Savior

The Boy at the Market

*Okay, okay. This is an early update so please read the last chapter, 'The Girl with he Mask' or you will be very confused. My heart is pounding so hard I am so nervous to post this... ALL OF YOU NEED TO DO SOME BREATHING EXERCISES OR MAYBE SOME YOGA BEFORE YOU READ THIS.*

I ran away when I was twelve.

It was just two weeks after I had been moved to a new foster family in Queens. The parents, who were cold and benefited from tax breaks by taking in children- already had four other adoptees and had to ration out food based on how many chores each child completed successfully.

It only took a week for me to pass out from lack of nutrition.

Because all the other kids had a system to split up the chores in order to each get equal serving.

There was no room for me, the outsider. So, I went hungry.

At the end of my second week the family took a trip down to central park so that the parents could perform –the mother playing guitar and the father singing- to earn some extra cash. That the children wouldn't see a dime of, of course.

So, when they had already begun their performance I took the opportunity and slipped away through the crowd, disappearing. I managed to steal a hot dog from a street vendor without them watching and nearly inhaled it and managed to befriend a girl about my age that shared her lunch with me.

But, Central Park was much bigger and more elaborate than I anticipated and I ended up wandering around for hours lost. I didn't know where I was going or what I was to do next, but I kept going.

It was only when the sun began to set and the chill settled in that I decided to give up. Isn't it better to starve with a roof over my head than to starve in the streets? I spent the next hour trying to retrace my steps and eventually came across where I had left my foster family.

But, they were all gone.

Somehow, I have that same panicky, sick feeling in my gut as I did that day when I ran from home. Not because I don't know what to do next, but because I do.

I use the opportunity of a large horde running between Harry and I to disappear, only momentarily, but knowing that I can't confront her with him standing there –listening to every word.

My feet carry me as quickly as possible back to the small red tent, back to the woman's words.

I just need to hear them again, I just need her to clarify exactly what, who, and when she meant without Harry here. I need to know. I have to.


But as I turn the corner and skid to a stop in front of the tent, the woman is nowhere to be found. Her table and chair still sit there, but she is nowhere around and no one seems perturbed.

Like, she was never there at all.

My eyes do a desperate scan of the surroundings, but it's just more food vendors and craft vendors and the families at each one and no sign of the blonde woman with the long dress and foreboding words.

I wanted her to take them back, to rebuke them. I wanted her to slip up and say something about Him that couldn't be true so that I would know her words were indeed just a gimmick. The worst kinds of thoughts begin to scroll through my mind on instinct.

Man from a foreign land.

What else could it mean and how in the world could she know? Is he here now? Did he pay her to say those things to me?

It feels as if my chest is caving in: the panic heavy and quick in my heart at the thought. Oh god. What if he's already found me? If he's already here?

I'm safe. He couldn't find me, it's not possible. I have covered every possible trace. I'm safe.

The words do little to quell the panic rising in my chest, but replaying them over and over again seem to calm me enough to where I can breathe properly.

And all I really want, all I really need, what I know will calm me down -is Harry.

Faster than my race to the woman's tent, I am off to race back to Harry. I dodge kids on their skateboards and women not paying attention as they type on their phone. I almost fall twice, but I get up instantly each time in order to get to harry.

I need him.

But, when I make it back to the spot I left him at, he is nowhere to be found.

I turn in circles trying to spot his curly head above the crowd to no avail. He is nowhere to be seen and my breathing goes heavy, panic returning instantly like an old friend. My mind instantly wants to go to a dark place -that he left me just like that foster family did.

But, I know better. And I know he would never leave me.

"I can't find my mummy."

I nearly choke on my panic from the small voice and tug on my dress. I whip around and am faced with a girl around five, maybe six with hair curler than Harry's and skin much darker than my own. Tears well up in her cocoa eyes and she is clutching a stuffed frog tightly to her chest.

"You can't find your mom?"

She nods her head violently, eyes scanning the crowd and commotion in fear and I know that she is just as afraid as I am to be lost and alone in this chaos of strangers.

"What's your name?" I crouch down to her height, my heart rate slowing rapidly and my own distress swallowed now that I have a companion - as little as she may be.

"Ariyah."

"That is such a pretty name. It's very nice to meet you, Ariyah. My name is Layla and I promise we are going to find you mom. So, wipe those tears from your pretty face, okay?"

She gulps down her tears, wiping them from her round cheeks and swiping underneath her upturned nose. Slowly, a brave smile tilts the corners of her lips and my hearts tugs.

I take her hand in mine so I don't lose her and she tells me, as best as she can, where she last saw her mother.

Maybe I'm not the best person to help her since I've never been here, but I need something to distract me from my growing panic at losing Harry and the woman's words that are still playing on repeat in the back of my mind.

And just maybe, I will find Harry while searching for her mother.

We walk together all the way to the back of the market where the crowd thins out and the vendors are playing on their phones instead of trying to entice the crowd into buying their trinkets.

But, still, the mother and Harry are still lost to us.

"She was right here, but I dropped Sir Ribbit and went back to get him and she was gone." Ariyah can barely speak through her tears and I am quick to stop, crouch down on my knees, and pull her into my arms.

"What did I say about crying? We will find her, okay? Why don't we go-"

"Ariyah! Ariyah!" Both the little one and I turn to see a woman with skin just as chocolaty as hers and hair just as wild running towards us.

Ariyah slips from my arms and into the woman's, "Mummy!"

The mother swoops up Ariyah into her arms, tears of relief slipping down her cheeks as she kisses all over her daughter's face. The sight makes my chest ache -the picture one I have envied my entire life, one I never had.

Awkwardly, I straighten myself, dusting off my new dress, and watching the scene in front of me with a bitter smile. The mom seems to notice me standing there soon after setting her daughter back down.

"Did you help her find me?"

"Well you technically found us." I laugh, but the woman only smiles brightly before pulling me into her arms suddenly.

Usually, my chest would tighten in panic at being touched by a stranger, but this time, I feel no fear at all. Only a warmth in my heart at this mother's affection for anyone willing to help her daughter.

"Thank you so, so much. I don't know what I would have done if I couldn't find her. Is there anything I can do for you in return?"

I shake my head feverently, patting down Ariyah's hair in goodbye, "All I want to know is which one of these vendors sells organic red apples at a fair price."

The woman is eager to help me, even in such a small way and once she points me in the right direction, we part ways waving our goodbyes.

I hadn't found Harry, but at least I helped a young girl find her family even if I never found mine.

By the time I reach the stand that sells apples the sun has begun to set and I still haven't seen Harry. The jab of pain I feel is a foreign one, but no doubt brought upon by the fact that our day was going so well and now... it isn't.

After weeks of dancing around each other and biting our tongues we had finally been getting back to normal - having fun and bonding once again.

Though the relationship is still strained and a graveyard of unspoken words and feelings lay between us, today has been one of the best days I've had in weeks.

And I can't help but notice that my best days always involve the curly haired Brit.

With thoughts of his smile in my mind and the kindness he always shows me on replay I buy over a dozen red apples for the pies and set about trying to find Harry once again.

The crowd has thinned drastically as the sunlight grows dimmer, but it still makes me slightly nervous now that I am truly alone. My eyes scan the crowd, not only looking for Harry, but also looking for a threat that may or may not exist.

A purple sheep. Whatever that means.

It's been at least an hour, maybe more, since I lost Harry and my feet are beginning to ache from the uneven cobblestone. My arm hurts from carrying so many apples and I am about to give up and rest on a bench until Harry finds me when I hear a familiar voice calling out to me.

"Layla! Layla!"

My heart leaps at the voice, so much so that it frightens me how happy it makes me. I turn around with a smile on my face that only grows when I see Harry running toward me.

His curls are wild with sweat and wind and some stick to his face, covered in perspiration. His eyes are wide in a panic that quickly turns to relief, his silk shirt sticks to his body, and his fast pace quickens once I meet his gaze.

"Layla, thank god." The force with which he pulls me into his arms has me staggering backward and nearly dropping the burlap sack in my hand.

He squeezes me tightly, almost too tightly, as he buries his face into my neck and grips the back of my head to pull me closer. Hesitantly, I wrap my own arms around his back, but am shocked to feel his body trembling subtly.

This is the second time today that I have been pressed up against Harry; the first to save me and now in the relief of finding me, but both make my heart beat to a symphony only Harry can conduct.