Lost in Us by Layla Hagen Page B

the roughest stuff."
    Parker turns white. This time the silence lasts longer. We park the car in front of my block and wait for his cab when he says quietly, "Lara didn't leave him; she died. On our graduation day."
    A sudden coldness chills my insides, and a lump in my throat makes breathing a chore. I gape at Parker in shock but he doesn't say one more word. His cab arrives and before sliding in it he mutters a quick, "See you," that I don't manage to return. 
     

 
    I don't find the solitude I was hoping for when I enter the apartment. Jess is on the phone, pacing like mad between the couch and the kitchen, speaking in a very formal tone. Her interview, of course. Jess stops dead in her tracks at the sight of me and raises her shoulders questioningly. I shake my head and walk directly to my room, where I finally find silence.
    Where I'm finally alone.
    One tear rolls down my cheek. I don't bother to brush it away. More will come anyway. I slide down the door, biting my arm to stop the sobs from escaping because I don't want Jess to hear me. The anger's gone and I miss it so. It was invigorating and satisfying, fulfilling even. The pain isn't. It's raw and devastating.
    Unbearable.
    And at the end of anger lies nothing but pain.
    A thousand tears fall on my blue dress—shreds of my shattering heart. They fall for him and for me; for all the kisses and the words we had. They fall harder for all those we will never have again. I hug my knees, and dig my nails deep into my ankles. To no avail. The shudders don't stop. The gasping breaths keep choking me. How can this hurt so much?
    A scratching, muffled sound resonates from somewhere and I think that that's it; I finally cracked and am hallucinating, then realize it's my cell phone vibrating. I search for it in my bag, praying it's not one of the HR schmucks who received my résumé last week, calling to schedule an interview. I have a hard enough time making a good impression when I'm at my best. I glance at the screen through the blinding tears and almost wish it was an HR schmuck.
    It's the source of my misery. For a fraction of a second, I actually contemplate answering, because no matter what, I'd get angry, and maybe, just maybe, the stinging torture in my chest would go away. But then I throw the darned thing on my bed, as James's words echo in my head and I sink to a whole new depth of agony. "The pain will never really go away." How well he knew that. Yet as I lay there, wrapped in his arms, for a blissful moment, it did. For once, the thought of Kate brought a smile, not just regret and despair. I wonder if he was thinking of his blue-eyed angel. He probably was.
    The cell stops vibrating and starts again the next second. I clutch my knees tighter and rest my chin on them, wiping away my tears. I never want to see him or hear his voice again: the man with the power to mend my deepest wounds. And slash open so many others.
    Fresh, burning tears form behind my eyelids and I smile sadly as the cruelest realization of all hits.
    I'm in love with him.
     

 
    " Y ou've been up all night again," Jess accuses, hopping through the stacks of paper and clothes lying on the floor. I'm sitting upright in my bed, holding on to my laptop for dear life.
    "Yep. I was really productive, too. I sent twenty-six CVs and completed three of the crappiest online application forms ever for some investment banks in New York. If these don't lead to at least one offer I'll officially be the world's biggest loser."
    "You're on the verge of a mental breakdown," she says, watching me wearily.
    "No, I'm not," I protest. "That's what seniors do, apply for jobs."
    They get offers too, is what I don’t say out loud. Everyone around me seems to already have three offers. Everyone but me. The very top of my class and already a failure in the outside world. I thought there was something wrong with my CV or cover letter in the beginning. But after everyone from the head of the Career Development