fake it til you make it | greta van fleet

a lover's plight | four

THIS PART CONTAINS EXPLICIT SMUT.

You made a brief detour in your path to the bedroom, momentarily losing the courage to face Sam and dipping into the bathroom instead. The sight that greeted you in the mirror told you that you'd made the right choice, though, your heavier than normal makeup streaked and utterly ruined from all of your crying in the car. Suddenly, the strange looks from the clerk at the liquor store made a lot more sense to you.

You took your time washing your face, scrubbing your skin until it began to tingle, and you took even more time to diligently apply your moisturizer to your tender skin. Crying always made it dry out, and the last thing you wanted was to wake up in the morning feeling like you'd gotten botox in your sleep due to how tight your skin became. Granted, there was a strong possibility you were going to cry again, the thought of which made your stomach lurch violently.

Taking a few deep breaths, you stared at yourself in the mirror and tried to build your courage back up. This was the closure you'd told yourself you were coming for. You were finally going to get your answers, and hadn't that been what you'd wanted all along?

Now, facing the prospect head on, you weren't so sure. The pain of not knowing would be nothing in comparison to the pain of hearing what you didn't want to hear. If it came to light that Sam had cheated, or you'd done something to drive him away, you didn't know how you would react. It would certainly kill you inside, though.

Josh's voice echoed through your ears, reminding you that he'd be right outside if you needed him. That was all you needed, your shoulders setting as you ground your teeth and opened the door hastily. You could do this. You were going to do it.

As soon as you opened the door to the bedroom, you knew Sam was awake. It was dark, and he was silent, but his body was curled into a ball as close to the wall as he could get. He never slept like that, and you got the impression he knew what was coming from the way he actively tried to trick you into thinking he was asleep.

You changed into your pajamas slowly, and timidly slipped onto the bed beside him. There wasn't much room considering it was only a twin, but you left as wide of a berth between the two of you as you could, staring up at the ceiling as you mulled over what to say. A million times you'd imagined this scenario, but it was never quite like this.

In your head, it had always been some sort of an epic battle. There was you, barging in to wherever Sam was hiding out and demanding your answers in a bitter tone. Yelling, and snapping, and demanding what you deserved from him without any sort of compassion for him. Sometimes it ended well, the two of you ending up tangled together once again. Others, not so much.

The words seemed to burst from your mouth of their own accord, your voice shocking you as you spoke quietly into the darkness, "I thought you were going to propose."

Sam stiffened, and you could hear the way his breathing hitched before he let out a shaky exhale and slowly turned onto his back as well. Your arms were touching, biceps pressed to one another tightly, but neither of you inched away. The silence was deafening.

Eventually he whispered, "What are you talking about?"

Sam knew exactly what you were talking about. You could tell from the way his words wavered, slipping from his mouth clumsily, but you explained anyways, "When you first asked me to get time off of work to visit your family this weekend, I couldn't figure out why. We only ever came on special occasions like birthdays, or holidays, or anniversaries–but there were none for that weekend. So, I got it in my head that you were going to propose. I was so excited, and I guess I got ahead of myself because... because then everything went to shit and you left."