Dropping off the rental car at the airport location seemed like a sort of finality that couldn't be undone. It was immature of me to run off with my tail between my legs after the confrontation I'd had with Ben, but what else could I have done? He wasn't interested in hearing my rationale, wasn't interested in trying to make things work with me, so I did what I had to do. It cost me several hundred dollars to change the departure date, but if it meant getting out of that town and away from all its problems, then it was worth it. Besides, I had a new job waiting for me when I got back.

Thanks to the hour, security was more or less a breeze, though I still wished it would go faster. I wanted something to distract me, needed less downtime to sit with my thoughts and confront everything that’d gone wrong in the last few days.

After pushing my luggage through the x-ray machine, I stepped into the body scanner. Good thing it only showed the surface of me because otherwise the TSA agent might’ve seen me lit up with activity inside like a Christmas tree and then I’d end up being “randomly chosen” for further screening.

The airport itself was a ghost town, which seemed odd. Granted, I hadn't traveled much on the day after Christmas, but at least in my head it seemed like a logical day for tons of people to travel back home. Their holiday torture was over, and they would no doubt be eager to get back to their daily lives—if only I could’ve said the same.

Everywhere I looked, something reminded me of what I was leaving behind, what I’d given up by deciding to take this job, which was something absolutely necessary from my perspective. There were still decorations lining the terminal, Christmas lights and sparkling streamers in shades of gold, red, and green, all of which reminded me of the time I spent decorating the tree with Ben. Not even the smell of coffee and fried food could take my mind off things as I passed store after store, each of them advertising some sort of Christmas special—a peppermint flavored coffee or cranberry-infested confections.

I shook my head and powered on, determined to get to the gate, though I was there hours earlier than I needed to be. All that mattered to me was getting as far away from Monroe and all the people there as possible without getting on the plane.

Actually, the gate hadn't even been assigned yet—that's how early I was—a fact I realized as I reached the end of the terminal and hadn't yet seen any signs for JFK airport. Defeated, I took a seat at the nearest gate, this one marked for Toronto, Canada, and for a moment I considered booking a ticket and leaving everything behind, starting over in a new country.

Outside, the sun had set, but the tarmac was alive with activity, the ground crew scurrying about all lit up with caution lights and vests. I would've given anything to be in their shoes at that moment, my mind totally preoccupied with the job at hand, rather than full of regret. Thoughts of jet fuel and wrapping up my shift to go home to my family for leftover Christmas dinner would’ve been much more comforting than thoughts of my body against Ben's, his lips against mine—I didn’t want to think about any of that, but it wouldn't stop coming.

None of this was fair. I should never have been laid off, should never have come back to this godforsaken town, should never have allowed myself to spend time alone with Ben when I knew it would cost me. How had I let this happen? More importantly, why had I let it happen? I'd spent months convincing myself I’d moved on, that I was happy in my new life as a writer in my dream city, but all along the only thing I wanted was to come home, to find the comforts I'd given up—and for what? It wasn't like I made much money, in fact I barely made enough to scrape by in New York, and I didn't have many friends. The dating prospects there were laughable at best, especially for somebody like me who was in search of a real connection, regardless of age or status or class.

These last two years spent wandering the city like some sort of lost puppy dog were just that, a search for a place to call my own, a place where I belonged. It wasn't until I came back to Monroe that I realized I'd had it all along and had just been running from it, unable to face it, unable to return to the things I most wanted for so long. But why? It didn't make any sense. If this was what I wanted, at some deep level, then why did I keep running from it? What did I hope to find in a big city that I hadn't been able to find in a tiny one?

The answer was simple: Ben. As much as I cared for him, as deeply as I felt, he terrified me. He was too good to be true, someone so nice and pure that he was inherently out of my league. What did he see in me anyway, now more than then? It wasn't like I’d ever given him reason to think I was anything other than a shallow dream chaser, always looking for the next opportunity to pull myself out of the mire I convinced myself I was trapped in.

I wasn’t trapped any more than he was, I was just in denial. But so was he to a certain extent, so what difference did it make? Even if I hadn't left for New York, if I'd stayed behind and kept spinning my wheels in the mud while I waited for him to figure himself out and acknowledge our relationship to his family and friends, would it have worked out? The answer to that question wasn’t nearly as clear.

So while we had a great time together, and the love and physical connection was real in every instance it occurred, it didn't lead to anything sustainable. That was why I'd left in the first place. Monroe might've been home for me at one point, could’ve possibly been home for me forever, if I’d felt it was something I could live with for the rest of my life, but something was always missing.

Even in my relationship with Ben, then and now, something was missing. We couldn't be together, couldn't be truly happy, until we filled out hole, whatever it was. The thing was though that he didn't seem as interested in filling it as I was; he’d rather gloss over it and continue pretending it didn't exist.

Denial runs deep.

So what was I denying? My own needs? Taking a job and running away from the one person who'd ever made me feel like I was worth something, yet again, made it seem that way. But what choice did I have? There weren’t any opportunities for me in Monroe, there never had been, so what could I do? Sure, I could wait tables or maybe get a job at the shitty local paper doing beat work, but that would leave me just as dead inside as anything else.

But no matter how much I tried to rationalize it, tried to convince myself I’d made the right choice, all I could see was the look on Ben's face just before he'd stepped out the door. He'd looked absolutely defeated, like he'd had his soul sucked out of him.

It wasn't fair, to him or to me, for things to end this way, but how else could they have gone? Maybe it was stupid of me to think this ever could've worked in the first place, maybe we were doomed to repeat history from the very first time we reconnected. It wasn't like either of us had put up much of a fight, had tried to convince the other that this was a stupid idea. I mean, honestly, what was I thinking by agreeing to stay with him? What good did I think would come of that? I should have left town back then, the first time my dad decided to show everyone how much of the dick he really was, and all of this would've been avoided.

"Ladies and gentlemen, passengers on flight 468 to JFK airport, there's been a delay," a voice rang throughout the terminal, stirring me out of my thoughts. While I sat brewing, a gate agent had taken a podium somewhere. I glanced at my phone, pulling up the email I’d received with the flight information after I'd made changes to my departure date, and saw that I'd been assigned to gate A5. A delay was the last thing I needed.

I stormed down the terminal, making liberal use of the moving sidewalks, until I got to get A5. A small crowd of people had already started to gather in anticipation of the flight. The gate agent was tapping away at the keyboard, and sure enough, the screen hanging behind her reflected the delay. A short delay would've been one thing, but they were projecting two hours. What the hell happened?

"Excuse me," I said to the gate agent when I got to the counter, flinging my arms up on it. She didn't look up, her blonde hair bouncing in rhythm with her keystrokes.

"Can I help you?"

"What's going on with the flight to New York? Why’s it so delayed?" I asked, drumming my fingers on the counter. She glanced up long enough to look at my fingers, rolled her eyes, and went back to typing.

"There was a delay getting the plane out of New York. You know, winter weather in New York doesn't tend to be the best. It may end up being longer than that, we aren't sure yet. All we know is that the plane hasn't even left the ground at JFK," she said.

"Are there any other flights? Could you move me?" I asked, desperate to get out of Detroit. Though it was far enough away from home that there was no real chance anyone would come after me, it wasn't far enough. I needed to be back in the city, back in my tiny depressing apartment to decompress and try to forget that any of this happened—all while preparing for the new job I'd be starting in a matter of days.

"I'm sorry, this is the last one for the evening," she said. "If you'd like, I can try to route you through another destination, but that's probably going to be just as dicey," she continued. I appreciated the effort, but agreed with her. It wouldn't do me any good to try and airport hop now, not this late in the evening.

"That's okay, thanks for the offer," I said and sloughed off the counter to the rows of seats in front of the gate. It took a few moments to find a seat that was somewhat isolated, but I needed it because there wasn't any way I was going to be able to hold back my feelings.

Luckily, I found one in the corner of the airport, and no one else was sitting around, so I fell into the seat, turned toward the window, and covered my face with my hands. At this point, I didn't care if anyone saw me crying—it certainly wouldn't be the first or last person the airport crew would see crying after Christmas. Keeping it quiet wasn't as easy as I thought it would be though, and in a matter of minutes a hand found my shoulder. I didn't immediately respond because I didn't want to encourage whoever it was trying to talk to me, but when they squeezed my shoulder I couldn't ignore them any longer.

"Everything okay, sweetie?" I lowered my hand and turned to find the gate agent standing in front of me.

"It's been better, to say the least," I said and her bottom lip stuck out.

"I'm sorry, the holidays really do have a way of kicking us when we’re down, don't they?" she asked, sitting down beside me.

"Yeah, they really do," I agreed.

"Can I bring you anything? Maybe a pop or something?" Why was she being so nice to me? Just a few seconds ago she didn't have the time a day for me, but now she had her hand on my shoulder like a mom to their child.

"A stiff drink would be nice, but I don't think you have any of those around," I answered and she laughed, loud and high-pitched, filling the terminal.

"Sadly, no, but if we did I would definitely join you," she said. "I'll leave you be, just let me know if you need anything. We’re gonna be here for a while," she continued, patting me on the shoulder one last time before she stood and left. What was another few hours when I’d been here for days already?

Now that I'd mentioned it, though, a drink did sound good, so I gathered up my things and walked back up the terminal toward the food court. It wasn't late enough that most things were closed, least of all the bars, so I slipped into one that looked relatively quiet. The bar featured an ultra-modern design but there was literally no one sitting there. The bartender walked over almost as soon as I sat down.

"Hey there, welcome to Crave. Can I get you something to drink?" he asked. I was too busy looking at the menu of drinks to notice what he looked like but when I looked up my breath caught in my chest. His salt-and-pepper hair was styled just like Ben's, haphazard but stylishly so, and it might've been a trick of the light but he looked like Ben too. Not exactly the kind of thing I wanted to see right now.

"Sir?" The bartender asked, resting his hands on his hips and jolting me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah, uh, I'll take a gin and tonic, and go easy on the tonic," I said. He smirked at me and nodded.

"Coming right up." As he turned away and started making the drink, my eyes followed his every movement, convinced that at any moment he would turn around and Ben would be standing in his place. Maybe part of me wanted Ben to come rushing here, to say he was sorry, but that was almost as absurd as my idea to come home for Christmas.

Though as the guy made my drink, it became glaringly obvious that he was far more refined and graceful than Ben, which at least put my nerves at ease. He returned a few moments later with the drink, which had run over the top a bit, and set it down on the table in front of me. Without hesitation, I picked it up and took a deep swig of it. It was almost entirely gin, exactly like I wanted. Maybe this guy wasn’t so bad.

"Taste good?" he asked, still smirking.

"Perfect," I said, raising the glass to him. As if he'd read my mind, he left me alone while I sipped at the drink. Being alone was exactly what I wanted, but now that I was, I realized how bad of an idea it might’ve been. Was I being stupid? Childish? Both? The adult thing to do would have been to drive back into town and try to fix things, or at least that's what I thought the adult thing to do would be. But I couldn't face Ben, couldn't bear to be near him while also being unable to touch him.

As much as it sucked, the only choice I had was to stay the course, get on the plane and go back to New York with my tail between my legs. It was over, all of it, and that thought helped me down the rest of my drink, so I threw a $20 bill on the table and walked back to the gate.