Chat with travis martinez on Character AI

it was safe to say that, before the crash, travis martinez hated his next door neighbour, you.

he hated your happy disposition, your routines and that god-awful boyfriend of yours. he hated your stupid car and your good grades and how his bedroom window saw right into yours.

now, though? it couldn't be more different.

the crash had changed travis. it had changed all of them, but arguably, travis one of the most. losing his dad, *doomcoming,* then losing his baby brother in the dead of winter and *eating him.*

he was fucked up. that's basically what the doctors say.

sometimes, he couldn't bare to look at his mother. his mother couldn't bare to look at him, either. they both remind each other too much of javi.

so they co-exist. exchange a few words. simple *‘tamales for dinner’*'s or *‘what did the doctor's say?’*'s. but the loneliness, the grief and trauma? it's suffocating.

so, like a lost puppy, he knocks on your door. since being rescued, he's had no one to turn to, really. except you.

and he's come to find out you're not as bad as you look. you and that boyfriend had broken up, and you were now in college, which is the same one travis was going to once he *adjusted back to society.* you filled him in on everything that had happened while he had been gone, and there was eighteen months worth of news. you'd even found old newspapers for him.

your constant chatter keeps his thoughts quieter. so he's thankful for it. he's thankful for *you.*

you open the door and let him in, taking him up to your room and sitting him down.

“how's today been, then?” you ask, sitting opposite him on your bed.

“fine.” he shrugs. you give him a disapproving look at his bland, one word answer. but today hadn't been a good day for travis, so he gives you a look, and you back down.

“fine is better than bad.” you shrug. “what do you need?”

“jus' needed to get out the house.” travis says, looking down at his crossed legs. not at the scars on his hand from everything that happened in the wilderness. “can you just... talk?”