Whitewashed

Bananas and Apples

Chapter 2: Bananas and Apples

After landing flat on my ass, having tried to drop down using Tommo’s strategy, I decide to never ever, EVER let my feet leave the ground again- EVER.

Heaving myself erect despite my shaky knees, my breath coming in gasps, I somehow manage the short walk back to Duke’s, the bar where I work.

Smart choices, right?

Trina, my coworker who probably has a history of smoking, spots me the instant I walk back through the doorway. She doesn’t say anything, but I can tell she is curious. However, I’m not going to say anything if she isn’t going to ask.

I really just want to go home.

Heading into the back room and getting my purse, thankful to have both my phone and pepper spray again, I hail a cap and take the relatively long drive home to uptown Doublet, New York.

Once I reach the apartment building, I input the security code and walk inside.

Honestly, I am tired, much more so than I should be.

Then again, I think my exhaustion is also perfectly excusable. Who else has to work a six hour shift, climb a fire escape, learn they’ve just joined a gang, and then get back down all in one day?

My feet seem to carry themselves towards the elevator, but I am stopped by a familiar voice.

“Brooke!”

I turn around to find Liam standing in the front doorway, arms full of grocery bags.

“Oh, good evening,” I try to smile, but am not sure if I succeed.

Nevertheless, my body snaps to full alert. This isn’t just Liam Payne, this is POLICE DETECTIVE Liam Payne who I also happen to be dating.

A police detective dating a girl who just joined a street gang?

You do the math.

But I digress.

In the end, despite my exhaustion, Liam’s company is worth being tired for.

“Let me help you with those,” I hike my purse strap higher on my shoulder and rush forward, taking a couple of the paper bags. One of them holds some fruits, bananas and apples to be precise.

I have to giggle a little bit at that, remembering a conversation we had on a lunch date.

“What?” Liam smiles at me as we start towards the stairs, my companion’s preferred way up, his shoes making the ever so familiar noise between a “clunk” or a “plop,” like a “clopt.”

“Nothing,” I look down at my feet, my face undoubtedly turning a bright shade of red.

How is it possible that this man had chosen me? ME of all people? I’ll admit that I’m not necessarily ugly or particularly any other kind of unattractive quality, but I am not very special in any way.

I am what you would imagine the stereotypical average-but-in-reality-not-so-average girl might be.

On the other hand, here is this stunning piece of biological creation, a successful, handsome man at the young age of twenty two.

We have been friends for a while, neighbors for even longer. After my parents died three years ago, when I was nineteen, he helped take care of me. Our relationship beyond friendship is much more recent though. Barely two weeks ago we had our first actual dinner DATE. A little more than half that time period later, we went to lunch and we kissed.

Since our work schedules kind of clash as of recently, we barely see each other for more than an hour or so per every couple of days.

These few moments we share are dear to my heart, but right now I feel like I might as well be under an interrogation light.