fake it til you make it | greta van fleet

a kind stranger | one

You really should have known better than to go to the bar you used to frequent with your ex, Joseph, by yourself.

For years The Styx had been your stomping grounds. All through college and up until the end of your relationship with the man who'd single-handedly destroyed your faith in the male species, you'd frequented the little hole-in-the-wall establishment. In fact, you'd become such a regular, the owners knew you purely by the scent of your perfume alone–Antoinette didn't even have to turn around and see you to know you'd arrived.

Every weekend, every hard day, every night for celebration... they were all spent at The Styx, and damn it all if you were going to let Joseph ruin one more thing for you. He'd already ruined cheesecake, and Christmas music, and road trips. The Styx was your thing, and you refused to let him take that away from you.

You should have known he would feel the same.

Two years prior, the two of you had met in that very bar. He'd been different then; a polished, clean-cut man with a killer smile that easily charmed you. He was older, with an already established life and career, and something about him had drawn you in like a moth to a flame. For a while, you'd thought it was the sense of stability and security he offered, but oh, how things changed.

Somewhere around the one-year mark, Joseph had lost his job, and things went on a steady decline from that point forward. It started with a reasonable desire to take his time in finding a job, and by the end of it all, he'd only managed to find a beer-gut and a DUI. You called it quits the moment he punched a hole in your drywall, and you hadn't looked back since.

A few months had gone by since he'd finally moved the last of his things out of your apartment, and things were looking up. Except, you'd had quite possibly the worst day of your life, and it only seemed to get worse with every passing moment. They say drinking to solve your problems is a bad idea, and you were definitely wishing you'd have listened.

It all had started early in the morning. You'd woken up to find the picture you'd hung to hide the fist-sized hole in your wall had fallen, courtesy of the drywall cracking and crumbling into an even bigger hole. Then, you'd discovered you were out of coffee on the one morning you'd managed to oversleep following a late-night tossing and turning for a reason you still couldn't pinpoint.

The saga continued with your favorite work pants tearing. And then, the cherry on top of the shit cake that was your day, your car broke down on the side of the road. So, now you were sitting on an egregious bill from Triple-A along with an even heftier repair bill that was sure to follow, a written reprimand for being late to work twice in one month, and somehow amidst the mess you'd dealt with you'd managed to lose your ID.

Sue me for needing a fucking drink on a Thursday evening, you'd thought to yourself, and that's how you ended up at The Styx. It was the one bar you knew, for certain, you wouldn't get carded. Antoinette's enthusiastic greeting had almost been enough to make your whole day better, and the free gin and tonic she slid down the bar into your hands certainly helped.

You saw a few familiar faces milling about, but none of them were more than passing acquaintances. None of your friends were out that evening, which wasn't a surprise considering they all (and you as well) were expected to work in the morning. The crowd was mostly college kids, courtesy of the college-town tradition of Thirsty Thursday, and you were happy to sink into the anonymity that came with being alone in a bar.

But, then you saw him.

Joseph stood next to the pool table at the far end of the room, and your heart nearly fell out of your pants. He was with a group of equally as greasy men, and if you hadn't seen what he'd turned into at the end of your relationship you'd never have believed it was him. Gone were the slacks and dress shirts, and he stood before you in a stained t-shirt and threadbare jeans that were equally as dirty.