CLOSER (SAM FENDER)

FOUR

Violet

My head was pounding.

I drank more than I should have last night and the cigarettes put me over the edge. There was nothing worse than a nicotine induced hangover especially on top of a regular one. I'd slept like a rock until the sun slipped in between the cracks of my blinds and hurried me awake. As soon as my eyes opened, a shooting pain shot through the back of my head and my stomach growled angrily. I sat up slowly, staggering on my feet as I made my way to the bathroom to attempt to clean myself up and find some relief in the form of a pill.

I was still wearing last night's makeup and half of last night's outfit. My hair was piled high on top of my head and my eyes were swollen as if I had been crying. I rubbed them with my fingers as I waited for the water from the sink to warm up, and a fleeting memory from the night before came swimming into view.

I had been crying. I cried myself to sleep and I couldn't remember why. I attempted to pick out the thoughts I'd had before succumbing to sleep, but they were buried in between memories and fuzzy moments at the bar.

I rubbed my temples as my stomach toppled over itself and waves of nausea rolled through me. I didn't think I was going to be sick, but the memories from last night began playing out like the blooper reel of a movie and I fought my way through them.

The first thing that stuck out, was the embrace Sam and I shared street-side. It was a murky memory, muddled between sincere thoughts and alcohol induced feelings, but a memory nonetheless. I swallowed hard as I thought about the way his arms felt wrapped around me. I'd hugged Sam over one thousand times in my life. We'd shared embraces through every pivotal moments of our lives. Graduations, family events, album release parties, and major moments during the band's career. But no embrace ever felt the way that the one last night did. No embrace was ever that personal. We clung to each other a little too deeply. Neither one of us wanted to let go and as the world spun on around us, the harder it became to let go. At one point, I could feel his breath against my neck as he latched on tighter. I trembled at the memory the same way I trembled when it was happening.

When we finally did let go, neither of us could look the other in the eye. We walked parallel down the street with each other, close enough to touch, but refusing to make any notice of each other. There were a million things I wanted to say, a hundred questions I wanted to ask, but none of them leaked out. Instead we walked to our house in silence. The house we shared with his best friend and my boyfriend. The house we would both walk into, but never walk into as more than friends. The realization of that sliced through me horizontally and I stopped before we made it to the door.

Sam finally looked at me then, fixing his gaze on me and biting his lower lip harshly. That was a standard Sam Fender move. I'd watch him do this when he was worried over something or someone, or when he forgot the words to a song on stage. He was at war with himself over something, and in that moment I couldn't help but feel like he was at war with me.

"I can't go inside yet." I whispered.

"It's late."

I nodded and looked at the ground, kicking bits of gravel with the toe of my shoe and sighing. "I'm just not ready for tonight to be over."

Sam shifted his weight on his leg and knelt on the stairs of our porch before taking a seat and motioning to the spot next to him. I followed suit, sinking to the wooden step slowly and fighting the urge to rest my head on his shoulder. Even though we'd been at the pub and the remnants of our cigarettes clung to our clothes, he still smelled like Sam. A mixture of mint, citrus, and home. Everything familiar I was used to and everything I didn't know I noticed or needed.