Status: slow as all hell

For the Man That I Hate

Blame Me



The smell of gasoline filled my nostrils, strong and intoxicating. It was always one of those strangely enjoyable smells, bringing me back to a completely different period of my life. The sounds of machines and tools echoing through the large garage, heels clicking against the cement flooring being utterly out of place.

"This shouldn't take too long," A dainty hand touched my exposed shoulder, before I watched my friend walk towards the service desk a couple feet in front of us. A small row of chairs lined up against the wall, but I was hesitant to sit. They were old and falling apart, clearly very worn down. Glancing at my friend, who was now in conversation, I sat anyways. Crossing my legs, I looked at my pale blue jeans, hoping that there was nothing on this chair that might ruin them, my wallet clutched between the hands rested on my lap.

Looking around, the garage was wide open, letting everyone watch the men at work. I stared across at the assortment of vehicles, one in particular catching my eye. It was a motorcycle. Rusted down and practically falling apart. Time had not been kind to it, nor had whoever owned it. But there was something in particular that I noticed. A sticker on the side of the gas tank, pink and heart shaped. It was the only thing on the bike that didn't look worn down. I could feel my throat tightening, a tingle in my nose letting me know that tears were threatening to begin. Biting down on my bottom lip, I glanced over, seeing my friend still in conversation with the man at the counter. I felt my heart drop heavy. The heels echoed as I made my way over towards the bike. I swallowed hard.

"It's not..." I whispered to myself, shaking my head slightly.

As much as I refused to believe it was that bike, as much as I hoped it not to be. It was. My hand reached out and gently brushed fingertips against the cold metal, straying over top of the faded pink sticker. The memories flashed and faded in my mind, a breakdown looming over my emotions.

The wind whistled through the open visor on my helmet, forcing me to squint my eyes as it began to dry them out. My hair whipped wildly behind me as you took a hand off the handlebar and placed it on my knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. I nodded as we made eye contact in your side mirror, but I couldn't see the emotion in them, covered by your sunglasses, the bottom half of your face covered by a bandanna. It was red, and one time you told me it would've looked cute in my hair. You had made me blush. But that was before.

"Elle," my friend called out, regaining my attention as she was standing by the door, "C'mon, all done,"

Quickly, I looked to the man at the counter, who was watching me, confused.

"Is this for sale?" I asked, keeping my hand on the leather seat.

"It's not, no, sorry," He smiled tightly at me.

"Who- can I just ask who brought it in?"

"Elle, what are you doing?"

"I just need to know, it's..." I trailed off, glancing down at the vehicle under my hand.

"Um, a man, he looked to be in his 30's, maybe. Do you know him?" The mechanic responded.

"I did," I responded quietly.
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music note at the beginning links to the youtube song that i feel fits/listened to while writing each chapter mood