lethal | hs

/22/

~~*~~
Molly Pierce

The delicate touch of his hand lifts up my wrist. I respond by dropping my gaze, watching as his fingers, lined with ink, replace the empty space in my palm with a sledgehammer.

Once I tighten my fist around the end and I feel the weight of the hammer pull towards the ground, my eyes make their way back up towards the sign above.

It finally registers where we are.

Al's Junkyard.

Broken cars, old cars, unwanted cars- this junkyard has it all. Some are already crushed, their pieces trashing the ground. A few are even stacked one on top of the other, ghosting a large machine. The cars that aren't smashed are parked in rows, ready to be scrapped for parts and demolished. And standing outside the gated entrance, wide-eyed and somehow terrified, is me.

I feel Hot Shot's right forearm slide onto my shoulder, using me as an armrest. A pair of sunglasses cover his eyes, a fresh cigarette hanging from his lips.

Everything about him is just mesmerizing. I watch as smoke pools out of his mouth, up into the air above us, each exhale pushing out less and less.

"What are we doing here?" I ask, despite already knowing the answer.

"Smashing the fuck out of cars."

I almost crack a smile, "The gate's locked."

He flicks his cigarette onto the ground. The stick lands on the gravel and he crushes it with his shoe. With his newly freed hand, he removes a pair of keys from his coat pocket and dangles it in front of my face, "Owner gave me a key- I told him it was for 'work purposes', but he didn't believe me so now he gets a 'friend' discount at Lethal's instead."

"So you come here often?" I inquire, feeling his arm slide off of my shoulder.

"Not all of the time," he moves closer to the gate, fiddling with the keys in his hand until he finds the right one. Once he selects it, he slides it into the lock, "It's only one way I get rid of my stress, so when I'm out of options, this is where I come."

"And you just smash cars?"

"Better than drywall," he shrugs, letting out a faint laugh before grabbing a second sledgehammer from off in the tall, faded grass.

He pushes the creaky gate open, motioning me inside. I walk past him, dragging the sledgehammer through the dirt. Everything's silent. Just him, I, and Al's vacant junkyard.
"When you said 'coping mechanism', I didn't think you meant this," I pan my eyes around the junkyard. Old tires line the back corner, more unrepairable cars are just waiting to be crushed, and some of the vehicles themselves already look like they've been smashed by previous sledgehammers.

There's a small trailer home in the back corner too. Its white panels look worn down and the house as a whole appears to be abandoned, adding to the feel of the junkyard's mystery.

"It's a good way to get your pent up anger out," he flattens his palm on my back, leading me over towards the far end of the junkyard. "Like..." he puts his free hand on my opposite shoulder, holding me in place in front of one of the older cars. He then slides himself behind me, hovering his mouth at my ear, "Here, close your eyes," I can feel his breath travel down my neck and I listen.

With my eyes closed and my vision now obscured, I feel his hand start to guide my wrist, swaying the sledgehammer. It's heavy, but with him helping me, the hammer feels absolutely weightless. I feel relaxed now, like every bit of anger I had for him is starting to fade.

"Now, imagine what's making you mad-"

"What if it's more than one thing?" I test him.

He audibly scoffs, "Pick one for now, dumbass. Now be quiet, I'm tryin' to do my thing," I laugh and I feel his breath move back over to my ear, the light sway of the sledgehammer returning, "Once you've got the picture in your head, think of everything about it that makes you angry and pretend that it's the car. All you have to do from there is smash the shit out of it until you feel better. Problem solved," he guides the sledgehammer, swinging it over my shoulder. With both of our hands holding it, he pretends to slam it on the car, and my eyes flick open.