Make me remember (to forget)

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Emily

"Holy shit."

I purse my lips, thinking about all the ways Logan is going to murder me.

"Em, how the fuck did this happen? What the..." Josh murmurs in astonishment as he observes Logan's wrecked motorcycle.

As for me, I'm way too busy panicking because I know that there's no way he's actually going to believe that this was an accident. I was actually trying to park and I forgot that this idiot has a motorcycle and I didn't see it - Yes, I know, I know, how could I have not seen a motorcycle parked in the middle of the driveway? I don't know! I'm screwed.

"It's going to be okay. I can fix this," I breathe out, as a million scenarios play through my head.

First scenario: I paint over the back of it. But fuck, it's obviously wrecked, the entire back part needs to be changed.

Okay, second scenario: I pick up the motorcycle into the trunk of my car and take it to a mechanic. This shouldn't be too bad. I mean, Josh will help me carry it. I don't even think it's going to cost much. The whole thing is super cheap anyway, so I think I should be good.

Or, I can just grow a vagina and tell Logan that I wrecked his motorcycle. But no, thanks. I think Option B is the best.

"You're going to fix a motorcycle?" He smirks.

"Josh, help me carry it."

"Carry it where?!"

"To the trunk of my car."

"Emily, you have the shittiest car on earth. I'm absolutely sure that placing a wrecked motorcycle in the trunk of your car will break it."

I have the overwhelming urge to scream at Josh. But instead, I turn on Zen Emily mode and take a deep breath. Josh seems to notice, so without uttering another word, he grabs the front while I take the back of the motorcycle.

Fuck, this thing is heavier than it looks. Josh groans as we barely lift it a few centimeters off the ground. "Em, there's no way we can lift this to the trunk of your car."

"Come on, Josh! We can do this," I breathe out as I push with every single breath I have.

Josh lets out all kinds of moans and whines. I am not going to be stressed out about this. I am not going to be stressed out about- I squeal when the motorcycle finally fits in the trunk. We obviously can't close the trunk, but it's okay. I'll just drive slowly.

Sometimes, I wonder where I get this reassurance that everything is going to be okay from. Seriously, my car is shitty and the most probable scenario is that it's going to break while I'm driving it and we're going to die.

"I can't believe you just made me carry a motorcycle."

"I didn't make you do it. We did it together. Teamwork."

"Right. You owe-"

"Come on, hop in the car before Logan notices we're down there."

"Wait, where are we going?"

"To the mechanic?" I say, but it sounds more like a question.

"What?! No, come on! I literally just came here to pick up my boyfriend and go to the movies. Is that too much to ask for on a Friday night?"

"Josh, please!! You have to help me. You can't let me go all alone."

"It's cruel to make a gay guy go to a mechanic, Em." True, but I don't really care...