Savior

The Girl with the Sketch

"Gemma, I really can't talk right now. I'm busy."

Despite my protests, she continues to ramble on about some guy that came into the shop and started to hit on her. On any other day I would be fascinated, really, truly fascinated.

But, today is not that day.

I'm scurrying around this apartment –setting up cards, banners, and snacks- all the while trying to not let my heart sink down to my feet at the desolation; the empty feeling this place gives me.

There is more furniture here than the last time I was over; small tables next to the suede couch I helped her move, a television stand –minus the telly-, and table lamps to brighten up the room.

Yet, still, there are no personal affects. No pictures, no paintings, not even any trinkets or keepsakes.

Empty. Cold. Heart-breaking.

Heartbreaking because Layla has no pictures or memories to display and heartbreaking because this makes it easier for her to leave. Makes this apartment seem interchangeable.

A thought that nearly makes me dizzy with fear.

As Gemma continues to ramble on, I silently make a vow to fill this apartment one day. Not only with furniture, but also with paintings and pictures and memories that Layla could never leave behind. With memories she never had, but always deserved.

"Speaking of romantic interests... When are you ever gonna shag that redheaded bird you're always talking about?"

I nearly choke on air, eyes bulging out of my sockets, and face turning red as if Layla could hear her through the phone.

"What –what are you... You can't just... I don't want to shag her... I mean I do, of course I do, but that's not what I – that's not-"

"What are you doing in my apartment?"

The light and breathy voice that I would recognize in a crowd of hundreds sends shivers down my spine and makes me freeze instantaneously. The flush on my cheeks spreads to the tips of my ears and I swivel on the spot to face her –hoping she didn't catch the end of that conversation.

Layla is standing in her doorway dressed in the same striped shirt and ripped jeans she was wearing the day she went to the hospital, a bandage wrapped around her head, with furrowed brows, and a hand lingering on the doorknob.

And I just really want to kiss her.

But, instead, I chew on my lip, hanging up the phone and whistling lowly –our signal I would've sounded earlier had I not fallen victim to my sister's ramblings and vulgar questions.

Eliza and Niall come stumbling out of the kitchen, eyes widening when they see Layla already standing there.

"Surprise!"

I can't help but chuckle at the failed attempt to surprise her and Layla's confusion slowly eases, a smile taking it's place. Her light eyes scan the banner that welcomes her home and all of the get well cards on her coffee table and I swear her eyes start to tear up.

"You guys," She laughs, the biggest smile I've seen on her since she came here spreading across her cheeks, dimples on full display, "You didn't have to do this for me."

Eliza pulls her into a swift hug, making Layla hesitate for only a second before wrapping her arms around her loosely.

"Of course we did. You're our friend."

If her eyes weren't watering before they sure are now.

Layla pulls away first, moving to greet Niall with a simple smile and arm graze before saddling up to me. She hesitates, and I can see something flash through her eyes before she offers me tight-lipped smile.