Savior

The Girl that Forgives

Layla would hate it too, no doubt.

Carrying heavy furniture to the elevator and down a hallway sure does make for a nice distraction, though.

By the time I make it back up to Layla's flat I am covered in a thin layer of sweat and completely cooled down. She stands in front of her door in a Ramones tee and ratty jeans –thankfully- fidgeting and immediately making a move to help me.

"No, no. I've got it."

"Oh, don't be a chauvinist. I can handle it." She scolds, crossing her arms and pouting and I have to restrain myself from pinching her dimpled cheeks.

"I'm sure you can, Layla, but the polite thing for me to do is move it myself. I can handle it."

I can see that she is about to argue, but thankfully bites her tongue and moves over so I can wheel the heavy couch into the doorway. Unfortunately, the deep green sofa is a bit too wide to fit into the small doorway.

I hesitantly glance up towards Layla after three failed attempts at maneuvering it myself. She is standing idly by, a smug smile on her lips and casually picking at her nails.

"Layla?"

"Hmm," Her voice is full of mock curiosity and the condescending way she says the next words should make me annoyed, but only makes a stupid grin pull at my lips, "Oh, could you possibly, I don't know, need some help? I thought you could handle it?"

I shake my head at her, rolling my eyes, and causing her to let out a short bark of laughter before crouching down on the other side of the couch and beginning to lift. My eyes flit between pivoting the couch and making sure that Layla doesn't hurt herself.

However, she proves to be much stronger than expected and we manage to make it through, but not without one more sarcastic remark from Red.

"Wow, can you believe how easy that was with two people?"

I just ignore her as I drag in the much lighter mahogany coffee table. Even though all the furniture is inside, I leave her apartment door open just like the last time I was over here. And although she never asked, I can see her shoulders slump in relief.

We're silent as we maneuver the furniture into the appropriate places –the couch facing the entryway since she has no TV and the table placed right in front. Even with the new additions, her flat is depressingly barren.

The sight makes my stomach drop slightly.

For some reason, the lack of personal affects and furniture makes me quite anxious. The lack of belongings would make it quite easy for Layla to leave anytime she deemed fit. The thought seems way too plausible for my liking and I suddenly want to fill the apartment with the entire store's furniture.

"I haven't seen you at the café recently."

Layla's tentative voice pulls my from my panicking mind and I watch as she sits on the far end of the suede couch. I hesitantly take a seat on the other side and even though there is a foot of space between us, she still manages to tense slightly.

And even though it shouldn't, the action makes my heart hurt.

"Yeah, Eliza and I had a little spat the other day."

"What did you do?" She asks jokingly, and I let out a small laugh before averting my eyes to a loose thread on the couch. There is no way I'm about to tell her it was over her.

I meet her inquisitive gaze with a humorous one, "I placed M&Ms and Skittles into the same bowl and gave them to her."

"There is a special place in hell for people like you."