Lost in Us (39 page)

And then all our instincts break loose.

He hooks one arm around my waist, and pushes me on my back in the dirt, kissing me like never before. I don't know how, but I get rid of his shorts and then he's completely naked over me, and I'm completely naked in his arms. His tongue twists on my nipple, and his fingers torture me, first cupping my inner thigh, then circling their way up to my sex. I let out moan after moan as my body starts to pulsate and quiver, lightly in the beginning, then stronger and stronger until my whole body shakes, and I'm at the mercy of his blessed fingers. 

"Please," I murmur against his lips when the emptiness inside me becomes too unbearable.

He thrusts into me and we both groan when our bodies unite in sheer abandon that doesn't bring me the relief I crave so much. Instead, it brings tears to my eyes that I hide, burying my head in his shoulder, and sobs that I try to disguise as moans. I dig my nails deeply into his back when throbs of tension start rippling through me from my most intimate spot.

"Serena," he grunts in my ear, low and raspy, kissing my neck and the lobe of my ear. And then I feel tears on my cheeks that aren't mine. I push myself into him, desperately looking for pleasure, and the cadence of our moves becomes so frantic that I think our bodies might break. But neither of us can drown the pain in pleasure anymore. So we just let it drown us, clasping our hips against each other again and again, giving into the unrelenting longing for relief. When his body goes rigid, and my own succumbs to the explosion that breaks my last defenses in a thousand pieces, I press my mouth to his and claim his bliss—the last stolen moment—the memory that will be the brightest star in my little glass box.

He falls over me, and we stay like this, entangled, his head buried in my neck. I feel his hot tears dripping on my shoulders and I don't bother hiding or stopping my own. It doesn't hurt as much as before though, and it bothers me because I don't understand why. There was a time, after Kate's death, when I thought there was only so much pain a person could feel, and that it would start fading in intensity, until one no longer felt anything. I learned the hard way it didn't work like that. But maybe now my body has finally hit rock bottom. Maybe it finally can't feel the pain anymore. I don't know how much time passes before the silence isn't punctured only by our breaths and sobs, but by guffaws of laughter resounding in the distance.

"I think the others have arrived," I say. James pushes himself up on his palms, and the moment our bodies no longer touch, whatever shield disguised my pain, breaks. Slowly, only one crease slitting it first, and then another one, until it shatters completely. It leaves me vulnerable and raw, and unable to look at the hint of a smile on his face without dying on the inside. His eyes are clear already, no trace of tears in them.

"We need to jump in the river," he says.

Of course we do. We're both smeared with dust and dirt. I get up and head past him. Once in the water, I swim around, careful not to get drawn away by the current, or too close to James. He doesn't attempt to come close to me either.

When he walks out of the water, I say, "I want to stay a little longer. You go to the others, I'll come in a few minutes."

"Hurry up, we'll barbecue," he says and my heart gives a jolt at the expectant look in his eyes. He's not giving me the easy way out. He genuinely believes I will come. But I will not do such a thing, cowardly as that might seem.

We said our goodbyes already.

He gets dressed at top speed and then walks away, but not before glancing at me and holding his hands up as if asking, "What are you waiting for?"

The second he's out of sight, fresh tears burn behind my eyelids. I blindly get out of the water, take my clothes from the waterproof bag and put them on. Among the laughter in the distance, I wipe the tears away from my eyes and cling to the one thought that won't do away with my sanity: I need to find Parker and get the hell out of here.

B
ut finding Parker is not as easy as I'd hoped. I peek from behind a tree as everyone wanders around, still stoned on adrenaline from the rafting. It doesn't help that everyone is still in their wetsuits. I finally see Parker. I wave carefully, so the others don't spot me, gesturing him to come my way.

He raises his eyebrows as I duck behind the tree completely when he arrives, pulling him with me. "Are you hiding here?"

"No, I decided to play hide and seek," I snap.

Parker opens his mouth, then closes it right back, staring intently at my eyes. I think they give away that I've been crying.

"Do you think we can leave now?" I ask.

"We can still stick around for a couple of hours. There is plenty of—"

"Please, Parker."

He rubs his chin, glancing sideways as the others start with the barbecue. "I tell you what, wait for me by the car. I'll be right there after I change and say goodbye to everyone. Just follow this pathway." He gestures to a trail between the trees. 

I nod, grateful he didn't ask why I don't want to say goodbye to everyone, then proceed on the pathway. At the end of the pathway are the two buses—the drivers must have brought them here from the place we initially got off—and Parker's car. I lean against the passenger door, but instantly jump away, as the glass, hot from the sun, burns me.

When Parker arrives, we both slide inside the car.

"Did your driver manage to get my bag from the apartment?" I ask.

"Of course he did. Which means we've got about five hours until I need to be at the airport. I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Since we're skipping barbecue, I suggest we stop somewhere along the highway."

"Sounds good". There's a very un-Parker-ish resentment in his tone, and I'm not sure it's about the barbecue at all.

I stare at the wheel as Parker starts the car, determined not to look behind me, at the river, or the trees, or anything that might remind me of the last hours spent with James. I only relax when we get on the highway.

"So," Parker says, and I sense that I'm about to find out what the resentment really is about, "when exactly did you decide you wanted to move to New York?"

"About five minutes after I got the offer."

Parker snorts.

"If there's something you want to tell me, Parker, just say it. Don't act like you're three years old."

Silence follows. I watch him intently, but he keeps his eyes firmly on the road.

When he finally speaks, after a good while, he sounds normal again. Not friendly, but not upset either. "You do know Natalie isn't part of the company anymore, right?"

I look away, out the window. "Yeah, I know."

"Then I don't understand, what's the problem? Why are you running away?"

His words hit me like a thousand knives, and I flinch in my seat.

"The problem is… there are certain things James can't do. And certain things I can't do."

"That's not a problem. It's just the way things are. No one can do everything right or be perfect. It's called flaws. Everyone has them."

"There are flaws and then there are
flaws
, Parker. Some flaws are easier to ignore, some harder. And James's tend to be of the latter kind."

As are mine.

"And I'm afraid one of those flaws will end up with him walking out on me," I say.

"Funny of you to say that, since you're the one who's walking out on him."

"I don't expect you to understand," I mumble.

"I'm glad you don't expect that. Because I sure as hell don't understand. I'm just saying he very nearly bankrupted us, all in order to force out Natalie—who is one of his oldest friends, for God's sake."

"I never got the impression you were a big fan of hers," I say in what I hope is a measured voice.

"I am absolutely not. But she and James have been close friends for years. Going to the lengths he did to cut off all contact with her…" He sighs. "I'm just saying, this should count more than whatever flaw you're keeping against him on your twisted scale. James has done things for you no one else would have done for anyone. I know I wouldn't have done what he did for any woman. Especially if she treated me the way you treated him."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, remembering Ralph telling me something similar earlier in the day. It was easy to ignore Ralph, but I trust Parker's judgment much more than Ralph's. At the moment, I think I trust it more than mine. My head snaps in his direction, and I flinch again in my seat. The way the muscles on his neck are contorted as he looks down the road… he reminds me of James so much that my chest begins to ache. I turn my gaze away from him, making a mental note to look at him as little as possible.

"After certain things you pulled," Parker continues, "like showing up with me at that dinner, and I'm sure that's just the tip of the iceberg… you're not really worth it, are you?"

He sounds so cool, so sincere, that I cannot bring myself to be mad at him. Quite the opposite. In fact, a chuckle bubbles out of my chest. "That's really charming of you, Parker."

I can see now why Jess detests Parker with such a passion. Because, when he's not being the world's most skilled gentleman, he doesn't have any qualms about blurting out the truth—or at least what he thinks is the truth. In my case, he's spot on. I have a hunch he was in Jess's case, too. Jess isn't a big believer in being told truths, though she gratuitously tells them to others. Especially to me.

I don't have a problem hearing my truths. I'm well aware of them. I just seem incapable on acting on them. Changing them. Improving them.

Improving myself.

It's refreshing really, that Parker doesn't put me on a pedestal, like James. He sees me for what I am. A broken girl who doesn't deserve the love of a man like James, let alone all those sacrifices. Sure, he doesn't know what broke me, or why I am like this, but does it matter in the end? All that matters is the result. And the result is not a pleasant one. Someone weak, who doesn't have the courage to risk anything to be with the person she loves.

Who chooses to flee instead.

No wonder Parker doesn't like what he sees. I don't, either. But for whatever reason, James does. Enough to want to hold me, patch me up. Complete me. Enough to put everything on the line for me. Parker is right. This should count more than those stupid three little words, no matter how twisted the scale I use. James did more for me than Parker will ever know.

He made my dreams—my fantasy world—real, so I didn't have to hide in them anymore.

He healed old wounds, ripping the claws that were inflicting them, and letting balloons carry them far, far away from me.

And all he asked of me was to smile.

I walked away instead.

I shudder, suddenly drenched in cold sweat. I think Parker asked something, but I didn't catch a word, so I just nod. A sign we pass on the highway tells me that we're one hundred and eighty miles away from the airport. Which means we're already fifty miles away from Tuolumne River and James. This doesn't offer me the relief I hoped it would. It makes my heart beat like crazy. Not the good kind of crazy, though. It pounds so hard, I'm certain it will explode. The pounding gets more unbearable the more miles we put between us and the river, growing to a clog that chokes me. And then a thought weasels itself in my mind. It paralyzes me in my seat.

What if I'm making a mistake?

Some time later, I figure out what Parker had asked me: if it's a good time to stop to eat. We get out of the car and go into a shabby restaurant. Parker eats a steak, and there's one in front of me as well, but I can barely swallow a bite. Parker talks spiritedly about his return to London and all the plans he has. I don't listen to him half the time, just nod or smile when I feel a reaction is required.

I wobble on my way back to the car, as if my feet refuse to carry me in that direction, and I panic as we speed on the highway, putting more miles between us and the river. And less between us and the airport, where the plane to New York awaits. I used to cling to this trip—to the idea of New York—as if it were my salvation. The way someone who is about to drown clings to a log. But sometime in the past hours, the idea ceased being a log, and transformed itself into a rock, large and heavy. A rock tied to my feet that will not save me, but drag me to the bottom of the ocean, drowning me.

By the time we arrive at the airport, I've bitten my nails to the flesh. Parker takes his three enormous bags and I take my hand luggage from the trunk, and we head inside. His flight is two hours before mine, and our stop on the highway took quite some time, which means he must go right to his gate. We say some hurried goodbyes. I usually get emotional in these moments, but I remain remarkably solemn. And then Parker is gone, and I'm alone, with nothing to distract me from the thoughts wrecking my sanity.

I clasp my fingers tightly around the handle of my bag, and desperately look around for something that might help distract me. I decide to buy a book, and then sit down in front of the panels displaying all the flights. After reading the first five pages without taking in one word, I toss the book aside, glancing at the panel above me. The clock above the panel tells me my flight is in a little less than three hours. I pull my knees against my chest, holding my arms tightly around them. But there's no easing of the sinking feeling in my stomach.