Lost In Us Page 16

  Thankfully, the hall with the cocktail tables is almost empty. Still, I hurry past the tables, willing to find a less open space.

  "The bathroom is over there," someone calls. The girl from the entrance. She's sitting at one of the cocktail tables, reading a magazine.

  "Actually, I was wondering if there’s a backyard here."

  She nods and points to a sign, scrutinizing me with a worried gaze. Is it so obvious that I am one thought away from breaking down? The door to the backyard is not right outside the hall. I follow the signs down a highway-sized corridor and pass a double door, which I suspect leads to another dining room, before I reach my hideout. I lean on the door as soon as I step out onto the terrace and close my eyes.

  I will not cry.

  I will not cry.

  I wish I could press my palms on my eyes to squelch the little liquid traitors that threaten to come out, but the triple layers of mascara Jess put on my lashes will surely transform my desperate effort into a stamp of shame for everyone to see. My sheer willpower will have to do. I open my eyes and head over to one of the columns on the terrace, leaning on it. I can see the entire backyard from here. It’s beautiful, with row upon row of roses. The sprinklers are on, so I don’t use the stairs leading from the terrace to the backyard. On second thought, maybe getting soaked would be a good idea. It would give me a legitimate reason to leave. I stare at the water drops sprinkling the roses. They remind me of tears. There are no tears on my cheeks, and I should be proud of that. I can't be, though. The stinging in my chest is far worse without tears. Worse than in my ride home after I left him. Worse than in the nights since, when I wake up crying. Because I’ve had only made-up images of and Natalie and him to torment me. Now I have real ones that my imagination can twist in a never-ending game, creating even worse nightmares about the two of them.

  The more I stay like this, leaning on the column, the harder it is to move. I'm too ashamed to leave the restaurant and too cowardly to return to my seat. And apparently too deaf to hear the door opening, because I don't realize there's someone else outside, until she's standing in front of the column nearest to me.

  Natalie. Just what I need. Another dose of humiliation.

  "Hiding? How very tenth grade of you." She opens her tiny bag and gets a cigarette and a lighter out of it. Leaning on the column, she lights the cigarette and starts smoking.

  "I'm not hiding," I snap. "I just got a little sick from the food."

  She smirks between smokes. "Poor you. I suppose that's what happens when you are not used to such fine food."

  "Cut it out, Natalie. I'm in no mood for your condescending bullshit." I turn my gaze to the backyard, fuming.

  "Now, don't get all offensive, darling. I'm just trying to warn you. Not that you seem to take my warnings seriously. If you had, you wouldn't be in this pitiful position in the first place."

  "I'm in a pitiful position?" I ask incredulously. "You do know the sole purpose he asked you here was to make me jealous, don't you?"

  "Of course I do. I also know that when he gets tired of chasing you, he'll come back to me, like always. Has it occurred to you why he called me and not someone else?"

  My stomach drops. It has. But I don't want to dwell on that now.

  "He will get tired of chasing you, trust me," she says.

  I try to concentrate on the smell of roses emanating from the yard. But it’s too faint. The smell of roses usually has a calming effect on me. Not this time. "What makes you so sure?" My voice is shaking.

  "Has he ever told you he loves you?"

  My throat tightens painfully. It's as if she knows which buttons to push to hurt me. I remember his reaction when I told him I loved him at the hospital: his arms stiffening around me, his voice getting colder, and everything that followed.

  "That's none of your business."

  She gives a high-pitched, hateful laugh. How can someone who looks so graceful have such a murderous voice? Something to warn people that she isn't as doll-like as she appears, I suppose.

  "He hasn't told you. Because he will never love you, Serena. Just because he called you his girlfriend for three days doesn't mean he wants something serious with you."

  It bugs me how much she knows. Because she couldn't know this unless James told her. Which means that no matter the superficial reason she's here tonight, there is a bond between them that goes way beyond her pouring money in his businesses or occasionally jumping in his bed. The patronizing expression on her face tells me she's thinking the exact same thing. But there's something else behind the contempt in her eyes. Something different. A flicker of fear or doubt, perhaps?

  So I take a wild guess.

  "Maybe not. But it's certainly better than being his perpetual… call girl, always waiting to become more. That's just pathetic. Haven't you wondered why he has never called you his girlfriend? In all the years he's always come back to you? Let me give you some advice, for once. Two words: meaningless sex. That's the only thing he wants from you. You'll never be able to keep him."

  My guess pays off. Big time. In a fraction of a second, Natalie's porcelain skin turns a violent red all the way to the roots of her dark brown hair. Who knew the lark had a weak spot? She slams the door of the terrace so hard on her way in, I'm afraid the wall might collapse.

  I smile. I never believed Jess when she said that sometimes it's worth being a bitch just because. Now I do. But I disagree with the last part. It's not just because. Some people simply deserve it. On the strength of my victory, I decide to return to the table. I wait a few minutes though, to make sure Natalie is already there.

  I don't feel as confident when I step back inside the building. Strangely, the sight of the roses outside gave me strength. Not so much the sight of the creamy white walls in here. Or the person leaning against the door down the corridor.

  "Red really suits you," James says.

  "Thanks," I snap and start walking. He grabs my arm as I pass him. In a gentle way that says I can still walk away if I want. But I decide not to. If I could take Natalie earlier, I can deal with him now. I have to deal with him. This is why I came here, after all.

  "Let's go in here." He motions to the double doors behind him. "To talk."

  I bite my lip, pondering whether being alone with him is really such a great idea. But then again, our talk will be the kind that is best kept away from other people's ears.

  "Fine," I say.

  He opens the doors, gesturing for me to go first. The room is dark when I step inside, but I find the switch by the door, and light assaults my eyes within seconds. A much smaller version of the room we were having dinner in lies in front of me, though the tables are completely empty—no tablecloth or anything else, and there are no chairs. I lean against the nearest table. James remains in front of the doors, a few feet away, his arms folded on his chest.

  "If you didn't want to come tonight, you didn't have to. But showing up like this, with Parker… I don't remember you being this cruel."

  "And how long did you wait to call Natalie?" I spit, keeping my eyes firmly on his shoulder.

  He cocks an eyebrow. "You can't come alone to these things. You might not have noticed, but no one is unaccompanied tonight."

  "Why did you call her of all people?"

  He doesn't answer right away, but when he does, his voice seems to have dropped an octave. "Because I knew it would hurt you the most."

  "I thought I was supposed to be the cruel one."

  "Let's not act like we're sixteen anymore, Serena." He walks over to me and lifts my chin with his hand until I have no choice but to look him in the eyes. "I want you to forgive me."

  "That's very hard to do if I keep bumping into Natalie."

  "You won't see her anymore. I won't see her anymore."

  "You can't say that. She owns part of your company after all."

  "I can freeze her out. I'll do whatever it takes for you to be mine again. I need you."

  It's not his words that turn my
knees weak and my determination to dust. It's the desperation behind them, thinly disguised in his whisper. I can't give in. I remind myself why I came here tonight. It wasn't only to torment him. I wanted to prove to myself that I can be around him and not feel… this. Part of me still wants to prove that.

  "Say something," he says. "What are you thinking?"

  "That I'll never be enough for you."

  "What are you talking about? You're more than enough, you're…" His voice trails away, his hand cupping my cheek. "Serena, I haven't been with another woman since that night in the factory."

  "Don't lie to me," I whisper.

  "I'm not. I haven't been with anyone. I don't want to be with anyone except you."

  He presses his forehead to mine, and for one paralyzing second, I think he will press his lips to mine. Those full, soft marvels that have the power to set every bit of me ablaze. They haven't touched any other lips, he says. His hand still on my cheek, he peruses my shoulder with his lips, gently. Hesitating. I know he's expecting me to pull back. But I don't. I can't. I need his lips and his touch. I dig my hand in his hair, tugging him ever so close to me. His lips cover mine in a fierce clash that sends me over the edge, every ounce of will I might have had left, vanishing into thin air. His hands travel down my hips in a rough ride, as if he'd like nothing better than to rip the fabric of my dress apart. My own hands have somehow landed on the buttons of his elegant white shirt, desperately trying to undo them. I think I might really rip his shirt apart. I need to feel his skin under the tips of my fingers.

  "God, Serena, I want you," he breathes when we break off the kiss. "I need you." He curves an arm around my waist, lifting me onto the table behind me. His moist lips plant a kiss on the hollow of my neck, and the blood in my veins turns to liquid fire. A scathing fire that engulfs all of me, one that only James can extinguish. His other hand slides under my dress, trailing his fingers over the skin of my inner thigh until they reach my panties. He gives a low groan against my neck, pressing his fingers against my most intimate spot. My entire body quivers, and I involuntarily arch my back. I search his lips, begging for another kiss. When he finally indulges me, the outpouring of gratification I was craving doesn't come.

  The fire in my veins turns to ice, and my body quivers again—not with pleasure, but with agony. A painful lump starts forming in my throat. It's like my body is trying to remind me that nothing good will follow after this. When our passion is consumed and his body rests on top of mine, I know what will happen. Nothing between us will have changed. He'll still be plagued by the past he resents so much and his old commitment issues. A few weeks of abstinence don't erase a habit refined in years of whoring around. Natalie is, as always, close enough to remind me of that.

  So when his hands travel up my back, and start undoing the zipper of my dress, no moan escapes my lips. Instead, tears stream down my cheeks, until the salty moisture reaches my lips. It's James who breaks the kiss. He touches my cheek, catching my tears on his fingers. His eyes widen. "Serena, what's wrong?"

  "I don't… I can't, James." A violent wave of hiccups overcomes me, and I am not sure my next words come out in a coherent way. "It's… I know you'll hurt me again and I don't think I can make it through that once more." I jump down from the table, pushing him away with remarkable ease.

  "No, no. Serena, there won't be a next time, I promise—"

  "Don't m-m-make promises you can't keep," I stutter. James is rooted to his spot, watching me rearrange my dress. I stand up straight when I am finished, and look him straight in the eyes, wiping away my tears. My voice has such a steadiness to it when I speak, that I can't help but feel proud of myself. "I want to leave."

  I don't allow myself to break down in the cab. First, because the driver keeps staring at me as if he can't decide whether to take me to a mental hospital or ask me out to dinner. And also, because I think if I let myself break down, I will never stop hurting. So I take it out by biting my poor nails off on the ride home.

  When I open the door to my apartment, it becomes apparent that I will have to relive my night of hell minute by minute because Jess raises her eyebrows, scrutinizing me from head to toe.

  "Spill everything," she says.

  I don't attempt to brush her off, because I know she'll nag me for weeks, if necessary, to tell her what happened. The sooner I get it over with, the better. So I sit on the couch next to her and start recounting the events of the evening. Funny, with every word I speak, a weight I didn't realize I was carrying lifts off my chest. Jess doesn't interrupt me the entire time, though I can read the disapproval on her face. When I finish, she lets out a huff.

  "You don't believe he didn't get involved with anyone else since you broke up?" she asks, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers.

  "No, I do believe him, but…"

  "Then I don't understand. Why did you run off?"

  "You don't think the fact that he showed up with Natalie sort of defeats whatever he did, or didn't do, since we broke up?"

  "Well, you went there with Parker. What did you expect?"

  "I don't know," I say, and I mean it.

  "You know, Serena," she says and the gravity in her voice startles me, "it's very rare that people want to change, and even rarer that they want to change for someone else. James is trying to change for you. I think that's beautiful."

  "Waiting for him to change is proving to be a risky business so far."

  "Of course it's risky. But isn't everything that is really worth it in this life risky?" Jess snorts, looking away from me. "Maybe you should contemplate changing some things about yourself, too."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, standing up.

  "You're so uptight, you know, that I'm afraid you'll end up in your safe little corner, where nothing risky can harm you. Where you'll never allow yourself to live."

  "Wow, that was… profound," I say flatly, heading to my room. "Thanks for your concern, Jess."

  "You know I'm right," she calls just as I shut the door to my room.

  I climb in my bed, but instead of falling asleep, I start crying. Pain has a way of creeping inside me without me realizing it. It always starts with my mind. Pain throws it in a swirl of dark thoughts and dire memories, until I cannot separate reality from pain. Then it takes over my core, hitting it hard, mercilessly, until the pain becomes physical and my heart seems ready to give in. But it never has until now, because I've always fought back. Always kept myself on the edge, on the surface. But this time it throws me into the abyss I have narrowly avoided time and again. When Kate died. When Michael left. Even when I broke up with James. I can't climb back out of the abyss, as hard as I try. It hurts so badly I start wishing for something I never wished before: for my heart to stop. Maybe then, the pain would stop too. Though deep down, I know it would carry on. I think pain is the only thing powerful enough to carry on in the afterlife.

  I don't leave the apartment at all during the next few days. I miss my weekly volunteer visit at the hospital. For the first time ever, I also miss classes. Two days of them, no less. I stay in my bed most of the time, crying or sleeping, barely touching the food Jess religiously brings me three times a day. I don't make any attempt to squelch the pain by exhausting myself, as usual.

  I hurt.

  Life decides to completely mess with my mind on the day I finally snap out of my funk and return to Stanford. Not life, actually. Just my phone.

  The ventilation system in my favorite cafeteria on the whole campus is not working. Either that, or I'm suddenly suffering from ultra-acute anxiety. Probably the latter. I'm holding my phone in my shaking hands, afraid to even look at it. Half an hour ago I received an email from one of the banks I interviewed with in San Francisco. And I still haven't opened it. I was in the middle of a class when I received it and first tried to ignore it, thinking that such an email is best read without thirty people around me. But I started tapping my fingers on my desk and shifting in my chair until I could no longer sit,
so I slipped out of class. And dragged Aidan with me.

  "Will you calm down," Aidan says, staring at me with wide eyes as I flutter my palms in front of me, desperate for air. Aidan is, along with me, at the top of the class in most courses. And, as Jess reminds me every time I bring Aidan up, his social skills aren't nearly as impressive as his intelligence. But he seems even more nervous now than usual, jiggling his foot under the table. I have a feeling that my dragging him out of class contributed to his exponential nervousness. He sits opposite me at a window table in the cafeteria. "Just open the email."

  "You open it," I say, shoving my smartphone to him.

  "You're being ridiculous." He turns bright red as I begin to flutter my hands again, and I think that my almost see-through top is a bit too much for him. He looks away, passing his hand nervously through his dark hazel hair.

  "Please, Aidan."

  "Fine."

  The next minutes pass in slow motion. I'm suddenly glad that it's not Jess sitting in front of me. She'd use this moment to torture me, just for the fun of it. I watch Aidan light the screen of my phone and then press the mailbox app. The one unread email is still there. Deep down, I feared I imagined the email. The bank wasn't supposed to get back to me for another week, so I’m not sure what the early response means. I stop fluttering my hands and cover my face when Aidan opens the email.

  What feels like hours later, the much-coveted announcement comes. "You got the job."

  I don't know how I manage not to squeal as I leap off my chair and hug Aidan.

  Finally. Finally. Finally.

  "I can't breathe, Serena," he gasps, and I let go.

  "Sorry," I say, but can't manage to tone down the ear-to-ear grin on my face. Everyone in the cafeteria is staring at us. Not that I care. "I just can't believe someone actually offered me a job."

  "I told you they would," he shrugs, still reading the email. "It says here you can call them anytime if you want to discuss any details, and—"

  "I'll read about that later," I brush him off.