Lavender love | BxB Romance

ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ - ʜᴏᴜsᴇ ɪs sʜᴇʟᴛᴇʀ, ʜᴏᴍᴇ ɪs ʟᴏᴠᴇ

The coffee was tasty.

But there was no desire to continue talking with Yena. She looked at how Charlie released the needles again and answered questions in monosyllables... with an overly understanding look. He always preferred not to give a damn about other people's opinions. But since these two were the first to didn't spit on him, he didn't want to ruin the relationship from the first day of their acquaintance. Thanking Yena for the second coffee, Wright stormed out of the coffee shop, kicking rocks angrily along the way. Back at the school, Charlie picked up his bike from the parking lot and headed home - the last place he wanted to go back now. Leisurely, by longest and most winding path.

So what the hell? He bought into the goodwill, and then what? Run off to buy friendship bracelets and print out a best friend questionnaire? What's your favorite color, TV show, and fucking pie filling? Pie... It's even funny he's thinking about it now as if he wasn't thinking about the best suicide way two hours ago. Playfully, choosing between rope and soap or his father's stolen сolt.

Throwing all other thoughts out of his head, Holden took over the entire space there. And Charlie involuntarily thought about stupid things while pedaling his bicycle. Someone like Evan would probably like peach pie with a scoop of creamy ice cream. Or something like sweet apples or pears, the filling definitely not sour. And the music on his player probably sounds like peach pie, unobtrusive, calm. Some indie, folk, or ambient. Not extreme, but something in between. And the movies... not surprising if he loves to cry over girly romantic dramas or stupid comedies.

Evan Holden... Fucking Evan Holden.

How can he be so sweet and airy in a small, conservative town there are four bars, but not a single private psychotherapist. The school psychologist doesn't count. Ms. Hollowbrook gave tests to evaluate Wright's psychological state after every incident with school fights and skipping classes. And not a single one of the seven that he passed made her wary. In her conversation with Charlie, she also didn't notice any warning signs. Or, perhaps, she pretended not to notice.

Because it would be better for everyone if a piece of trash like Charlie Wright suddenly disappeared. Police arrests. Transfers from school to school. Petty hooliganism, fights during and after school hours. Wright is like a red rag, and his peers are bulls in a bullfight. Or vice versa, what the fuck difference does it make. Everyone knows - people like him have no future. No hope that it will get better either. His logical end is to drink himself to death in godforsaken Amber Hill and die by the age of twenty-five from cirrhosis or cancer. In the worst case, go to jail for killing someone through negligence. He is a disappointment to everyone who knows him.

That's why it's strange to see such sincere participation from Evan. Such a contrasting compared to Wright. Despite common sense and the laws of high school, he wanted to believe in good intentions. To find out the secret of such love of life. To hear the answer to the question, what kind of drink is he anyway? And it's infuriating. Such happy people simply don't exist. But there are more than enough people who can bully in such a cruel way, pretend to be a friend, ingratiate themselves, and then abandon them. And if Evan is one of them...

The coming day must put everything in its place.

Charlie turned into another alley, shortening the distance to his house. A few establishments rushed past, clearly open not so long ago. At least for the last ten years. Their views gave way to a residential area. The roofs of cottages of the same type appeared, devoid of any uniqueness. A simple design, repeated every three sections. This part of the city refused to let in any changes. Only here could one see Amber Hill's real face.

The Wrights' house stood out from others only in the degree of destruction. During the time they'd been bouncing around military bases all over the country, the house that belonged to his father's parents had been empty. The property hadn't been properly maintained, and now that Harriet Wright had returned to his native land to retire, he was busy renovating it. That's right. What else can a retired, non-drinking soldier with PTSD do? Tinker around in his car, renovating his parents' house, and beat up his son for emotional release. Fucking family idyll.