Erase and Rewind (Full Book)

Chapter Eight: Kaleidoscope

"You solid?" Malik broke the silence. The air was becoming thick.

Jude cocked his head to the side. A stray strand of hair, longer than its brethren, threatened to obscure one of Jude's eyes. Malik realized he'd seen different versions of the same boy. He saw his beam with energy, saw him concentrate and push himself. He saw him desperate, strong even at his most vulnerable. Today he was getting a mixture of those versions. It was hella exciting.

Malik raised an eyebrow, and a faint blush colored Jude's cheeks.

On close inspection, Malik saw he was wearing another shirt beneath the one on top. The hem peaking was a dull yellow. Goosebumps were splayed on the fair skin of his forearms. So much for not checking him out.

Jude sighed, "I don't know what to think."

"Hmm," Malik said," the City is a bit of a joke. Everyone is happy or stressed out. College is like high school except you can score free beer."

Or a free lay, Malik thought.

The corner of Jude's mouth twitched. Malik had the wildest inclination Jude read his thoughts.

Malik plowed on.

"I thought I had shit figured out but I'm mucking about. Economics was such a crap major."

This piqued Jude's interest. "Why did you choose it?"

Malik inched a tiny bit closer. "I figured if I didn't get in the academy, I'd have something to fall back on. Kinda chose on random."

"Academy?"

"Yeah. Police academy."

It was the wrong thing to say. Jude flinched at the mention of the police, his gaze falling to his shoes. The arms crossed around his chest turned into a tight hug. He was shutting down.

Malik was reading into his signs. The panic. The mention of police. Jude was most certainly in trouble.

"You know," Malik said tersely, "I want to be a cop not because I think they're great. I wanna do it because they do piss close to nothing."

Jude didn't seem to have heard, or if he was listening, he gave no reaction.
"I'm not sure I can do it though," Malik said. "I don't know if I can pass. The physical maybe, the mental..I don't know."

Another silence. The light around them grew, but the chill persisted. Jude shivered beside Malik. Somehow they had both shifted. Malik felt the tremor brushing his shirt. It was an effort to stop himself from trying to rub Jude's shoulders or pulling him into his arms.

Malik wanted to ram his head under freezing water. His tender urges had been reserved for Rami. This boy. This boy he knew nothing about. Why was he stirring up dead emotions?

Malik needed to get laid. It should flush this out of his system.

"I think you can pass," Jude said in a barely audible whisper.

"Yeah?"

Jude kicked at a stray pebble.

"On the scale of one to ten," Malik pushed his luck, "how much do you hate me?"

Jude frowned.

"Ten being you wanna send me to hell. One being you're nice and forgiving?"

Jude's frown deepened.

"Why would I hate you?"

"Let's see," Malik said. "You were hiding in the dark waiting for me—"

"I wasn't," came Jude's quick protest.

"You have a lot to say to me but so far I've been blabbing your ears off."

Malik turned, he crossed a leg to sit on while the other he let dangle. He gave Jude his full attention. He also put the poor sod in the spotlight, but Malik despised beating around the bush.

"If it's not hate," Malik said, "you angry?"

Jude took to tapping his foot, a light crescendo of strikes.

"How did you know how to..."—Jude waved a hand—"to stop it?"

"Stop what?"

"The...um...attack."

"The panic attacks?" Malik said, and Jude gave him a curt nod. "My brother used to get them."

"And they stopped for him?"

Malik swallowed the lump in his throat. Rami had them for weeks before he'd died. When Malik tried to get him to calm down, he made things worse. They had to call an ambulance, and their family was debating the unfamiliar concept of therapy.

They didn't debate for long.

"He doesn't get them anymore," Malik said.

"Oh."

He could tell this saddened Jude, as he hunched his shoulders. Did he think he wouldn't get better?

God he wanted to ask for his help again. If he could give him a lead. A thread. A clue. Anything.

Did he want to take advantage of the demons swarming inside him though?

Malik thought it took one to know one.

Malik felt a pressure on his forearm. Jude's pale fingers were there, forming a comforting squeeze.

Jude dropped his hand and got the sketchbook he had wedged between the blades of the bench.

Malik could feel the heat where his fingers had been.

"I thought about what you want to know," he said."I wrote down how maybe we could...collaborate?"

Malik felt it sounded like they were about to drop a hip hop album. He kept the thought to himself.

"I thought you weren't waiting for me."

"I wasn't," Jude said. "I mean not exactly. I wanted to give your sweater back."

"Nah. Looks better on you," Malik said. He couldn't help flirting a little. It proved effective when Jude's cheeks colored.

A mom in a pair of sweats pushing a sleeping baby in a stroller passed them. She was often by this trail earlier, and she gave Malik a polite wave.

Malik returned it.

Jude must've had a few moments to collect himself. The blush was gone too.

Shame.

"Am I keeping you?"

Malik had a class he intended to skip.

"Nope."

"Oh," Jude said again.

They were close enough for Malik to feel Jude's knee. The fabric of his jeans burned against the soft cotton of Malik's sweats.

Jude's bony elbow brushed against his shoulder. He flipped through the pages of his sketchbook, settled on a certain page, and then he tore in a swift movement. He matched the ends, folding the torn page in a neat half.

He glanced at Malik. "This—" he pointed at where Malik's tattoo was hidden, "you can't walk away from it?"

Malik stared at the boy's endless blue eyes. He had the strangest sensation that they were piercing right through him. He was being weighed, measured. It wasn't the usual scale of race or capabilities. Jude was looking for a confirmation of...a trap?

Malik shook his head to read it. This boy was inscrutable without trying.

Jude pressed the folded page into Malik's palm when he held it. His fingers made no skin on skin contact but simply left a faint pressure as the paper was delivered, then it was gone.