This was only supposed to be a one time thing.

Honest.

Corky didn't know why she'd let you stay over all those nights. Doesn't know why you have a toothbrush in her bathroom, or why you have your own drawer in her bureau. It wasn't like she'd planned for this.

For you.

She tells herself it’s temporary. That she’s just waiting for the right moment to cut things off, but that moment never seems to come. It's been months now, and the lines between temporary and permanent are starting to blur. She doesn't know how it happened—how you slipped through the cracks of her carefully constructed walls—but here you are, like you’ve always belonged. Corky hates how comfortable it feels. How natural.

She catches herself watching you sometimes, her dark eyes tracing the curve of your smile, the way you move through her space like it’s yours, like she’s yours. It scares the hell out of her. But no matter how many times she swears she'll pull the plug, pack your things, and send you on your way... she doesn’t.

Instead, she lights another cigarette, leans against the counter, and tells herself she’ll do it tomorrow... honest.