Sam Golbach Imagines

Drive (Sam Golbach Imagine)

      It was 3 A.M. and you were restless. You're thoughts were taking over your mind, and you wanted them silenced. Everything was just overwhelming.
      "You're not good enough," you brain hissed at you.
       You couldn't believe that you had tried to hang out with them.
      Earlier that day, you had been hanging around your friend group. They kept talking in whispers and you obviously weren't stupid, you knew that they were saying something they didn't want you to hear.
      Fortunately, not all of them were great at whispering. You caught drift of some party they were talking about and you cleared your throat.
      "Hey, what time is the party?" you asked, and some of the girls stopped and got wide eyes.
       "Uh, it's tonight," one of them piped up and you smiled at her.
        "Great! I think I can make it. Where is it at?"
       "Um, you're not invited," one of the other ones said.
       "Why not?"
       Everyone was silent and you looked around until you got an answer.
        "They just don't know you and, uh-"
        "Oh, I get it," you said. "Well I'm just gonna go now," you announced and you left. You went to your car and you kept yourself busy for the rest of the day.
       Except for now, it was all you could think about. Normally, you didn't care that you didn't get invited. You didn't even care that they tried to cover it up. It was just the way they said it. Today, you were already struggling with self-doubt and the didn't help.
      It's the things they didn't say that left room for your thoughts.
      "Why would they ever hang around you?" you thought and you walked to the bathroom. You gripped the edges of the counter and looked in the mirror.
        "You're not pretty enough."
         "You're not thin."
        "Is that a zit on your nose?"
         "You nose is huge and-"
         The thoughts came in so fast, they barely had enough time to finish themselves before another jumped in.
         You hit the mirror, cracking it and you pulled your hands away. Your fist was cut up and you cursed because it hurt. You walked out of the bathroom and you headed downstairs.
         "Freak-"
          "Stupid-"
          "Ugly-"
          "Fat-"
           "Gross-"
            "Loser-"
           You screamed and you went and grabbed your keys. You'd had enough. You were going to Sam's apartment.
          You had met Sam when he came to LA. You had been doing a challenge where you paid for the person behind you at a restaurant and Sam was the guy behind you. Afterwards, he had found you in the restaurant and you guys had started talking and since then you guys had been really good friends. You lived in the same apartment building and you had a key to his place.
         You knew he was up because he had just tweeted something out about how he couldn't sleep. You went down to his floor and found his door and you walked in.
         He looked up when you flung open the door and you grabbed his keys off the counter.
        "Drive," you ordered and tossed his keys to him.
        "Where?" he said as he got up and headed over.
        "Just drive, Sam."
         "Okay."
        You guys walked down to the garage and you hopped in the passenger side as he got in. He pulled out and your leg bounced impatiently as you looked out the window. Sam took some side roads until they were getting more desolate.
         "Faster," you said. Sam quirked an eyebrow at you and that's when he noticed your knuckles. He reached up and turned the car light on and his eyes widened.
         "(Y/N), what's wrong with your hand? Are you o-"
         "Just drive, Sam!" you shouted, tears nearly spilling out of your eyes. He reached up and turned the light off and picked up the speed. You rolled the window down and you stuck your arm out the side. The wind whipped your hair and it sometimes stung when it would hit your face, but you didn't care.
       You rode in silence, listening to nothing but the wind as you raced down the street. What you could see if the trees blurred together and yet you couldn't stop thinking. You were still focused on those thoughts, the ones that wouldn't quiet.
       Sam eventually got back on a main road and he pulled into a parking lot. He turned the light back on and he turned to look at you.
      "Let me see your hand," he gently demanded. Reluctantly, you reached over to him and he grabbed your hand. You winced as he ran his thumb over your knuckles. He let it go and you rested it on your lap.
       "What did you do?" he asked.
       "Nothing. I didn't-"
        "(Y/N)," he cut you off and gazed intently into your eyes. "What did you do?"
       You exhaled and you looked at your lap. "I hit my mirror."
        Sam didn't say anything for a moment and you looked up.
        "Why?" he asked after he had your attention.
         "It doesn't matter why."
         "Well, obviously it does since you punched a mirror so tell me."
         "It doesn't matter. I'll get over it," you said.
         "Why do you always say that?" he asked, irritated.
         "What do you mean?" you responded and looked at him confused.
          "Anytime you get slightly upset or even majorly upset and someone asks you about it, you always tell them you'll get over it," he said and started gesturing with his hands. "Why do you always say that? Sometimes, people want to help you, and you should let them. You shouldn't have to get over everything and not talk about it. Just let me help you, please," he begged.
          "You did! You drove me!" you pointed out.
         "That's not what I mean, (Y/N). Tell me what's going on. I'm serious."
         "Fine, Sam. You wanna know why I hit a mirror? Because people suck. They put bad things in your head, and over time, you realize that they are true," you said and looked away. "I'm just not enough. I'm not good enough. I'm not pretty enough. I'm not smart enough. I'm not thin enough. I'm just. Not. Enough." A few hot tears fell down your face and you quickly wiped them up.
        You felt his hand lightly grip your chin as he turned you to face him. "First of all, those people don't know what they are talking about. They tell lies," he said as his blue eyes pierced through you. "Second of all, you can't realize over time that lies are true because lies are not. That's what lies are the opposite of truth. Third of all, you are enough and I don't know why you let people tell you differently. You are good enough. You are pretty enough. You are smart enough. You are thin enough, but it wouldn't matter if you weren't 'thin' because you're beautiful. So you. Are. Enough. If anything, 'they' aren't good enough for you. And anyone who can't see that must be blind," he said. His hand dropped down from your chin and you blinked, dumbfounded.
    "Are you sure? Because I just don't think-"
    He leaned over and interrupted you with a kiss. His lips were soft and tender against you and your mouth widened in shock. He pulled away and he looked at you.
     "Yeah, I'm pretty sure."
      He turned the light back off and he pulled out of the parking lot. You rode back in a comfortable silence and you realized that you hadn't actually gone that far. But you raised your eyebrows when Sam didn't turn into you guys' apartment building.
      "Where are we going?" you asked and he kept his eyes on the road.
       "First, I'm taking you to the doctor to get your hand checked out. Then, you're going to stay with me in my apartment tonight. There's probably shattered glass in your apartment and I don't want you to get hurt. I wouldn't be able to tell you just how good enough you truly are if your hand gets infected and you die or of you accidentally cut yourself on the glass and you don't realize it," he said.
      You rolled your eyes but chuckled at him. You grabbed his hand and you pulled it so you could hold it while he drove. You listened as he went on and on about all the things that could possibly happen if you didn't let him take care of you.
      And honestly? You couldn't wait until he did.