Bad Cupid (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 2-?Introduction Pt2?

Nick POV

"Guys, I'm just going to the toilet, I'll catch up with you tomorrow," I say, walking off before they could protest, panting and somewhat sweaty from the after-school basketball practice. Slowly I catch my breath, exhaling the pure adrenaline coursing through my veins; basketball is my salvation. I need to call Sally to let her know practice ran late and I'm on my way back, she's one of our carers at the foster home.

I exit the basketball court, walking the long way to the east side toilets near the maths block - no one would be hanging around there after school. It's almost peaceful during this time, across the dirty school halls void of the normal laughter and gossip of teenage angst.

I walk to the furthest toilets, looking back every now and then to make sure no one is following me. You'd think I'd try to be more inconspicuous, but I guess that's what paranoid does to you. I can't help but feel ashamed of being a foster child, the kid with no parents, no real home, no real family. See, there's nothing wrong with it, but secondary school is relentless. It feels like being lonely in a room full of people or that very moment you begin questioning the very fabric of your happiness around a group of people who are celebrating.

Out of order!

Stated the sign posted outside the door of the toilets. I roll my eyes snatching the sign and dumping it in the bin, which was practically full to the brim and overflowing. I open the door, unbeknownst to an oncoming gush of water. I manage to fit my body through the ajar door, ungracefully may I add, before I close the taps with water cascading out of them. Shaking my head at the thought of another student doing something so wasteful and inconsiderate to the cleaners, who would obviously be the ones who have to clean it up.

I turn before stopping abruptly. There's a body against the wall looking either dead or unconscious, I can't quite figure it out. Cynically, my first thought may or may not have been true crime related. God I need to stop watching those true crime documentaries.

I rush over, knowing that his life could be in my hands. Frantically, I search the body, frustrated at my lack of immediate knowledge of the problem. I look attentively at the body, noticing the innumerous amount of bruises that will definitely look worse tomorrow, and realize this is bullying, perhaps one of the most heinous forms of self-loathing. I look for any wounds; maybe he was stabbed but there is no wound. Nor any blood.

I lay him down so his body lay completely straight. I listen to his heartbeat. Hearing it slow and barely there. I had been ready to give him CPR but as his heart is beating and he seems to be alive aside from being beaten up, I'm not sure what to do.

"Nick Newman!! What is going on here?" I jump at the unexpected sound. It's Mrs. Moore, the Headteacher, standing in the doorway of the boys bathroom, perhaps investigating the patch of water that must have escaped when I opened the door.

"Mrs, it wasn't me, I found him like this" I stutter, stepping away from the body, under the false pretense that moving away may help absolve me of being the perpetrator. I felt like a child caught rummaging through the biscuit tin, except with the addition of an unconscious body and serious consequences looming dangerously close.

"Nick, what am I supposed to think? You're standing over an unconscious body. I could suspend you. " I glare at her in hatred, bewildered at her accusations. Despite, my almost perfect behavioral record, her immediate disbelief in my innocent lacerated me. Although I don't blame her for believing the stereotypes of foster children, I would. Apparently, we're all troubled delinquents, in a broken system, prone to violence and crime.