Savior

The Boy I Run From

I feel like some skittish squirrel; only approachable if at a slow and cautious pace.

I never used to be this fearful of human interaction. I was always the life of the party at the orphanage; cheering people up and making a fool of myself just to lighten up the atmosphere. It wasn’t until Him that I became so closed off and sheltered.

Now, I can barely talk to anyone without practically going into cardiac arrest. God forbid someone form the male species approaches me –I practically keel over from fright. The pope could try to bless me and I would still shrink away from him like he’s a serial killer.

It might be harder than I thought to start over.

I try to build up my confidence and will-power with some pep-talks but it does little to calm my frazzled nerves. So, instead my feet scuffle along the cobblestone as I take in the sights around me.

Cheshire is a beautiful place. The buildings look like something out of Disneyland’s ‘It’s a Small World’ and the grey sky makes it look like the world is about to end. Which is the type of weather I have always loved. Yeah, there has to be something wrong with me.

The farther I get into the city the more crowded it becomes and despite living in New York my whole life, I feel an overwhelming pressure begin to build in my chest. I think being cooped up alone for two weeks and then being thrown into a busy city has me shell shocked.

It doesn’t take long for this pressure to grow and for me to suddenly feel like I am drowning. Multiple shoulders harshly bump into my own and a few people yell at me not to stand in the middle of the street. It’s all too much. My lungs constrict painfully as I gasp for air, my heart hammers against my ribs, and my vision begins to spot. Panic claws at my throat and I know I need to get out of the busy streets.

I clamber away from the throngs of people as fast as my feet will let me; through a random alleyway and into a denser population that has me whipping around into another alley. My legs feel like jelly and I have no idea where I am or how many streets I run through, but I keep going aimlessly.

I finally make it into an almost barren street and seek any kind of refuge I can find. There is a small building just across the cobblestone pavement and I all but sprint towards it.

Unfortunately, my legs still don’t seem to be working and as soon as the glass door is pushed open and the bell chimes, I trip over the doorstep and fall straight to my knees.

“Holy cow!” A high pitch squeal sounds from somewhere in front of me and before I can even look up, I feel hands wrap around my shoulder, “Are you alright?”

I cringe away from the touch and my head snaps up to lock gazes with a girl around my age with soft chocolate skin and matching warm eyes. She looks slightly offended by my refusal at her help and I offer her a shaky smile as an apology.

“Sorry, you just startled me is all,” I take the hand she has offered me and pick myself up just as the door closes behind me, “Thank you, I’m fine.”

The girl laughs lightly and flips her dark braided hair behind her shoulder. She grins at me before leading me further into the shop.

I’m surprised at how small and homey it is. The walls are painted white, but chip slightly, and the wall on my left is replaced by a floor-to-ceiling chalkboard with drawings and quotes covering the black expanse. Tucked into the far right corner is a counter with machines along the wall, one cash register, and pastries displayed in a glass case.

The windows act as the only source of light and cast the room into a dewy sort of glow. There are only a few tables with mismatched chairs lining the chalkboard wall and I notice a few plants and random books laying on top of each one. There is a winding black staircase just beyond the tables that leads to more seating I’m guessing.

The shop looks run-down and old, but I immediately feel comfortable in the warm atmosphere and the fact that no one else is inside but the girl who helped me. She watches me take in the place with a small smile playing on her lips.

“What is this place?”

“Welcome to ‘Livin La Vida Mocha.’”

“Wait, that’s the name?”

The girl chuckles lightly and nods her head as she walks behind the counter, grabs a chipped mug, and begins pouring in some kind of steaming liquid. I fiddle with my fingers unsure of what to do while she finishes pouring the drink and sits at a round table near me.

“Here,” She pushes the drink towards me and nudges her chin for me to take a seat. I do, hesitantly, “It’s on me considering you injured yourself in my shop and saved me from existential boredom.”

I whisper a thank you just as she speaks again, “I’m Eliza by the way. I own this café.”

“Layla. I just moved here.”

“I can tell. Your accent is really thick.”

“Your accent is really thick.” Eliza laughs again and it is a very light and playful sound, it makes a chuckle of my own bubble from my throat and I freeze at the sound.

I can’t even remember the last time I genuinely laughed at something, my mind actually comes up blank. The sound is gravelly and small and my heart stops slightly at the sound. I don’t know why –maybe it’s the café’s atmosphere or Eliza’s harmless vibe- but I find myself relaxed for the first time in a long time.

I’m out of practice in conversing, so I just blow on the steaming mug and take a tentative sip. And I swear my heart stops. My whole body seems to warm as the liquid slides easily down my throat.

Sweet. Warm. Rich. Familiar.

“What is this?”

“It’s called a London Fog,” The name immediately rings a bell in my head and my mind is quick to make a connection like forming a puzzle piece to a paragraph I read years ago, “It’s Earl Grey tea that is-“

“Sweetened and combined with steamed milk and vanilla syrup. Did you know that –despite the name- London Fog actually originates from Vancouver? There are over twenty variations of the tea all over the world and each one is named after that city; Seattle Fog, Victoria Fog, or even Oregon Mist.”

I cut myself off quickly once I realize I was rambling and my cheeks heat up in embarrassment. I’ve had a lot of free time in the past two years. And that means a lot of time to read and memorize random facts. It’s all I really know, now. I look up and meet the eyes of a very impressed and slightly amused Eliza.

“No, I didn’t know that. Are you a tea connoisseur?”

“Err, no. I just have a thing for useless facts that no one cares about.”

I laugh it off lightly, but Eliza continues to appraise me with a concentrated look in her eyes and a crooked smile on her lips. I fidget under her gaze and continue to sip my tea while glancing around the café, but it’s her next words that have me practically falling off my chair.

“Are you looking for a job?”

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Woohoo, quick update! I promise there will be A LOT more Hayla interaction in the next few chapters. 

By the way, doesn't the name Eliza sound familiar, hmmm? *wink wink, nudge nudge* Her and Layla on the side.

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-Mags xx