Savior

The Boy with Groceries

I would like to personally thank whoever had the genius idea of inventing the elevator.

Unfortunately, Elisha Otis died in 1861, so that would prove to be difficult. Regardless, if it weren’t for the elevator I think I would actually literally die walking up three flights of stairs to and from my apartment every day.

And today was no exception, because now, I am also carrying a ridiculous amount of groceries in my small arms.

That’s right, I –Layla Scott- have officially made my first shopping trip since moving to Cheshire. Granted, it has been a full month and I was just now doing it, but hey, progress is progress.

The trip itself was a… mild success. It took me a lot longer than necessary because every time I turned down an aisle where there was just one man there and no one else, I had to wait until he left or a woman showed up. I also had to wait in a longer line in order to use the self-checkout and had a slight panic when an old man tapped my shoulder to tell me I had dropped my bread.

This fear of mine towards the opposite gender or really any socialization in general had become quite bothersome, but I can only hope that I move beyond it. I know it’s unfair to assume that everyone is out to get me, but every time I’m around a male or too many people my mind goes into panic mode and I assume the worst.

Because He looked like a normal and unassuming, charming man. And He turned out to be my worst nightmare. So, who can really tell between the bad and the good?

Fortunately though, my job at the café has been helping me improve my social anxiety bit by bit every day. Thankfully the small shop isn’t very popular so I am not always bombarded with customers. Couples or tourists mainly come in every now and then and I am able to serve them without keeling over in fright. The only regulars were Eliza’s boyfriend –Neil I think- and his friend Harry.

Harry.

Just the thought of him has my expression turning into a frown as I press the button in the elevator for my floor and adjust the paper bags in my hands.

He has been coming to the café everyday around nine and stays for hours just sitting at the table in the corner. Sometimes he’s just staring blankly at the wall or sketching in his little leather notebook, but other times I catch him watching me. Not leeringly or judgmentally, but more like he’s simply observing me. Inquisitive, awe-struck, like he is trying to memorize my face or the way I pour coffee or clean the canisters.

Sometimes his scrutiny bothers me, but –surprisingly- I don’t really mind it. Sure, it does make me slightly uncomfortable, but I know he doesn’t mean any harm. When men usually stare at me I find myself cowering away or shivering from their gaze.

Harry’s piercing stare sends shivers down my spine for an entirely different reason, but I choose to ignore it.

“Hey Layla!”

Speak of the devil.

The abrupt and unexpected volume of his voice calling my name causes me to jump in fright with a startled squeal, simultaneously dropping my groceries on the floor right outside my door. I grumble profanities under my breath as I bend down to pick up my fallen items, my heart still beating erratically.

Despite my obvious attempts at ignoring him I hear his boots scuffle against the carpet towards me until the worn out leather appears in front of me. He picks up a few apples that rolled too far for me to reach and places them in a bag.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, let me help.”

“No, that’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”