Addicted to Love
The fear in his eyes before the chair was brought down was what brought Kyle back from the dark, dangerous place he had landed himself in. Those hard, cold snake-slit eyes had turned into a pair of wide, bright blue icicles dripping with innocence and… and that fear…
Barry Barry was actually afraid.
Kyle could smell it on him; fear dripping from the bulky man's pores… oozing from his features softened with shock at the sudden violent reaction his words had caused . it tugged at something within Kyle Stack. He felt physically ill. Repulsed by the sight of a man who thought himself king, and yet with one violent motion had been reduced to the status of a beggar. A beggar forced into a bow with a staggering blow to the head that was carried through.
WHAM.
A teacher's shout shot over their heads, quick as lightening; the plastic chair was wrestled from Kyle's white-knuckled grip. Barry, not wanting to look weak, straightened up a few moments after staggering a few paces back with white spots flashing in his narrowed vision. His features suddenly hardened, and the eyes became black slits through which he glared at Kyle. No trace of fear; a burning hatred had consumed the brief flicker of fear within Barry that had existed mere seconds before the chair had come down in its swinging arc onto his skull. White teeth were bared and glinted, and Kyle was reminded of his late pet Rottweiler as he was manhandled and physically dragged by the teacher.
Left in the room with Barry, the fellow students collectively held their breath as they watched him, whose hands had clenched into balled fists, ready to strike the other boy squarely in the face. He stared at the door that had been left wide open for, what seemed like, long after Kyle had been yanked out of the meeting. One student, a girl whose hair had been bunched into tight pigtails by a controlling mother, naively approached Barry and asked him if he was 'OK'.
There was a pause, and then Barry growled, "Leave me alone, OK?" he mimicked the whiny way in which she had said 'OK', which caused the girl's bottom lip to tremble. She stepped back a few small steps and watched the boy kick off out of the room, purpose forcing his legs into action.
I would have killed Barry. I would have killed him if you hadn't stopped me.
Barry shoved a few younger students aside, as if he was a train and they were a couple of leaves blowing across his track, and appeared to throw himself at the wall. His right hand clawed at the smooth surface of the cream-coloured wall, searching for something he could grab onto, while the other hand shot to his left temple, where an aching storm was brewing. Yet, the chair Kyle had swung at him had not only brought about a dull, throbbing headache, but had also knocked something to the forefront of his mind. He frowned at the chewing-gum-and-grit floor, ignoring the stares and the giggles that were directed at him by pupils with nothing better to do than hang around the school, hiding in corridors, waiting for something to happen.
And something was happening. Barry could feel it. It was worse than that momentary white flash in which he had seen blankness slip into Kyle's eyes, suddenly ridding the boy of any humanity, filling him up with the insatiable appetite to kill. Worse than the momentary eclipse that had veiled Barry's mind with fear for his life; that he might die at the hands of Stack. Worse than the initial worry that Kyle was going to crush his reputation and clamber over him for the golden crown.
It was something different. Something that fought to soften his features once more and lay down his arms for Kyle Stack; yet, while it seemed to be soft and thoughtless on the surface, the sensation made him greedy. Made Barry's skin crawl and his insides to writhe and shiver, freezing cold. He felt physically sick, and had to have three sharp inhales to himself before feeling fully capable to slip back on his mask of hatred and cruelty - the mask everyone in Waterloo Road knew so well- and move on.
While he moved on in motion, in mind Barry was still doubled over back at the wall, clutching for stability. He could not stop the image of Kyle Stack, the impenetrable emptiness in his eyes which sunk into them whenever he looked at Barry.
I would have killed him.
He knew what he had to do. The solution was there, within grasp, and yet Barry Barry felt as if he were drowning in darkness. Swallowing lumps of it; pouring it into his vulnerable lungs. Sinking. Sinking slowly sinking in the dark, dangerous depths of Kyle's eyes.