The Forbidden Fruit

Yellow Roses

A/N: Hey guys! Holy cow, two chapters in a day?? Yeah, it's because I absolutely love this story.

Make sure you comment, vote, and follow for more updates! I absolutely love seeing your guys' comments pop up in my email/notifications. The support so far has been AWESOME and I hope I can break out a couple more chapters tonight and tomorrow! Expect another chapter really soon!

Love you guys to pieces!
xo Kitty

........

I woke up freezing with one of the biggest headaches of my life. My vision was kind of blurry and it was kind of dark where I was, so it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to my surroundings.

I was in a dark, single-room cell, reposing on a cot. I shivered, trying to massage away my headache as I struggled to remember how I'd gotten there. Why didn't I have any blankets? Where was my apartment?

I leaned over the side of the cot and noted stupidly that a thick blanket was sprawled across the floor of the cell, which I must have kicked off in my sleep. It was about late afternoon, judging by the light streaming in through a tiny frosted window.

I pulled the blanket around my shoulders and sat upright kind of blearily, blinking a few times, half sleepily and half painfully. I felt like my brain was filled with cotton. Frustratingly, I couldn't remember that much about how I'd gotten here. I remembered the club and Finn—where was Finn? I remembered stumbling around sometime in the morning and I remembered a girl? Blond hair? No, brown. A warm feeling filled my chest though I couldn't quite place why.

The sound of approaching footsteps echoed in my ears, shaking me back to reality. A figure dressed in a policeman's uniform paused outside my cell, clucking his tongue. The man's salt and pepper hair gleamed a little in the dusty light and I grinned weakly.

"Hayden Black. I never in a million years thought I'd have to pick you up," said the officer, his voice dripping with disappointment.

"Hi, Uncle Will," I groaned, dropping my head into my hands. Uncle Will pulled a set of keys from his pockets, and the jangling sounds were almost painful to hear.

"Do you remember what happened?" he asked, and I peered up at him through my fingers. His familiar clean-shaven face and warm brown eyes bored into me like some kind of burning memory.

"Barely," I admitted, and he opened the cell door with a creak of its metal hinges. He stepped in and leaned against the bars.

"You look terrible."

"Thanks."

He laughed, tucking the keys back into his pocket, and then he sighed heavily.

"You were found passed out drunk in the middle of the walkway of Central Park," my uncle said, and I slowly felt my stomach dropping as I pieced together what I could remember. "We got a call from a frazzled young lady who said you picked her up and just ran." I felt my face flame red hot from embarrassment and shame as he finished telling me what had happened.

"Oh, my God," I moaned into my palms. "No. I didn't. I did." The girl's face flashed through my mind, and I blushed harder, pushing my face into my hands again. I peeked up at him, my heart racing. "I'm not in jail, am I? Oh, my God, no..."

My uncle sighed again, and I wrapped the blanket tighter around my shoulders.

"No, you're not going to jail," he said with a small smile. "It took a lot of convincing from me, but they only let you off with a fine—which I paid..."