Page 1 of Tangled Desires

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‘Till I Collapse - Eminem Ft. Nate Dogg

The smell of oil and grease hits me the second I step into Joe’s Auto.

Michael and I, we’ve been around it for as long as our memories serve. Joe waltzed into our lives when we were teens and roped us into working here. Taught us every bloody thing about cars, bikes, fuck, even lawnmowers. Now, my brother and I could change a set of tyres blindfolded and not even break a sweat. The boys here?

A loud, rowdy bunch. Everyone’s got their hands dirty, cranking out work while the radio blasts the latest shit that’stopping the charts. But me? I wouldn’t change a damn thing... Well, maybe just one.

Anywhere that involves Imogen.

Lately, it feels like everything’s revolving around her. I can’t get her out of my head—she’s fucking stuck in there. Been there since the first time I saw her. That day in Xavier’s pool, what—six, seven months ago now?

I remember it clear as day. I was messing around with some shit, not really paying attention, when I noticed her. She was there, sitting by the pool with the same attitude I’ve seen from her since—cutthroat, eyes full of fire, like she didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything. She never gave me the time of day, not once. But it didn’t matter. I was hooked the second I saw her. She had this thing about her, this presence. The way she carried herself, like she had everything under control and was too good for the rest of us. I hated that I couldn’t get close, but fuck, I couldn’t stop thinking about her then.

I still can’t now.

She isn’t some sweet little thing, like the women I usually go for. No, Imogen’s fierce. She’ll burn you with a look if she feels like it. Back then, she barely acknowledged me, and I respected the hell out of her for that. And now, well, now she’s in my head, giving me that look. You know the one—half “you’re an idiot” and half “come closer so I can ruin your life.”

An obsession that, even if you pried at it with pliers, it wouldn’t budge.

I don’t know how the hell to make it stop, but I think I’m beyond wanting to. I’m here, knee-deep in engine grease, surrounded by the roar of revving motors and clinking tools, but all I can think about is her. I look around, wondering where Michael is. Loving to stir the shit out of him, I start calling his name. “Michael?” When he doesn’t answer, I call out louder, “Michaellll.”

“What?” His voice comes from around the rise of the shop, and he appears in front of the open garage, cigarette dangling from his lips. He’s got a frown on his face as he glares at me.

“What? Don’t look at me that way,” I chide.

“You’re fucking annoying, that’s what.” A shit-eating grin spreads across my face.

“Come help me with this Beamer,” I say, waving him over. The piece of shit isn’t cooperating. It’s been having electrical issues, and the owners brought it in twice before. Wipers aren’t working, and its turn signals have shit themselves. Michael takes a long drag on his cigarette, squinting at me. After a beat, he flicks it away and strolls over, muttering under his breath.

“You really know how to ruin one’s break, don’t you?”

“Quit bitching,” I retort. “This thing’s been a pain in my ass all morning.”

“Says the one bitching about this car. Idiot.” He smirks, rolling his eyes. I pause for a second, weighing up who rolls their eyes more—Michael or Imogen. Doesn’t take me long to figure it out. Definitely Imogen.

We pop the hood and dive into the mess of wires and circuits, but something feels off. The engine’s running fine, but there’s a trail of coolant leaking onto the lift.

“Great, just what we need,” I mutter, eyeing the puddle.

Michael slides underneath the lift, his movements smooth as he checks it out. I crouch down next to him, peering over. “You see anything?”

He grunts, poking around. “Yeah, there’s a crack in the radiator hose. Should’ve known this bastard would cause trouble.”

I let out a long breath, rubbing my forehead. “Fucking hell. That explains the smell.”

He slides back out, wiping grease from his hands. “Told you this car was a ticking time bomb. We’ll need to replace the whole hose.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, because it’s never simple, right?”

Michael smirks, already rolling the car off the lift. “You really thought it would be?”

“You’re the one who jinxed it.” I give him a look.

Michael shrugs, unphased. “Happens every time. Let’s just get this shit sorted.”

We get to work, stripping out the old hose and prepping the new one. I hand him tools as we move in sync. The garage fills with the sounds of metal scraping and coolant splashing, but we get it done. Once it’s swapped, I start the engine and check for leaks.

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