Lost In Us

by Layla Hagen

  James laughs softly in my ear, his arms wrapped around me. My heartbeat picks up. "That's a cheap way of tricking me into carrying you."

  "I swear I wasn't—" the rest of my words come out in a howl as he lifts me in his arms again, like earlier when he took me to my room.

  "Better?"

  "I can get used to this, you know."

  "Good," he says, looking me straight in the eyes. "That's what I want. No actually, I want more. I don't want you to only get used to me. I want you to be addicted to me, like I am to you."

  His lips are so close to me now. So, so close. It would be the easiest thing in the world to lean in and kiss him. It's also the hardest. Because I am addicted to him already, in ways he can't possibly imagine. But it's best if he doesn't know that yet. So I lean back, pretending to scrutinize our surroundings. "Where are you taking me?"

  "You don't think I'd tell you, do you?" he says, though his voice lacks the spark it usually has when he's hiding his plan from me. It's strained, and I'm at fault. He climbs the slope parallel to the waterfall, and, as we make our way through the dense trees, I wonder where his game will take us this time. The options aren't as vast here. Just as I consider the possibility that we're going to his car, the trees become scarcer and I see a clearing not far in front of us. There is light in the clearing, which is odd, given that it's in the heart of the forest. When we get closer, I narrow my eyes, staring at the lighting device—a huge thing on the ground, like a giant turtle whose grotesquely deformed shell is made up of what appear to be fluorescent ostrich eggs.

  But as we step inside the clearing, I get to see what it really is. It's not a lighting device at all. It's a stack of white balloons tied to a stone on the ground. They are somehow lit up on the inside. Next to them is a picnic blanket.

  Balloons. Eight of them. One for each one of Kate's anniversaries since she died.

  My throat is dry as James kneels and puts me on the blanket, next to the balloons. My tear ducts, on the other hand, aren't. James sits by me, on the blanket.

  "How come they're glowing?" I ask, fighting very hard to keep my voice from shaking.

  "They've got LEDs in them." He interlaces his fingers with mine. "I thought it'd be good for you to do this again."

  I tilt my head to the side, wiping a tear away with my other hand. "When did you do… all this?"

  "After you fell asleep. I was afraid you'd wake up before I returned, but the champagne knocked you out all right," he chuckles, squeezing my fingers gently.

  "What time is it?"

  "Two o'clock."

  So it's her birthday already.

  I reach out to the balloons, barely touching them. I don't know why James thinks it would be good for me to release them up into the sky. Seeing them already brings the familiar suffocating lump in my chest that I know will grow and grow until I end up in a breakdown, as usual. But I start untying one of the balloons, with trembling hands, if only to get rid of them, so I don't have to keep looking at them.

  The moment I untie it, the balloon soars up. I untie two more before James says, "Don't let them go all at once. Take your time." He's propped on his elbows on the blanket, staring up at the sky. He motions to me to lie next to him. I hesitate, looking from him to the remaining balloons in the stack, then lie back on my elbows too.

  I look up at the black sky, and I grit my teeth at the sight of the three glowing bulbs. From here, it looks like fire burns inside them. Bright and inextinguishable. Yet, as I watch them go higher and higher, something happens to the lump in my chest.

  Something I wasn't expecting.

  It eases. Slowly, very slowly, as if someone were pulling it out bit by bit with a clipper. The balloons become so small they could almost pass for stars, if they weren't moving upward. Eventually, they get lost in the clouds and I don't see them anymore.

  I untie another one, and watch it sail up in the sky after the others, farther and farther away, taking my pain with it.

  But not my guilt. Nothing will ever be able to take that away.

  "It looks a bit like a star." I only realize I said it out loud when James chuckles. My cheeks heat up instantly. He'll think I'm five years old.

  "You're right, it does."

  "People say to make a wish when you see a falling star. Do you think it will work if I make one now?"

  "I think there is no such thing as a bad time to make a wish," he says softly.

  The balloon is so high now, I almost can't see it anymore, and an irrational panic grips me. I have to spell my wish out before it disappears in the clouds. I have to. Maybe it can carry my wish to her.

  I wish Kate could forgive me. For not doing more for her. For letting her waste away because I was too afraid to get involved in her world. Jess was more spot on than she knew when she said that I always hide in my safe little corner, where nothing risky can harm me. That's exactly what I did with Kate. The worse the people were that she got involved with, the more I pulled away from her. I just abandoned her into their hands so I wouldn't risk my own safety.

  I hope she will forgive me for that. I know I won't forgive myself.

  And maybe my guilt floats in the air like a damned aura, or maybe he can just read it off me, but James says, "Don't blame yourself."

  I turn my head to the right until I can't see him even from the corner of my eye. "I don't want to talk about it." I focus my gaze on a tree in the distance.

  "People sometimes make bad choices, Serena. Kate made quite a few. Trust me, no matter how much you try to deter them, they will still make them. Even when they know just how bad those choices are for them. Mostly they do it because they think those bad choices are the only thing they deserve."

  There is a long pause, and when he speaks again, his voice sounds dead. "The worst choices are the ones who hurt others. And I made so many of those that I think two life times of right choices won't be enough to make up for all the wrong I caused."

  I turn around, and find him gazing at the sky, his eyes glassy with tears.

  Of course, that's why he sensed my guilt. He knows the feeling only too well. It consumes him too.

  "James, that's not—"

  "Do you want to release the rest of the balloons?" he interrupts, sitting up straight. "You've got four left." He presses his palms on his eyes briefly, then plasters a fake smile on his face.

  I sit up straight too. "No, I want you to release them. For Lara."

  The smile freezes on his face. "I don't think this is such a good idea."

  "Just try it," I say, untying a balloon and shoving it into his hand. "For me."

  "You're not playing fair," he whispers, his eyes begging.

  "Please."

  He tilts his head, staring down at the balloon in his hand. He lets go of it, following it with his gaze. I don't watch the balloon at all. Instead, I watch him. The muscles around his eyes and mouth tighten; his fingers dig deep in the blanket, as if he'd like nothing better than to carve holes in it.

  "You release the rest," he says after a while, untying the remaining three balloons and shoving them in my hand, just like I did earlier with him. His features haven't relaxed one bit. I instantly let go of the balloons.

  "I'm sorry," I mumble, shifting closer to him. His knees are bent now, his arms resting on them. "I thought it would help."

  I ball my palm, my nails cutting deep into it, as I'm waiting, terrified of what he might say.

  After what seems like an eternity, he turns to me.

  "Smile for me," he says and relief surges through me, so sudden and so powerful, that the smile comes naturally.

  His features melt into a heartfelt smile too, his eyes brimming with warmth.

  "I told you that one smile from you can make everything better. This is all I'll ever need."

  At this moment, I truly believe we can mend each other. More than that, I almost think we can complete each other. I know he can complete me. Because if this man—who wants to build a fantasy world for me, who alread
y made my reality more beautiful than any fantasy—if he can't complete me, then no one ever will. I raise my fingers to his cheek, caressing his soft skin, losing myself in his hypnotizing blue eyes. He can complete me, that I know. But will I ever be able to complete him? Will I ever be enough for him? He lets out a soft moan when I run my fingers over his lips, but he doesn't inch closer or touch me. He doesn't try to close the distance between us. He's waiting for me to do it. And I'm so close to doing just that. To lean in and forget that not only can he complete me, he can also shatter me like no one else. So close to forgetting that he did so already. What guarantee do I have that he won't do so again? Jess's words sneak inside my mind again. You'll end up in your safe little corner, where nothing risky can harm you. From where you'll never allow yourself to live. Will I do that? Will I choose to walk away from him, just so I don't risk him hurting me again?

  Goose bumps form on my arms, as if my body is rejecting this heresy of an idea. James senses it too. He must, because something flickers in his eyes—something that I think is fear. A cold shiver chills me, as if someone dropped an ice cube down my spine. What will my walking away, my choosing safety, do to him? I never thought of that. I chose my own safety once, at Kate's expense. It's a different situation now, sure, but choosing my safety again will not only come at my expense, but also James's.

  The recognition slaps me like a whip. I can't be that selfish again. He wants to change for me. Why I can't find the courage to do the same for him?

  Trembling, I push myself up on my knees, and he does the same. All color has drained from his cheeks. He thinks I'm preparing to leave.

  My heart throbs against my ribcage as I put one palm on his chest and then the other, not quite meeting his eyes, gazing at the top button of his shirt instead. His heart drums under my fingers, with a lightning-quick rhythm that matches my own. I bite my lip and close my eyes. Somehow, I think I will find the courage I seek easier, if I let the darkness behind my eyelids guide me, instead of the image of him. I take a deep breath—his intoxicating ocean and musk scent filling me. The skin on my fingers prickles, as I slide my fingers upward, touching the warm skin on his neck. Now that my eyes are closed, all my other senses are awake, ravaging me. I lean into him slowly, very slowly. I wish he'd take mercy on me and take the lead, because kissing him seems to require a different kind of courage than jumping from that plane did. More like the kind of courage it took to watch those balloons soar up in the sky.

  But claiming my happiness takes more courage than both of those things ever did.

  I find his lips before I find the courage. Smooth and warm and waiting for me. They are slightly open. Inviting. I take my time to enjoy them, my eyes still closed. I kiss the upper lip first, pulling at it slightly with my teeth. He groans against my mouth, making the skin on my entire body tingle. Still, he doesn't touch me. I move to his lower lip, and when I finish torturing it, when I finally kiss him—he touches me, putting one palm on the small of my back.

  And then he breaks off the kiss.

  Inches away from him, I stare into his eyes. They are so dark, they seem black rather than blue.

  "Are you sure about this, Serena?"

  "I'm trembling like a leaf; I'd say I'm pretty damn sure," I joke, my voice weak.

  James bites his lip, his other hand tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His hand is shaking. "I know you want me. But I don't want you to do something you might regret tomorrow."

  "I won't."

  "Or change your mind."

  "That won't happen either."

  He pauses, running his thumb over my lips. "I don't want you to leave me again."

  I catch my breath, and I lean in, whispering, "Never."

  When our lips meet again, he completely loses it. His hand presses my back, flattening me against him as his mouth covers mine in a rough move, his tongue seeking mine in a desperate dance. I gasp for breath when his lips leave my mouth, descending down my neck, marking a trail of flames on their way to my breasts.

  "Make love to me, James," I beg, frantically undoing the buttons of his shirt, then tossing the black fabric in the grass. The sight of his naked torso cuts my breath short. He opens the zipper of my dress, and in one, gratifying second, his hands abrade my back, his nails digging in my skin. I get stuck on the button of his pants, as usual. With one soft laugh, James removes his pants altogether. I let my dress fall. James swallows hard when it slides down my shoulders. I'm not wearing a bra. I kick my dress away as he cups my breasts, my eyes latched onto his. I sit down on the blanket, then lie on my back, pulling him on top of me.

  "I want to get lost in you," I say, remembering what he said to me that night in the factory. His arms lie by my sides, his warm body shielding me from the chilling night breeze.

  James smiles against my lips, "I want to get lost in us."

  Lost in us. I could do that.

  I smile too. We both have goose bumps all over our bodies.

  I don't think the breeze is at fault.

  James's hand slides to my hip, and then to my panties—the only piece of fabric I still have on. I mirror his movement, my hand pulling at the waistband of his boxers, and then… God. Desire slams through me as I palm his erection. Hot and huge. He chokes on his next breath, and in one swift move, removes my panties.

  No. He didn't just remove them. He ripped them apart, accentuating the hunger so deep in my core that it's almost painful. His hot, heavy breaths send ice-cold, shattering shivers through me, as his tongue nuzzles at my nipple, while his fingers stroke my folds, slow and teasing.

  I moan deeply when they touch my clit, arching my back.

  "James," I gasp, digging my nails in his arms, trying to pull him up, so I can kiss him. I need more of this. More of him.

  He rises abruptly, then urges my knees apart, spreading my legs. Fisting my hair, he pulls me into a fierce kiss.

  And then he thrusts inside me. Raw and hard and filling.

  Devastating. I moan in his mouth, his own groan reverberating across his chest. I press my hips to him, and then the back and forth dance begins. He keeps his moves deliberately slow, spreading relief and desire through every nerve, making my toes curl and my insides scream. I grab his backside with both hands, pushing him harder against me, opening my legs wider. He groans against my shoulder, biting me, his nails digging in my thigh. The clamping of our hips becomes faster. More urgent. The moans blow up into screams and roars, the woods around us amplifying the splash of our pleasure. My breath catches as I feel it starting to build inside me.

  The explosion.

  It starts as a pulsation deep inside me—at my most intimate spot. But every thrust, every hot breath of his on my skin causes my body to succumb further to the deluge of quivers wracking through me. My veins carry the electric jolts to every corner, every cell of my body.

  "Please," I beg, burying my head in his neck, my cheek caressing his moist skin. The sweet smell of sweat on his neck sends me over the edge.

  "Serena, God," he cries, arching back his neck, plunging inside me with a brutality I welcome. I grab the blanket with both fists, pulling at it with all my might as a thousand flutters of relief consume me.

  I swear loudly when I open my eyes.

  "Good morning to you too, sailor," James shouts.

  "Will you keep your voice down?" I bury my head under the pillow. "I've got the most horrible migraine."

  "It's called a hangover around here. And it won't get better if you hide under the sheets. Come on, it's past noon."

  "Great," I mumble, throwing the pillow away, and forcing myself in a sitting position. I pull the sheets all around me, because I am completely naked. James stands, leaning on one of the bedposts, dressed in shorts and nothing else, staring at me. And even though the creamy, transparent curtain obscures him somewhat, I can see that he looks wide awake. Beautiful. Stunning. I, on the other hand, feel like a bulldozer ran over me. I bet I look exactly like that, too. It was early morning when we returned
to the room after watching the sunset.

  "Can you pass me the backpack?" I ask. He doesn't budge, folding his arms on his chest, observing me with a smile. "What?"

  "Nothing."

  He unhitches himself from the bedpost and walks toward the glass doors where the backpack is. I steal a glance at myself in the oval mirror and swear again—this time not out loud. My mascara is smeared all around my eyes; my hair is a downright mess, sticking out in every direction. I try desperately to tame it, running my fingers through it, but this only seems to make it worse. I look like an electrocuted raccoon. Suddenly, I remember Jess's theory about the "kiss of the witch": the magical process through which a girl wakes up in the morning, only to find herself looking like a witch instead of the princess she was when she went to bed. The chances of this happening increase exponentially, the hotter the guy next to her is. It must be avoided at all cost for the guy to see her like this, either by waking up before him and sneaking in the bathroom to freshen up, or by keeping emergency toiletries and a makeup bag under the bed. Otherwise, the guy will bolt faster than a witch on a broomstick.

  Since I have no such emergency bag, I weigh my chances of sneaking to the bathroom without James realizing. As he tosses the backpack in front of me, sitting on the edge of the bed, my chances plummet somewhere below zero. So I keep my head bent so he can't see my eyes, searching in the backpack, hoping he already forgot about my second-rate impersonation of a raccoon.

  I find my phone charger in the backpack, along with some books—for the courses I'll have on Monday. How thoughtful of Jess to pack them, too. I slosh through the clothing, enough for an entire week it seems, not just the weekend, hoping to feel the emergency bag. She must have packed it too. Nothing.

  "Why are you keeping your head bent like that?" James asks.

  "Umm…"I bite my lip. "I'm just searching for something in here."

  His fingers slide under my chin, lifting my head.