Humming softly to myself, I allowed my feet to skip along the pavement, fingers brushing against walls which wore a coat of vine leaves and dry, crispy flowers.
It was around midnight, give or take. I'd managed to slip out of the family event I had been attending, and found myself suddenly in a world of my own, as I often did.
I walked until I found a row of shops, just small ones, such as little convenient shops and cheap coffee places. I wasn't sure how I ended up here, so far from where I once was, but as I turned another corner, I saw something, or someone, who caught my eye.
From behind the corner of a brick wall, I peered; a tall man, broad, with shaggy brown curls was walking, almost angrily, towards one of the convenient shops I had mentioned.
Distracted, I began to walk further along the pave, counting each tile as I walked, still humming to myself. It was no song in particular, just a tune.
As I did so, with my eyes still glued to the ground below me, ensuring that I missed any cracks, I felt a big thud.
"Fucking watch it!" a man yells. Startled, I look up.
"Oh, sorry." I say, looking up at the tall man. It was the man I had just seen go inside of the store.
The man took a large swig of water, tipping his head back as he did so. He must have been taking pills, of some kind.
"Can I help you?" he asks in a low, gravelly voice. I took a step back from him.
"Your eye, it's black." I point out, studying his sharp features.
His jawline was tight and sat at an almost-perfect right angle. His eyes were hooded and angry-looking, and his lips were a deep shade of pink, with a cut going through the bottom lip.
"I know." he huffs, rolling his eyes. I shrug, turning away from the man.
As I began to walk away, I heard him call out.
"Oi!" he calls. I froze.
His footsteps were loud behind me as he approached me. I turned around, feeling fearful suddenly of what this man wanted with me. I had only been curious of his battered face and his large frame, I hadn't meant to bother him.
"What's a girl like you doing walking around these streets past midnight? Don't you know how dangerous that is?" he says, looking down at me with a look that felt much like one my father had been giving me all night; one of belittlement.
I shrugged, "I think it's as safe as you make it."
"Are you serious?" he says, his voice growing angrier. He had a northern accent, of some sort.
I shrugged again.
"I ditched my family. They were annoying me." I say.
"Where were they?" he asks, his anger turning into a voice of more, perhaps, concern.
"At an event. I've been walking for an hour, give or take." I say, looking at his chest, since that was closer to my eyes than his own.
"Well, as long as you're aware that it's not safe around here," he mumbles, sighing.
"I don't mind." I say, turning back around to begin walking away again.
I took a few steps, before I heard his catch up with my own again. I smiled softly to myself.
"Are you the reason that it's not safe?" I say, still looking at the ground as I spoke, never at him.
"No," he scoffs. "People like that are." he says, pointing to a couple of drunk men a few feet ahead.
"They're pussies." I say, squinting to see the two men more clearly.
"And you know that, how?" he asks.
"Just do." I shrug.
"What's your name?" he asks.
"I don't have one." I say, stopping in my tracks and looking up at him. "What's yours?" I ask, poking his stomach. He backed up one step.
"I don't have one." he says.
"That's a shame," I sigh. "Mine is Zahara." I say.
"I'm Harry." he says. "That's a very unusual name, Zahara."
"No, it's Arabian." I say. "My dad is Arab."
"Oh, it's still a cool name, though." he shrugs.
"Harry isn't." I admit.
"No, it's not." he chuckles, shaking his head. I bite back a smile.
"Why is your face busted?" I ask. "Did you get into a fight?"
"I'm a boxer." he nods.
"Oh, I see." I nod. "Pleasure or profession?" I ask, starting to walk again. He followed beside me.
"Both." he says.
"Did you win?" I ask.
"I did." he says.
It fell silent between us for some moments.
"What do you do, Zahara?" he asks.
"I'm a dancer." I say.
"What sort?" he asks, sounding intrigued.
"The stripping kind," I say, turning to him and smiling slightly. He raised his brows, as if to contemplate.
"That's cool." he says.
"May as well use the dance degree," I say.
"Degree? How old are you?" he asks.
"I'm twenty-one." I say. "How old are you?"
"I'm twenty-six," he says. My eyes widen.
"Old." I say.
"Wow," he chuckles. "Thanks so much."
"That accent, what is it?" I ask, still walking forwards.
"Cheshire." he says.
"Why are you in London?"
"You're quite nosy, has anybody ever told you that, Zahara?"
"Yep. Answer the question."
"For work," he chuckles. "Have you always lived here?"
"I have. My dad moved here before I was born." I say.
"Oh, cool."
It fell silent again.
"Where are we going?" Harry asks, once again being the one to break the silence.
"Around." I shrug.
"If I had left you to it, you'd be doing this alone?"
"I would."
"What was the family thing you were escaping?" he asks, looking at me from the corner of his eye.
"A wedding."
"A wedding? Why did you want to escape that?" he asks, sounding shocked.
"I dislike them," I sigh.
"Your family or weddings?"
"A bit of both." I smile. "It was my sisters wedding. Her husbands a dickhead."
"Oh, I'm sorry." Harry says. "Why's he a dickhead?"
"He hits on me whenever he sees me," I mumble, kicking some gravel as I walked.
"Does your sister know?"
"No." I say.
"Why haven't you told her?"
"I don't want to upset her. She's fickle."
"You should tell her," Harry says.
"Can't. She'd blame me."
"She'll find out, eventually."
"Maybe." I say.
We continued to walk for a while more, silence sitting between us. I didn't mind, though. I just kept watching the pavement, and how big his strides were compared to my own.
"Do you fight to feel something?" I ask, out of the blue. Harry seemed taken aback by the question.
"I do it because I'm good at it." he says. "Like dance, for you. It's my hobby. Are you not afraid of men because you dance for them?"
"No, I'm not afraid of them because I know that they're pussies."
"Even me?"
"Especially you." I tease. "Why are you walking with me? Safety?"
"No," he says. "I don't know." he sighs loudly.
"Home problems?"
"I live alone."
"Oh?" I say. "No pets? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?"
"Nope." he says. "Miserable, I know."
"It's not miserable."
"Do you live alone?"
"I live with my best friend, Lauren."
"Oh, that's nice. Nearby?"
"Nope."
"Where?"
"Well, where are we right now?"
"Chelsea." he says.
"We are?"
"Yeah,"
"I'm in Soho."
"That isn't so far," Harry says.
"It isn't around the corner, though." I shrug.
"I guess you're right," Harry says.
"I often am," I chuckle.
For the third time, it fell quiet.
We were surrounded by tall buildings, mainly flats. They were all old, almost Parisian style buildings. It must have cost a bomb to live in this area, alone.
"I usually work on Saturday nights," I say. "But I got the night off for the wedding."
"Do you enjoy work?"
"I do."
"I'd ask you to show me some dance moves, but I think it'd be slightly inappropriate." Harry says. His voice seemed to always be deadpan. I couldn't tell if this was his humour, or if he was just a little bit awkward.
Without speaking, I ran ahead to a street lamp. I held onto it, spinning myself around it, before kicking a leg all the way up.
"Impressive," he laughs, clapping. "Encore,"
"A lady never encores," I say, skipping back towards him.
"No? How come?"
"Leaves them wanting more," I wink, my voice a whisper.
We walked further on still, and had probably done so for over half an hour by now. My phone had buzzed a few times in my purse, but I ignored it.
"Who keeps calling?" Harry asks, after the sixth buzz.
"Oh, probably my mum. Sister. Dad. Aunt. All of them." I chuckle, sighing.
"Maybe you should go back,"
"No."
"Okay," he nods.
"Maybe you should."
"I don't know why," he says slowly. "But I don't want to."
"Why?"
"I just don't- I don't think I can be at home right now." he says carefully. I understood that he didn't want to talk about it.
"Okay. But just so you know, sometimes, strangers are easier to talk to. Just saying."
"I just feel a bit shitty the second I'm alone, you know?" he says, chuckling lightly at an attempt to not sound too depressing. "It's just a phase,"
"I know the feeling,"
"It sucks."
"How long have you felt that way?"
"A while."
"Is there a reason?"
"Not that I'm aware of," he says, sighing. "This is weird, sorry. I don't know you-"
"I don't mind."
"Okay." he says. "Come on, let's turn around."
"Why?" I ask, confused.
"Just trust me,"
"Okay." I say.
Harry turned around, so I followed. He began to walk ahead, taking his large strides through the streets.
We walked until we were met with an alleyway. I suddenly felt a pang of nerves fill my body.
"I- uh, why?" I stutter, looking down at the dark alley.
"Follow me," he says, walking ahead of me and down the dark alley.
I wasn't naive, I knew men could be dangerous. I knew some were pussies but I knew that some were dangerous. But, the part of me that had wanted nothing more than to escape tonight, didn't even care if the outcome was bad. Besides, by nature, I was too curious to not follow him.
My feet followed behind his, through the dark alley. There were leaves beneath us, crunching with each and every step taken.
When we got to the end of the alley, my heart began to race, the nerves settling in. But then, Harry pushed his body against something, and then, he walked further.
Harry looked behind to check that I was still there, and then signalled for me to continue.
As my eyes adjusted, I saw that we were in a garden of sorts.
Harry continued to walk, until he found a large tree. He sat beneath it, and patted the ground for me to sit with him.
So, I did.
I sat down on the prickly floor, feeling the leaves scratch my bare legs.
"This, Zahara, is the best place to come when you feel bad." Harry says quietly.
"Where is it?" I ask, my voice small.
"Just some garden behind flats. You can only come at night, when nobody can see." he whispers.
"Oh," I nod.
"It's good to be in nature. It's hard to find in London." he chuckles softly.
"It isn't too easy to come by," I admit.
It fell silent for a few moments, as we both sat and listened to crickets in the still summer night.
"I'm sorry you feel bad sometimes." I say softly.
"Just human." he says.
"Not every human gets so sad that they can't go home,"
"I dunno," he sighs.
"What's up?" I ask carefully.
I knew that we were strangers. I knew that. But, something about him felt oddly calming, familiar, easy. And I could tell that he was hurting. I could tell, because I was, too.
"It's just-" he begins, but cuts himself off before speaking again. "For the longest time, I've felt as though I'm drowning."
"I know exactly how you feel."