Never Fall For The Sad Boy (bxb)

5. The Lumberjack

TWs: mentions of parent death and abuse

After school, I go home first to tell my mother I'm leaving for a bit – and to change my clothes, use the bathroom and take my daily yoghurt. Then, I take my car keys and start up my dear, lovely Chevrolet Impala 1964 SS. Fuck, she's gorgeous. I love to play that Queen song when I'm driving her. She's red and shiny and fast and smooth and– ugh, I love her.

For years before I got my license, I kept nagging my parents to buy me one and dad kept saying "No, it's too expensive," or "No, they're ugly." Mom only smiled mischievously when I asked her. Then, on my sixteenth birthday, she was standing on the driveway, looking gorgeous as ever and rocking a red bow and a birthday card from my parents and grandparents.

Starting up the engine and checking the rearview mirror, I start backing up the driveway. This might not be a good idea, but I'm not stepping down now.

I have a GPS on my phone leading me to Kian's farmhouse, wondering if he moved here after his mom died or not. My phone is connected to the bluetooth speaker that I have in my car, playing some random stuff from my main playlist. The song fades out.

"The machine of a dream... Such a clean machine," Roger Taylor's voice starts up in the car. I feel a goofy grin start taking over my features.

I sing with him, almost petting my car whilst I do it. This is something that occurs almost shamefully often, even when I'm driving my parents around.

When the song changes again, I keep singing on the next one as well, now suddenly in the mood. I keep going the whole ride to Kian's place.

—

"Who're you?" a man with eyes the same color as Kian's but harder, and the same hair color but greyer, opens the door. His voice is rough in a way that has me wondering how his voice sounded when Kian was a kid; this is definitely his father.

"I'm Elis Wilson, I know Kian from school. Is he in?" I say, smiling in a way I know adults like. I look over his shoulder as if expecting Kian to be standing there, observing us. Mr. Browne doesn't seem faced.

"He's in the back," he grunts, then closes the door right in my face. Charming guy.

I walk around the red house on the green grass, my hands in my pockets. As I come closer, I hear tough grunts and the sound of wood breaking. Frowning, I hurry up my steps.

Kian is standing in front of a large tree stump, legs wide apart and a heavy-looking axe raised above his shoulder, about to strike down on a piece of wood. His face is slightly red and when he brings the axe down, he grunts and makes a face that breaks my heart. He is crying.

I don't say anything when I walk up to stand beside him, about seven feet away from him on the side that he doesn't swing his axe on. Once the piece of wood is in halves, Kian sighs and lets the axe hang from his hand at his side as he breathes heavily and stares at the stump. I walk closer to him.

"It used to be my mother's tree," he says after a few minutes, and his voice is steady but has an edge to it, "She used to climb it every day, and sat in it. When she died my dad took it down. I didn't want him to. I wanted to bury her ashes in the ground around it, but he took it down."

"I'm sorry," I say, not knowing what else to tell him. He swallows and begins going towards the timber surrounding the stump of his mother's tree. He bends down to pick them up but before he stands back up, he places a hand on the tree and kisses his own pale knuckles with a pained expression on his face.

When he stands again, he finally looks at me.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, not unkindly.

"You've been ignoring me ever since Thursday, are you okay?"

"Sorry about Thursday, I was being stupid. I'm fine."

While he talks he walks over to a little shed with small logs, stacking the newly chopped ones on top of the others. I follow him around while he cleans up; I would help, but I don't know where things are supposed to be, and I don't want to agitate him further.

"You were not being stupid. Look, I understand that you don't want to... open up, considering," I glance at the stump pointedly, hoping he gets my point, "– well. I just need you to know that I'm here. I won't go anywhere, alright? Not unless you want me to. And Grace cares about you, too, so just don't go shutting yourself out, please. Ask for help if you need it, or just want it."

Kian has stiffened visibly and I was about to stop talking and take it back when I noticed it, but I know better than that. These words need to come into his head, one way or another.

He doesn't say anything, so I continue, "You probably don't want to talk to me, really, but I want you to know, in case you're stopping yourself from it, I want you to talk to me. I want to be friends with you, so stop ignoring me, please. It's your decision. You tell me to fuck off, I'll fuck off, and if you don't... we can talk about that later."

Again, he doesn't say anything, just looks at the axe now resting on both his hands in front of him, hands clenching and unclenching.

As the seconds pass, his silence begins to grow more and more into a clear "No."

"Alright then," I sigh, "I'll see you around." I start walking again, this time back around the house.

"Wait," Kian sounds hurried, his voice clipped. I stop and turn around.

"Don't leave. I do... want to be friends with you. I just have a hard time, uhm, talking to people. About important stuff, y'know."

"Yeah I know," I'm smiling. "Wanna see my car?"

—

Kian does want to see my car. He loves it, like I knew he would. As I excitedly explain the entire function and history behind the model, Kian is grinning and looking at my vehicle. He tells me that he doesn't know anything about cars and that he's never actually been impressed by cars before, and the fact that it's my baby who popped his cherry, so to say, is such an honor to me.

He then shows me into a garage where a blue Honda Dream Yuga is parked, black helmet hanging off one of the handgrips.

I whistle under my breath when I see it. It's beautiful.

"This is mine. It's how I get to and from school every morning," Kian looks uncharacteristically proud, and I can't help but smile.

"That... takes a while, doesn't it?"

Kian shrugs, "Thirty to forty minutes, I guess."

I stare at him.

"Sorry, but when do you get up?"

"Five thirty AM."

"Jesus fuck, Kian."

Kian looks at the ground bashfully, but I can tell that he is smiling. He then proceeds to let out a snort, and we both bust out laughing.

This has been a good hour, especially for the health of our newfound friendship.

The song in this chapter is "I'm In Love With My Car" by Queen