fake it til you make it | greta van fleet

a family affair | four

When you awoke in the morning, you swore the sun was shining just a little warmer than usual. The curtains were drawn back, and the blinding light of the morning sun was what roused you from your slumber. It hurt your eyes, and you hissed as sunspots muddled your vision, but then you tried to move and sucked in a breath for an entirely different reason.

You were still naked, and there was a heavy weight holding you in place–for a moment you struggled to remember, but then two arms were squeezing you tighter and dragging you across the bed as Jake rolled in his sleep. The blankets were twisted uncomfortably around you, but all you could do was lay there as you came to terms with the fact that you were now pinned against Jake's chest as he twined all four of his limbs around you.

He was naked, too. You could feel every inch of him pressed up against you, both of your bodies sticky with sweat and the remnants of your escapades. Your bladder was throbbing, screaming at you to empty it before it burst, but you were rooted in place.

It was like you were paralyzed under all the emotions raging through your body. One part of you was happy, blissful even, as you remembered what had happened in the night. You could still feel his touch, and the dull ache in your skull was nothing compared to the ache between your legs that you almost hoped would never go away.

The other part of you, though, was terrified. Jake was still sleeping, snoring a little louder now as his head was tipped back, and you were scared to know what his reaction would be. Had he meant for it to happen? Had he wanted it as much as you did? Or, was it a heat of the moment mistake committed only due to the alcohol?

The pain that coursed through you at the thought of that possibility was too much to bear. Your head pounded harder as tears involuntarily sprung to your eyes, and you had to bury your nose in his chest and breathe him in to calm yourself down. He cuddled you a little closer at the cold brush of the tip of your nose, and momentarily everything was okay again.

Of course, the moment could only last so long.

Before long, Jake began to stir. His fingers flexed against the skin of your back, squeezing you so tightly that you let out a little squeak as you feared you might piss yourself, and then he jolted awake at once. Startled, eyes rolling slightly as he tried to get his bearings, Jake stared at you in astonishment as he came back to the land of the living.

His brown eyes bore into yours, and you stared back with bated breath as you waited for him to react. Slowly he trailed his eyes down to your bare chest, which was still pressed against his, and he moved like a robot as he released you from his hold awkwardly. Still, he didn't say a word.

Maybe it was cowardly of you, but you couldn't bring yourself to be the one to break the silence first. You couldn't bring yourself to be the one to address the elephant in the room. You couldn't bring yourself to just confess, still too terrified of what he would say.

Instead, you slipped out of the bed and hid away in the bathroom. You sat on the toilet for a long while after you'd finished using it, and as your throat clogged up at the thought of going back into the room, you decided to just get in the shower. Avoidance had become your strong suit over the years, your best defense mechanism, and it was too hard to do anything else at that moment.

When you tiptoed back into the room in your towel, having left all of your clothes in your haste, you found it to be empty. Jake's bag was gone, the bed was made, and for a split second, you swayed on your feet as you feared that he might have just left you there. But then you saw your clothes folded on top of the dresser and realized that your own suitcase was gone too.

Packing up the car and grabbing breakfast. Meet in the lobby when you're ready, Jake.

Your eyes lingered on his familiar scrawl across the complimentary notepad all hotel rooms seemed to have, and you weren't sure how to feel. Your gut was churning with anxiety, knowing well that his own avoidance of the situation couldn't be a good sign. But, did that make you a hypocrite?