fake it til you make it | greta van fleet

a lover's plight | two

It was truly appalling just how easily you gave in to Sam Kiszka.

You'd laid awake until the first rays of the morning sun had crept in through your bedroom window, and hadn't moved a single muscle. You'd just laid there, your eyes unwavering as they counted the brushstrokes across the ceiling until they lost focus and you were blinking into the void. It was the sun that brought you back to reality, and you'd known the moment you sat up that you were going to Frankenmuth.

Your boss had been understanding as you had requested the day off and the following Monday as well, citing a family emergency. You had PTO sitting in the bank, more than you even knew what to do with, and you'd been reliable in the years you'd worked there. Rarely had you ever called in, only ever requesting vacations months in advance.

From there, you'd gone into a frenzy. You rushed through your morning routine, though you spent quite a while just standing under the showerhead and contemplating what, exactly, you were doing with your life. What the hell were you doing?

This was the same man who'd run you ragged for weeks, before ultimately walking out on you in a blaze of hurtful words and mistreatment. He'd walked out, and ghosted you, and left you to think you'd lost everything because he'd been too ashamed to tell his family what he had done. Even still, you wondered if he even knew what he had done.

For all you knew, he could have felt he was the victim in the situation. Did he? Had you done something, or said something, that had left him feeling justified in his actions?

Perhaps that was why you were making such a reckless decision to drag yourself all the way to Frankenmuth, just to help him keep his lies alive. You hoped, above all else, that in doing so you could get some sort of explanation. You were seeking closure, and that was all.

That's what you told yourself, anyways.

Recklessness aside, you weren't an idiot. You knew that deep down, some part of you was making the trip for more selfish reasons. You still missed him, and loved him, and getting a taste of what you'd lost so suddenly didn't seem all that bad.

It was going to hurt like a bitch when it all came crashing down, but you were prepared for that. If you came away from it all with the closure you needed so desperately, it would make it all worth it. You repeated the words to yourself like a mantra: this was for closure. This was for the ending you deserved, the respect that you deserved. Because, truly, you did deserve the respect of getting the answers you needed.

It only hit you just how stupid you were being when you passed the little sign welcoming you to Frankenmuth, home of the world's largest Christmas store. You'd been in such a hurry, flying about your house in a tizzy to get things squared away with work and pack your bags, that you'd forgotten the most important part.

You hadn't told Sam that you were coming.

There you were, driving down the familiar streets of your hometown with your bag in the backseat and a shaky grip on the steering wheel when the realization hit you. You'd never told Sam! What if he'd told them?

What if he'd told them the truth, admitting that the two of you were no longer together? If that were the case, then you were going to look insane just showing up out of the blue. You were going to look desperate, like a crazy ex-girlfriend, and the thoughts plagued you with each turn you took that brought you closer to the Kiszka family home.

As you turned into the driveway, practically functioning on autopilot because your mind was a million miles away, you accepted that it was too late. You'd decided your fate, and all you could do was roll with the punches. If you discovered that Sam had told them the truth, then you'd figure it out on the fly.