She can't get enough of him.
It's not a relationship – it can't be a relationship. They tried that once, it didn't work out and she's not going to put herself through it again – but she damn well can't stop fucking him into next week.
The circumstances don't even matter.
Good case, bad case, neutral case. Irritating partner, night out, drunk, God, neither of them give a flying fuck. All attachments aside they're damn good in bed together and it's all she needs.
It's everything she needs.
Sometimes, it's disturbing. Sometimes, when she wakes up and his hand is splayed across her stomach, her brain imagines things it is so not allowed to do. It imagines family barbecues and cozy Sunday mornings. But there's also fights and breakups, blindsided cheating and heartbreaking abandonment. And sometimes, as much as she wants it to, the good doesn't outweigh the bad.
So she takes what she can get, and he does too, because they're both too scared to even imagine it being anything else. Because the moment it is, the moment it's real, is the moment that it breaks.
And they both need it too much for that.