corn with dark blonde roots and sticking up a hundred ways. He picks up a container of gel, fairing a good amount, and slicks his hair neatly to the side, brushing it until there is not a strand out of place. Looking anything but his best in God's house is also sinful, Kenneth says. He washes his face, wincing when he applies pressure to the throbbing bruise by his reddened eye. He finishes his routine.

Travis Phelps heads back to his room at 5:45 am.

He walks over to his desk and puts on his necklace, a gold cross that rests perfectly on his chest. He grabs his bible and takes a seat at the edge of his bed, facing the cross.

"May God bless thy morning,
May God enlighten my mind,
May he show me the truth, and pardon who I am.
I ask for his greatness,
ask for his guidance,
and am grateful for his mercy.

In Jesus' name, Amen."

Travis Phelps opens his bible at 5:50 am.

He reads. The words are difficult to follow. He is not good at reading; has never been. Kenneth tells him that stupidity is sin and that his idiocy is punishable in God's name. (He has been punished for this idiocy; has been condemned for it and will be.) Still, he reads; he tries to focus on every proverb.

Kenneth Phelps knocks on his door at 6:00 am. He barges in right after. Travis doesn't know why he bothers knocking.

"It's time to go to Sunday Church, boy!" Kenneth orders. He is in no good mood today, Travis notes. His face is redder than usual, his tone more clipped. His hands start to shake and he folds them over each other. Kenneth says cowardice is sin, and that Travis is a coward down to the marrow of his bone.

Travis stands up, hands held behind his back and bible placed at the edge of his bed. He knows he fucked up the moment Kenneth's eyes land on it, but it is already too late. He widens his stance as Kenneth stomps over to him. But Travis is weak, is malnourished. His father strikes him with an open palm and Travis loses his footing as his entire body jolts to the side. He, thankfully, does not trip. His cheek stings ferociously.

"You do not leave the book of God on your damn bed! Go, pick it up, and place it atop your desk right now, and then meet me downstairs. I'll make sure you spend extra time in the confessional today for the sin you just committed."

Kenneth leaves and Travis does as told. His face throbs, fingers skimming the undoubtedly reddened area. Not wanting to anger his father anymore, he hurriedly makes his way down the stairs. Kenneth is sipping on a cup of coffee and toast. Travis's concave stomach trembles.

But he is prohibited to eat on Sunday mornings before church. It is only after that he is blessed with the gift of food, often no more than a slice of bread and a glass of orange juice. Still, it helps with the hunger he cherishes. (He is afraid that one day, he'll stop starving.)

"Let's go."

♱♱♱

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was last week. Today, I come to you for the sins I've committed since."

Travis swallows the lead in his throat. His father waits on the other end of the booth. The only thing separating them is the grate. If he does not confess to the sins his father thinks he committed, he will be punished at home. If he confesses to sins his father is unaware of, he will be punished at home.

He makes a silent prayer to God and starts...

♱♱♱

Travis is given permission to go back to his house when the sky is dark and the stars are slowly showing through. He walks back despite the ache in his legs and numbness in his arms. His father is still at church. Travis hopes he was satisfied during the confessional.

He hates punishments.

Kenneth says that punishments are necessary and that Travis should repent while alive in his pursuit of eternal paradise after death. Kenneth also tells him, in the same breath, that he will burn in hell for existing like a sinner, and that no amount of repenting could forgive the sin of his birth. Kenneth tells him that violence is necessary.

Travis remembers the first time he questioned so.

Proverb 3:31

Do not envy a man of violence and do not choose any of his ways

(Travis does not recite this verse anymore. Travis does not question Kenneth anymore.)

He climbs up the stairs and passes by the prayer room and the retribution room. In blasphemous irony, they are facing each other. He shivers looking into the punishment room. Kenneth actively chooses not to clean it, only cracking open the window whenever Travis is to spend the night. (He finds the extra punishment of the biting cold or bustling heat necessary.) There are bloodstains on the dark wood, stains on the pokers and belts and hangers, stains on the only bible and rosary Kenneth dares dirty. They belonged to Travis' mother. He continues to his room.

His alarm clock tells Travis it is half past eight. Kenneth permitted dinner tonight and Travis' stomach growls at the thought. He, a little hurriedly, strips out of his clothes and into more comfortable loungewear—sweatpants and a long, loose soft-purple sweater that hangs off him.

He first heads over to the prayer room, getting on his knees at their altar and grabbing the rosary hanging on one of the two sculpted Jesus heads. He lights up a few of the candles and turns on the dim lighting, bathing the wooden room in shades of red and orange. He starts a half-an-hour prayer thanking God for his soon-to-have meal. It's habitual. (His stomach howls at the thought of forgetting.)

When the old, grandfather clock in their house chimes at the hour, Travis gets up and places the Rosary back on the sculpture. He heads over to the kitchen. 

The house is still silent.

Travis loves the quiet. He thinks, if he were to lose any of his senses, he'd choose his hearing. As a kid, nothing scared him more than his father's screams, and seldom did his mother speak. He can barely remember her voice. The quiet is one of his only comforts.

His father is to be home in half an hour. Travis eats quickly, slathering too much mayo on two slices of bread and pouring himself an extra half-glass of orange juice. He will repent for his gluttonous behaviour at a different time. He eats over the sink and washes down the crumbs, still making sure to clean down the kitchen tile.

He is done by 9:27 and scurries over to his bedroom, climbing the stairs in two. He gently closes the door shut behind him, the hinges frail and close to snapping. He switches on the little lamp at his side and gets under the covers, slipping his eyes shut and miming sleep. He hears Kenneth barge in right on time, the front door slamming open. Travis flinches in bed, forcible un-tensing. His father's footsteps are loud and heavy, a 'one, two, one-one' trek that he can distinguish like he remembers his name.

His father does not knock this time, swinging his door open with no care for privacy.

"Travis."

Travis does not move. He does not breathe. He fights the urge to fist his hand and curl into a ball.

"Travis."

His heart rate is going to give him away. It's so loud, too loud, Travis can hear it like a drum banging right by his fucking ear. Sweat gathers at the small of his back despite the draft coming from his window.

'One, two, one-one.'

His father looms over him. Travis breathes through his nose and then from his chest, forcing a steady rhythm. He waits and waits and waits until the shadow over him disappears and Kenneth's footsteps take him back. His door is swung shut—is slammed shut. Travis jumps in fright.

'Today was a good day.'

Psalm 4:8

In peace I will both lie down and sleep, for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.