Lost In Us (Lost 1)

In the mayhem that ensues, I leave the restaurant along with everyone else, as James pays the tab. Outside I squeeze my eyes shut because the sun is already high, blinding and burning me. The first breath of hot air sets my lungs on fire. Two lines form in front of the two buses. But I don't plan on getting on either of the buses. Instead, I head off along the street, hoping to find a cab before anyone realizes what I'm up to. I risk a glance over my shoulder. James is nowhere to be seen among the crowd in front of the buses. Parker is there, and with a pang, I realize I haven't said goodbye to him.

It's cowardly of me to take off like this, but I know this is the easiest way. No goodbyes, no more paralyzing, shattering stares. A burning sensation starts behind my eyelids that I know precedes tears, but I try to ignore it, as well as the painful knot in my throat. I have to ignore them, at least until I get away from here. When I'm at a considerable distance from the buses, I start looking for a cab. None in sight, of course. Just my luck. I decide to walk until I find one, though I'd like nothing better than to seek refuge in one of the air-conditioned shops I'm passing. I'm sweating already. I stop at a cart to buy some water, because as usual, I had too much coffee and not enough water, and between that, the heat and the effort of not crying, my throat is so dry that every breath feels like swallowing a handful of razors.

"Water, please," I tell the vendor.

After he hands me a cold plastic bottle, I walk a few feet and then step into a very narrow side street. It's a little cooler in here, thanks to the draft forming between the two concrete buildings. I pinch my nose as the stench of trash reaches me. Sure enough, I spot some dumpsters at the other end of the street.

I lean on the wall, hoping to find some relief from the heat, but the wall isn't as cool as I want it to be. I open the bottle and take a sip, closing my eyes. The cold liquid calms my throat, like a balm, and crushes the razors. But I know the razors will come back before long, not to attack my throat, but my heart and my core. All of me. Tears burn at the inner corner of my eyes as it all sinks in. That was the last time I saw James. Heard his voice, gazed into his smoldering, blue eyes. His image plays behind my closed eyes, and I can't help but smile. I could stay forever like this. In my mind, there are no cold stares and harsh words. There are no words at all. He's smiling and his eyes have that playful twinkle that drives me crazy. The smell of him lingers on me, and I wonder how this is possible. I hadn't been near him more than ten minutes, and that was hours ago. Perhaps his smell imprinted in my memory.

Or perhaps not.

"So first you drop the bomb and then sneak off?"

I jump so fast that I drop the cold bottle from my hands. "Damn it," I curse as I launch forward to catch the bottle in a lousy reenactment of a high-wire artist. I catch it as it almost hits the ground. Taking a deep breath, I stand up. James stands not two inches in front of me, every bit the anti-image of what I'd built in my daydream. His lips aren't curled into a smile. They're pressed together in a harsh line of disappointment and frustration. A hell of a match for the hurt in his eyes.

He presses his hands on the wall behind me, caging me in on my left and my right, leaving no way out. He's too close to me. Far too close. "I never took you for a coward," he says.

"Then I guess you don't know me well enough," I mumble, wishing he'd show me a whit of mercy and distance himself from me. The scent of his skin and his warm breath on me are almost too much to bear now that I had begun struggling to put up bars and chains all around me to protect me from his absence.

"I know you well enough to know that you want to move to New York to get away from me."

"I don't—"

"Is that how much you hate me, Serena?" He takes a step back, his arms hovering in the air, amplifying his horrible, slashing question.

"I don't hate you," I answer, stricken. "I could never hate you."

"Then why d

oes it feel that way?" His arms fall by his side. "Like I forced you to do something you hate and you couldn't wait for the right moment to run away?"

"I wasn't running away. I just decided it'd be easier if I left without any goodbyes."

He lowers his head, shaking it slightly. When he looks up again, my heart gives a jolt. A hint of a smile illuminates his features. It's not reflected in his eyes, but still it's a smile. A much better parting image than the one I had before. "Well that was one piss-poor idea."

"I thought you might say something like that." I smile back. "Hence the sneaking off. Besides, I really need to get going. I've got a ton of things to do before leaving."

He frowns. "You seriously—"

"I'm not leaving because of you, James."

"Really?"

"Really," I say, looking away from him, certain he will guess the truth if I don't.

"Then you won't have anything against joining me and the others for the rest of the day."

I fix my gaze on the dumpsters at the end of the street. "I told you, I have things to do before I go to New York."

"When is your flight?"

I bite my lip. "Eleven o’clock tonight."

"What can you possibly have to do that will take you the whole day? It's not like you're moving right now. Are you?" he asks, his voice shaking. I'm not sure if with uncertainty or distrust. I wouldn't blame him if it were the latter. After all, I did give him an array of reasons to distrust me in the past half hour alone.

"Of course not. I still have one month until graduation."

"You remember the last time we were like this, among dumpsters?"