Without them, the voices of the hosts on the driver’s red pill podcast crawled over Mal’s skin like ants. The passing sirens and rumble of engines were shards of glass piercing his eardrums. He required something to focus on. Usually, that was Nico. Nico’s voice was always the balm to Mal’s crossed wires and oversensitive receptors. But they weren’t permitted to speak.
All Mal could do was find a single, non-grating sound and focus on it. That distraction came in the form of something unseen rolling and thunking rhythmically against the door panel. A water bottle? A forgotten soda can? It didn’t matter. What mattered was the pattern.
Mal focused on that sound, letting it become a beat in his head, imagining the way his body would move to that particular rhythm. He squeezed his eyes shut, beads of perspiration clinging to his forehead and upper lip as he concentrated.
Duh—duh—duh—dun-dun.
Duh—duh—duh—dun-dun.
As the car drove with far more aggression than Mal usually found comforting, he forced himself to get lost in the rhythm.
Duh—duh—duh—dun-dun.
Anything was better than thinking about Casey. Where she was. What might be happening to her. What might have already happened to her because Mal hadn’t moved fast enough. Fifteen minutes. That was how long the drive should take. Maybe less with their speed-demon driver. He just had to distract himself until they arrived. He could avoid thinking about Casey for fifteen minutes, ignore the fact that she was just thirteen years old. Ignore the scream that had distorted through his phone’s fragile speaker.
The scream still echoing in his ears.
No.
Duh—duh—duh—dun-dun.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
Mal wished he was as insensitive as people believed. They teased him mercilessly about how he was a robot, how he countered emotions with random facts. They claimed he was no different than August Mulvaney, who was a full-blown psychopath. A genius, but a psychopath. Mal had feelings. Lots of them. But it was hard to articulate something he couldn’t grasp for any length of time.
Shiloh had said Mal’s brain was like a kaleidoscope, changing every time someone twisted him. It might have been the most accurate depiction he’d ever heard. His thoughts fell together and apart so quickly it was hard to pin them down long enough to examine them closely. And Mal didn’t like to speak capriciously.
Besides, other people’s feelings were a burden. Unrequited feelings were even worse. Grief was a burden. Sorrow was a burden. Why should Mal dump his thoughts—most of which were produced due to a chemical reaction in his neuro-receptors—on some poor, unsuspecting person? It seemed rude. Andunnecessary. Like ruining someone else’s day just because his was bad.
That was why Nico was ideal. He didn’t want to talk about his feelings, didn’t feel this urgent need to make Mal try to explain himself. If he thought Mal was upset, he bought him snacks. If he thought he was tired, he suggested they watch anime in bed with the lights off. If Mal had a migraine, Nico would have Mal put his head in his lap, cover his eyes with a warm cloth, and rub his throbbing temples until it dissipated. Nico was fine just existing in a shared space in silence and that was why Mal loved him so much.
Focus.Fuck.
As they turned the corner, the pattern changed, the bottle having slid slightly farther away from the plastic door panel.
Duh—duh-duh
Duh—duh-duh.
Casey lived in the Pearl River Ward with her mother. Mal and Nico often went there on Friday afternoons forchar siuorbaoor whenever Felix made the trip over there to buy fabric. He loved their silks. The ward was known for its Chinese culture as well as their leather goods and textiles. Nico liked their museum and the outdoor botanical gardens that existed in the middle of the ward, kept up entirely by volunteers in the community.
Mal didn’t know much about Casey Ko. Five classes a day, each with twenty students, left little time to get to know any of them on a truly meaningful level. Not that Mal wanted that. He did know Casey’s mom worked as a street vendor of some kind in the indoor market and struggled to make ends meet.
Like many of his students, Casey attended Mal’s classes as part of the youth program covered by the city. She was loud and funny and kind of the class clown. She liked to be the center of attention. Her mother said it was a trait she shared with herfather. Casey had rather bluntly told Mal her father had died while her mom was still pregnant with her.
Why hadn’t Mal bothered to learn more about her? What if she wasn’t there when they arrived? What if she’d been kidnapped? He wouldn’t have the first clue where to look for her. Where the fuck was her mother?
Focus. Just focus on the beat.
Duh—duh-duh.
It was no use. A sour taste flooded his mouth, dread hanging heavy on his shoulders as scenarios played out behind his eyelids like mini horror movies. Whoever broke into Casey’s apartment likely wasn’t there to rob the place. Not unless Casey’s mother had gotten mixed up in something illegal like drugs, but she hardly seemed the type.
He glanced at Nico, who sat with his knees knocked together, hands folded in his lap, chewing on his bottom lip as he stared at the back of the driver’s head, the city lights gleaming off his pretty blond curls and casting his face in light, then shadow, again and again. He looked so small, so fucking cute. Mal didn’t know how someone so larger than life could make himself appear so tiny when distressed.
People thought Mal was the enigma, but it was really Nico. He was ethereal like an angel, his features so delicate and fragile Mal often worried he might break him. But Mal had watched him put a bullet in a man’s head without blinking, he’d seen him bask in someone else’s much-deserved pain. He’d watched him go out of his way to torment a girl who’d made fun of sweet little Ever.
When it came to protecting his friends, Nico had a mean streak a mile wide. When it came to protecting himself, the only weapon necessary was his sharp tongue, his words often vicious and exacting.
