B.K. Borison

And isn’t it silly, to love the way someone’s things look like next to yours? Little bits and pieces of a life lived in parallel

Just because you let yourself love someone, doesn't mean they’re going to leave.”

He twists it lightly and tugs once. “I know you can take care of yourself. You’ve been doing that as long as I’ve known you. But let me hold your hand while you do it, okay?”

“Continue. Listen. You’ll find your way.”

Two damn nights together and I officially don’t even recognize myself.

“I don’t usually get distracted on work trips,” she explains.

Neither do I. I don’t usually get distracted at all.

It turns out I don’t mind tequila so much when I taste it on her.

“No. Turns out you’re a fine distraction, Beck. The best kind, really.”

The only sign that she was here at all is a half-empty glass of water on the dresser—a crumpled receipt on the desk.

I collapse face-first into my pillow.

This, at least, is a familiar feeling. Waking up alone.

“Stupid,” I tell myself. I sigh and dig the heel of my palm into my forehead.

And more than that, I’m not in the habit of running from my problems. Beckett was a choice I made. A choice I have zero regrets about, despite the memories of that night sticking to me like glue. I was telling him the truth when I told him he made a fine distraction. For once, I was blissfully out of my head. I laughed. I had fun.

I felt like myself.