Cay was laying on the cold stone floor within the shivery walls of the Luxembourg Gare Centrale, placing his back onto one of them. Judas said that he needed a stretch and was then straightening his legs as he leaned over the cylindrical metal rail for support, his face away from him as he moved from side to side. It had a comical look but his wide back mitigated the effect of the warm-up routine.
It was after that dream that Cay could not focus on sleeping, instead he had himself propped up in such a position it was unaccustomed for a tired person to be staying like that. The dream had been over an hour ago, but the memory was still vivid, the tight feeling in his chest lingered. It did not help by the fact that he could not distract himself with anything other than watching the sliding glass doors opening and closing after a new arrival entered or left. He left himself on hold, not knowing to do anything nor was he obliged to take the initiative; He stayed staring, unable to process the feelings he felt not to accept them completely. The glass door abruptly letting in the chilly current, prompting everyone to pull whatever they have on themselves closer instinctively. It was cold and there was not much anyone could do about it.
Judas was staring at Cay for some time before he moved towards him and broke his trance-like state.642Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡT7g6wZBtsZ
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“Take my jacket.”, his first hand was off the sleeve before Cay had time to react.
“Wait….”, Cay tried to say something but something in him felt it needed the warmth, then hesitated.
“There, better?”
Before Cay could muster whatever was in his fogged mind, he was surprised by the calm but piercing look of his companion’s eyes. The look that he was giving were rare throughout their past days of travel, it held his gaze with the wave before the storm, building up even more. Curiosity took hold of him and he was not intimidated by the uncommon change. Somewhere in him felt touch a heartfelt honesty that he would come to not only admire, he felt a tinge of hotness in his cheeks. Judas smiled as he placed his lean but strong hands on his shoulders and slowly slid across the collar bone, resting it finally on the arch between his neck and shoulder.
The two later could be seen with each other, sitting side by side but keeping a polite distance between each other. Cay was still processing what just happened, himself unable to cope with what came after his horrible dream. Therefore, it was unsettling but appropriate to be quit amongst the duo. Judas did not seem like he was thinking much from what he could tell as he stole a few side way glances at him overtime. Perhaps he was as confused as he was, he doubted it and lowered his head in embarrassment and fascination. It was not the time to show his weakness, the flushing warmth he felt beneath his cheeks and from his occupied side was uncanny but not uninviting.
The morning came after when Cay realised he was asleep, not knowing for how long. He scanned through the visible field but was stop short-sighted by a density of fog. He could only tell that it was morning no thanks to the sun nor the time on his watch, the people were bustling across his feet, occasionally with a few legs lifting themselves up enough to avoid tripping on his classic Doc Marten’s shoes. Judas came to his side just when he was about to get up, he was urged to sit as he brought his coffee to his icy hands.642Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡysqEVcS0Sn
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“It’s black and sugar-free, just the way you prefer.”, he said as the warm cup of relief was left wrapped by Cay’s embrace.
*
The boys were hauled out of the interrogation room with Jake being the most vigorous and damaged. The girl shrunk into a corner with ugly streaks tracing from eye end ending on her woolly sleeves, too afraid to look at her assailant as the latter screamed at her with an unbound ferocity bound only by Anderson’s restraining arms. He looked feral.
“You killed my father! You fucking killed my father! You scums of the Earth!”, He shouted as the girl was led out of the room quickly by the last personnel other than Anderson. He broke down in tears in an instant after the detective loosened his arm-lock.
He was released from the station without much of a warning, perhaps the detective understood the need for violence and the desperation of a beast’s howl. His hair was unkempt and part of his lower shirt was torn, a sign of struggle when he almost choked the life out of the biggest boy among the group. He was exhausted from the plunder but decided to walk home. He did not want to visit his mother at the hospital of fear that she would see him in that state.
People step further away from him when he was walking towards and pass them, it was not surprising as he had a bloody nose with dried blood that was an inched away from his bruised lips.
Reaching home, he shut the boor behind him and stood quietly in one end of the hallway. Normally, during the days before he visited Myanmar and after class, his mother would call out his name and reminded him that there was food left on the table. He walked towards the kitchen in the other end and looked at the dining table where his father would usually be home by then, his The Guardian newspaper would be held opened by both his worn-out hands. It did not mean anything to him in the past. However, the toxic feeling came rushing back to him as he charged towards the oak table, pounding it with his hurt hands before flipping it. The sounds of glassware breaking on the table and cabinet in the other end of the table was so audible that it was almost movie-like, if he had cared at all.
Throughout the process of exerting his violence on the stationed furniture, his heart calmed but nevertheless shattered into pieces.
His father, oh, his father. He had the familiar feeling. When did he feel it before? Where was it? How did it come so suddenly? Then he thought to himself, knowing the nostalgic but pathetic sense. Myanmar, he said it, half-cursing under his breath.
Days later, Anderson called and asked how he was. Judas was sleeping then, it was a late afternoon when his phone on the bedroom floor rang. He said he was doing fine. He trudged down the stairs and into the kitchen, all the while listening to the detective’s findings from the perpetrators half-heartedly. The dining was in a turmoil, it did not help with the fact that there were broken plates on the kitchen floor and a cabinet door hanging loosely and dangerously above ground. His mother had called him several times before, but he was too afraid to answer, too scared to tell her what happened when he came home after seeing the kids. He was shocked by his own doings in these few days. He left his phone on the cabinet top beside him.
The memory of scenes from slaughtering kids in front of him lived wildly in his mind during those days. His angered and self-loathing could not be dampened like any ordinary fire; his lust for breaking things and perverse anger fuelled only by more breakage.
Slowly but unsteadily, he began picking up the shattered plates, all the while crying like a lost child.
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