Destroying Love

Twenty-seven

I decide to go back to my apartment after who knows how long. It feels like I almost forgot about this place I call home, but as soon as I step in, I realize how cold it is and how empty it seems.

Looking around, I can't find something reassuring, something familiar. It's like I've never seen those plain white walls, the TV on the wall, or the two black couches. I turn my head and notice a gun laying on a table close to the entrance.

Luckily, I don't have a lot of visitors. Or friends, I think just as I grab the gun and hide it somewhere.

The truth is that four years ago, I decided I wanted my own place because I couldn't stand to sleep in my dorm room, where I had too many memories with someone I wanted to forget. Needed to forget. The pain was just unbearable. I couldn't step into that room unless I had to.

Now, that same someone is back from the dead and I somehow succeed to sleep a few times at the North Agency, despite the memories. The agency is my real home, after all. Should I really keep this apartment when I already have a place where I can sleep?

I shake my head, sighing. I thought this apartment would make me feel like I have a normal life, once in a while. But I don't. So what's the point?

Rubbing my eyes, I let out a deep breath. Tea. A cup of tea would be good.

I enter my kitchen and turn on the lights. I take a glance at the clock. 12:29 AM.

I freeze. I hate this feeling of déja vu that I'm having.

Clearing my suddenly dry throat, I start to prepare myself a hot tea. I should just go to bed, but I don't feel the tiredness yet.

I have my cup in hands when I hear something.

Someone is knocking at the door.

I look at the clock. 12:32 AM.

Hesitating, I peek through the hallway. I glance at the place I hid the gun. The knocking continues.

"Fucking shit," I mutter under my breath, dropping my cup on the counter and making my way towards the front door. Who's here at this time of the night?

That's why I take the gun before opening the door. And resist the urge to roll my eyes.

Of course it's him.

Frowning, I cross my arms, the gun still in my hand. "Brandon? What are you doing here?"

Again. It all feels too familiar, all of a sudden.

His gaze drops on my gun and he raises an eyebrow.

"You know you wouldn't stand a chance, even with that gun?" he says with a bit of amusement, a smirk on his lips.

I narrow my eyes. "Wanna bet?"

His eyes lighten with interest, and he leans against the doorway, crossing his arms. He's wearing a black leather jacket and a black long-sleeve shirt underneath. "I'm faster than you."

I scoff. "I'm smarter."

A damn lie. If you were smart, you wouldn't fail all your missions. And you would stay the hell away from the man in front of you.