In the Long Run

by Haley Cass

she did always tie her hair up in a bun when she was getting down to work on something, because she felt like it got in the way when she was trying to think.

That man was barking up the wrong, gay tree.

“What are you doing?” She muttered, leaning to the side. “Mentally shaking your hand.” “Oh, my good god.”

“Like, in a way, my biological mom and I were the practice family that my dad had on accident before he got the perfect family. And I never fit into that perfect life.” The laugh that worked out of her throat felt like gravel. Humorless, but achingly present.

Because she wanted to reach out; she wanted the comfort of touch as she so often did. She wanted, she thought dimly, that she not only wanted touch but she wanted Brooke’s touch. Brooke was steady and stable and secure, and she wanted that right now. She craved it, and that realization slammed into her with a startling intensity.

The simple touch made Brooke feel like lightning struck her, and she inhaled sharply at it.