act I, scene II

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ACT I, SCENE II

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ACT I, SCENE II

He knew he was quite the looker. He knew this from the way people stared at him; the way their gazes seem to follow him where ever he went, the way their gazes were filled with a little more than philia... He understood all that. He was tall but not too tall that he towered over everybody. He was built but not too built that he became overly bulky. He was of average height, average built, but his eyes, oh his eyes were they different. His eyes, they were blue, not just blue but baby blue, sky blue, Egyptian blue all at once. His eyes were like a kaleidoscope, reflecting off a hundred shades of blue. To some, his eyes were a cornflower blue. To others, his eyes were periwinkle. Everybody saw what they wanted to see, nothing more, nothing less.

Some people liked him, but some people hated him too. He could comprehend why people liked him. He had a beautiful set of eyes, a melodious voice and was alluring.  But what he could not apprehend was why people detested him so much when they barely knew him. They looked at him with disdain, contempt and scorn. They snigger at him behind his back and hand him side eyes. He sees them all. He can feel a dozen knives pierce into his heart, all at once. Those knives they do not just stab into him, they stab, and they twist, just so that they can maximise the pain. But he ignores them. He tries to anyway. That is why he is stalking past them, pretending not to see them. He lifts his head up high, never once letting it fall. He keeps his shoulders square, his strides large. He will not bow down to them. He will not let them see what they have done to him. He will not let them take his pride and worth away like that. He will stand strong.

He makes his way up the stairs, two steps at a time. His footfalls thunder and echo through the stairwell. As he climbs up, his breaths become heavy. Soon, even his pants echo through the stairwell. It might seem rather odd, a young man in his early twenties using the stairs to reach his desired destination. After all, there was also an elevator in the building. No one in the right mind would choose to take the stairs when there was the elevator to take. He guesses, he was rather strange. But he could not help it. It was a deep-rooted compulsion that had been long wired into his brain. It was like a tumour that had been implanted in his brain, one that was too risky to remove through surgery and hence have been left alone. He still had not decided whether this was for the best or for the worst, whether it was a malignant tumour or a benign one. These were questions that only time could tell. Either way, he tended to gravitate towards the conventional, the traditional methods that have already been tried and tested. No matter how hard he tried to accommodate the uncustomary methods, he always found himself falling back to the methods that were long outdated. He stuck to incandescent light instead of LED lights or compact fluorescent lamps. He preferred reading up on books to searching it up on the computers. He liked resorting to methods that have been used in the past. That was just how he was.

He continued up the stairs, making his way up to the tenth floor, the floor that his girlfriend was staying on. He knew she was upset about something he said yesterday and decided that the best way to make it up to her was to impress her by visiting her early in the morning. He also brought her, her favourite flower, the rose, after her namesake. Hopefully she would be moved and would stop ignoring his texts. She had no idea how worried and guilty she had made him feel. He really had not meant to hurt her, he would never hurt her. He cared for her greatly. It was a fact that would never change, even if the sky were to fall and the earth were to rumble, he would still care for her. He thought this was a fact that she knew and a fact that she would hold onto. Even though they disagreed on certain matters and were at loggerheads with one another, he had thought for the better that she would not misunderstand him. He thought for the better that she would hold onto the good times they shared, and that she would hold on to him. It had never crossed his mind that one quarrel could turn everything they had to dust.

"Well, well, well... What do we have here?" A lone figure struts down the steps, seeming more like a king than an ordinary university student, which he was. "Oh! It is just good old Carlyle, huh?" He stops just one step above him, wanting to keep the advantage of being taller than him. Which, in his opinion, was a very childish move. "What do you want, Gideon?" he asks the intruder, keeping his hostility under tones. "Oh, nothing much. Just wanted to see how you were doing. I heard you and your girlfriend had a heated argument yesterday. Word is going around that she wants to break up with you. Hmm... I thought it was about time anyway. She deserves someone so much better than you." He taunts, jabbing his index finger into his chest repeatedly. He slaps his hand away. "Yeah? Well, that 'someone' will never be you!" He spat out, his hands out and ready to shove Gideon away from him. And he did. He gave Gideon a hard shove in the chest, causing Gideon to fall back on the steps. Carlyle bends down so he and Gideon could meet eye to eye. He wanted Gideon to see his feral anger, he wanted him to see his resolve, to see the fight in him. He will not be stepped over by these people, especially not by Gideon. A look of fear fell over Gideon's face. He started to scramble to get up, to get away from him. But Carlyle was faster. He grabbed him by his collar and pulled him up to his feet. Gideon did not bother masking his fear. Fear was painted all over his face in bright red ink. His eyes were stretched wide and his lips twitched. Carlyle could feel him shaking. He should be scared. He should fear him. Carlyle had a bite. He had the worst bite.

"Stay away from my girlfriend, Gideon. If you mess with her, you mess with me. And dear boy, will I ruin you."

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