Eye of a Boy: Blood Wars

Robert Cousins was an ordinary, adolescent pupil at St. Joseph's High School until he encountered a malevolent Hell-hound on a mission to slaughter two innocent men. Or so he thought. With him and his friend's gaining powers by the day, will he be able to scrape a victory at the eleventh hour?


6. Girls


For Robert, the day continued much as any other would – to his great disappointment. With the exhilaration of exchanging punches in a fight, he had felt a moment of triumph. For once he wasn’t the reclusive nerd who the majority of the students would give a wide berth. Despite his recollection of the event, there was still a part of Robert’s consciousness attempting to tell him that fighting was not the only resolve for conflicts.

          Attempting to blank out both the thoughts of solemn regret and maniacal happiness, he managed to see through the rest of the day with only a few minor events.

          English literature was the first subject on the agenda. The vengeful Mrs. Scorn dictated the mediocre lesson. Rumours floated around the school that she was wanted for the brutal murder of a six year old and was residing in Liverpool under a pseudonym. It was easy to comprehend that each and every student loathed her and each for their own personal reasons. But it was Robert who despised her the most. Every single lesson she chose him to read a passage from their latest dreary novel. It was an intolerable job being Scorn’s pet student.

          Next was the tedious Mathematics. Mr. Bill had been relentlessly trying to drill into his student’s heads the numerical solution to finding hypotenuse with ease known as Pythagoras’ theorem. Ben was in the doghouse upon that day because he had mixed up his cubed and squared resulting in a gap between answers of sixty five million.

          During the lesson break, Anne advanced upon Robert with pressing news. Shaken by his predicament, Robert ignored every word that poured out of her mouth.

          The third lesson was vastly more embarrassing than any off the previous lessons - especially for Robert. It involved nothing academic.  Music with Mr. Falto involved tuning guitars for thirty minutes before strutting your stuff in the spotlight. Most of the arrogant, snotty nosed, attention seeking kids basked in the glory of everyone staring at them. Robert shrivelled up whenever everyone gawked at him. People say that imagine your crowd is naked so that you do not feel as embarrassed. Picturing Mr. Falto naked did nothing to reassure Robert!   

        Lunch followed these three events. It was only Robert and Anne who was dining at their usual table due to the fact that Eve was occupied with her older ‘BFFs’ and Ben was tolerating extra curriculum lessons that his rigorous Parents had submitted him for. Due to the alleged chemistry between them both, it was a vastly uncomfortable occasion. Of course, such rumours were nothing more than fiction constructed for the amusement of popular kids.

“So,” eventually Anne began to make light talk. “What’s the matter?”

          Robert turned his lolled head to Anne with a bewildered look upon his face. He hadn’t realised that his mood was so prominent in his features.

“How the bloody hell did you work that out?” he questioned quizzically. “Are you Sherlockette Holmes or something?”

“Temper, temper,” mocked Anne playfully, the conversation flowing out of their mouths. No longer where they grasping to find a banter starter. “Come on; even Mr. Bean could deduce that you’re as miserable as a Turkey awaiting Christmas.” 

          Robert ceased toying with his gruel.

“Dad’s lost the plot,” admitted Robert begrudgingly. “We’re going to lose the house.”

          For a moment, Anne contemplated what would be a reasonable reply to this solemn remark. Yet she could find none. Instead, she clasped her hand in his firmly. She knew it was a risky move making physical contact with Robert because it would send ripples into gossip circles for months. But her friend needed condolence. By Christmas day, he would nothing more than a vagabond. 

“Look on the bright side!” she attempted feebly to cheer him up. “It’s the last day of school before Chrimbo!”

          Robert choked on the Lucozade he was guzzling. In all of the commotion, he had completely forgotten that Christmas was on the horizon. He had forgotten to purchase any of his friends any sort of gift. Some people would interpret such an action a something Ebenezer Scrooge would do. Little did they know that Robert was undergoing stress that would force even a strong willed man to resort to suicide.

“I’m so sor…” stuttered Anne.

“Don’t,” snorted Robert, a faint tear brewing in his scrutinising eyes. “I don’t need your help. People wimper and offer their assistance but it results in nothing. Every few seconds someone dies. Yet no one steps up to murderers. Or drug dealers, rapists and traitors. Instead, we cower in our own bubble and ignore EVERYTHING! NO ONE CARES ABOUT ANYTHING!”

          It wasn’t until the canteen fell silent did Robert notice that he had bellowed the last few words of his prolific speech. Even the teachers were gawping at him. Sweat trickled down his creased brow. A few of the pupils neighbouring him began to shuffle away in apprehension. That was when he realised what he was gradually becoming. The argument. The conflict. The spying. The outburst. 

          He was becoming a delirious lunatic.

          It was a strong assumption for two days of appalling luck and timing but Robert’s testerone fuelled him to reach that conclusion. All he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and die. Furious, he departed the room and waded into the nearest corridor. 

“Robert John Cousins!” shouted a female voice from behind him. “Stop right there!”

          Swivelling around, Robert came face to face with an enraged Anne Bird.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” she knew that Robert would not normally explode at the sign of an argument. “You just left everyone in your year gawping at me and playing twenty questions while you have a breakdown?”

“Aren’t I entitled to a few minutes by myself?” the question slipped past his lips before he could analyse its impact on his friend.

“Robert!” Anne stammered, struggling to get out the following words. “Take notice of other people’s problems. My Mum’s got three weeks to live.”

          Sometimes, when Robert had forgotten his homework or stole a pound of his Father for Pic n’ Mix, he had felt slight traces of guilt. It was difficult to feel remorse when he was as close to a Mary Sue as any human being could possibly be. Yet, when he saw the tears seep out of Anne’s eyes, he could not help but feel a tidal wave of immense guilt engulf him.

“B…but,” Robert leant forward to comfort his friend; returning the favour that Anne had bestowed him with only a measly few minutes before.  “You’ve seemed so composed all day. It’s not possible!”

“I told you this morning,” Anne whimpered. “You insult people because they live in there ‘own bubble.’ You didn't listen to me when I came for assistance. Some friend you are. Yet I stood by you and pretended nothing had happened because you seemed depressed. Death is now. You still have hope. ”

          That was when Robert felt the urge to do what he had never considered before. He had made a mistake. It was time to make up for it. He had always looked at Anne like an argumentative sister. Yet now, her lips seemed to beckon him. Eyes twinkling despite her contemporary mood. Without any traces of remorse, he leant into Anne, lips pursed. Anne at first was rigid with the fore coming prospect of what Robert was about to do. Did gossipers see something between them that not even themselves saw? But she accepted what was coming. 

          Then, for the second time within a minute, a Bird screeching his name interrupted Robert’s thought pattern.

“Robert John Cousins!” Eve Bird sure knew how to make a grand entrance. “What on earth are you doing to my sister?”

          Both Robert and Anne retracted instantaneously. Their cheeks burned a fluorescent scarlet.

“You stay away from her or I’ll swear you’ll wish you’d never been born!” threatened Eve melodramatically. “Now tell me where the heck that little git is or…”

“Make sure you’ll wish you’ve never been born,” continued Robert, rolling is eyes. His sudden impulse to kiss his friend had disappeared as quickly as it had developed.

          Eve scowled at this response but kept her peace.

“Who is the ‘little git?’” questioned Anne on a more serious note, drying her eyes. Her sister had not yet noticed her cowering state. “We could do with a less vague description!”

“Benjamin Cook,” declared Eve in a derogatory tone. “After the miniscule threat yesterday, he’s only gone and nicked my makeup bag!”

“Maybe he is just pampering himself up,” Robert joked uneasily. It was relative awkward being in a room with two people who were undergoing such hardships; one of them he had attempted to make out with.

          With a crude sigh, Eve left her two acquaintances. Anne stumbled after her and began to make an excuse for what had occurred only a mere few moments before. Now he had time to reflect on it, both of the Birds seemed shaken.

          That left Robert, alone, pondering over what had happened to make him so temperamental, rash and suicidal. Then he wondered whether he had just blown it with two thirds of his inner circle.

          Girls, huh! You can’t live with them and you can’t live without ‘em.      

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