lana del rey imagines

ꨄ︎ violets for roses ꨄ︎

You down the last of your wine in one gulp, grabbing the bottle to pour more.

Lana's gaze flickers between you and your girlfriend, the latter barely paying you the slightest bit of attention. She's busy on her phone, shaking her shoulder when you try to lay your head there.

Unable to stand it, Lana walks into the dining room.

"Hey girls. We're playing poker and losing money in the backyard. Wanna join?"

Your eyes light up at the sight of her. It is your intention to accept her invitation, because there's nothing more you'd like than to spend time with her, but Tifanny's hand comes to rest on your leg. Her nails dig lightly into your skin in warning.

"We're fine, thanks," is the response your girlfriend grants. Despite knowing that you shouldn't try, you still open your mouth to speak too. Nails dig deeper, and your voice is nowhere to be found. "We're leaving soon, anyway."

Lana frowns. "But it's still early."

When what she really wants to say is: I organized this whole pathetic dinner with the intention of spending time with my friend and I didn't have even five minutes alone with her. Yes, you are that friend. She hasn't seen you in almost a month and and another could easily pass if you leave now. You're all busy now that you have a girlfriend. And she hates that.

Lana misses the late night conversations, the sleepovers, the road trips to Long Beach with you by her side. God, she had so many opportunities to confess her feelings to you, to ask you to be her girl - now you're someone else's girl. Someone who doesn't care for you like she does. It only took a couple of hours studying Tiffany's behavior to know that. Just remembering the way she pushed your hand away when you tried to take hers still makes her clench her jaw and want to scream, what the fuck.

"Mi girl here is tired, aren't you, baby?" Tiffany looks at you with fake concern and sweetness. Your eyes lose their sparkle as they travel from Lana's to hers.

"Yeah... I am."

Your girlfriend smiles softly as her fingers caress the skin of your thigh, which burns. That was the only answer she wanted to hear, the correct one.

"We're going home then."

You nod slightly. "Can I go to the bathroom first? I drank too much wine," your voice is gentle, your demeanor submissive. She's good to you if you're good to her. You learned it the hard way.

Tiffany stares at you for a moment, as if deciding whether to give you permission or not. But Lana is still present, attentive to the conversation, and she knows she has no choice.

"Why you ask? You don't need my permission. Just go, baby. I'll be here."

You feel disgusted, not only by the kiss she leaves on your cheek, but also by the way she pretends to be good and kind in the presence of other people. She always succeeds, hiding her true self and ensuring that no one ever suspects anything. She's doing it so well, drowning you in silence. Nobody sees that.

Tiffany focuses her attention back on her phone, but her dark eyes follow you intensely until you disappear from her line of sight. And the fact that Lana walks next to you drives her insane. Five minutes. You better come back in five minutes for your own good.

Lana watches you stagger slightly as you climb the stairs. It seems that between the bathroom on the first floor you have chosen the one on the second instead. Scared that you'll slip and hurt yourself, she hurries to follow closely behind you. You no doubt almost trip on one of the steps and her hand travels to the small of your back to prevent you from falling.