Parking Lot

Parking Lot

CHAPTER — LAURA
He saw something that wasn’t real.
I didn’t even notice Jacob at first.
I had just stepped out of the Fine Arts building, exhausted, sleep-deprived, and honestly trying not to cry again. My chest still felt tight from everything—Mom’s confession, the house of lies collapsing, the guilt that kept chewing through my ribs.
I just wanted a quiet walk.
Five minutes alone.
Five minutes where no one needed anything from me.
But then Jacob appeared in front of me, blocking my path like he’d been waiting.
“Faye… can we talk?”
His voice was soft, but his eyes—God, his eyes looked wrecked. Red. Tired. A little swollen. Like Vienna had been crying, too. Like everyone was falling apart because of things that were partly, somehow, my fault.
I swallowed. “Jacob, I—I’m not really—”
“I ended it,” he blurted. “The engagement.”
My breath froze.
I didn’t know what to say.
I didn’t even know if I should say anything.
But Jacob looked at me like he needed something—closure, maybe. Or comfort. Or just a witness that he wasn’t alone.
And before I could react, he reached out…
… and took my hand.
I stiffened.
“Jacob—”
“Just—just let me say this,” he whispered.
His fingers were warm, trembling a little. Not romantic. Not demanding. Not the way Cole touched me.
It was desperation.
Pain.
A soft, breaking apology disguised as a gesture.
But I pulled slightly, uncomfortable.
He held on instinctively, thinking I’d let him finish.
“I’m sorry for everything,” he said. “For hurting Vienna. For confusing you. For dragging you into something I should’ve resolved years ago.”
His voice cracked. “I never meant to make you carry any of it.”
My throat tightened.
I wasn’t angry.
I just wanted him to let go so I could breathe.
“Jacob… this isn’t—”
And then I felt it.
That prickle down my spine.
That quiet shift in the air behind me.
Someone was watching.
I turned my head just enough, and for a fraction of a second—
I saw him.
Cole.
Standing a few meters away.
Frozen.
Eyes dark.
Jaw tight.
Expression shattered in a way that made my stomach drop.
He looked like he’d been hit.
And the worst part?
Before I could call out, before I could pull my hand back completely—
He stepped away.
Slowly.
Quietly.
As if something inside him had collapsed.
“No—Cole—” The word slipped out, but he was already gone.
Jacob followed my gaze. “Was that—?”
I yanked my hand free. “I have to go.”
“Faye—wait—”
But I didn’t.
Because I was already running—not after Cole, but away from the crushing realization crawling up my spine:
He thought Jacob was holding my hand because I wanted him to.
Because I chose Jacob.
He misunderstood everything.
And suddenly the day felt heavier.
My chest, tighter.
My throat, burning.
Because for the first time since this whole fake-relationship lie began…
…I cared what Cole thought.
And losing the tiny trust we’d built—
the fragile sweetness of our almost-something—
hurt more than I expected.

Cole was waiting for me in the parking lot.
The moment I saw him—arms crossed, chest rising and falling too fast, like he’d been pacing for twenty minutes—my stomach twisted. He wasn’t calm. He wasn’t collected. He was furious, but also confused, hurt, restless.
He looked like someone who’d been replaying that scene with Jacob over and over in his head until he started believing the worst.
“Faye,” he called out, trying to sound steady. It didn’t work.
I kept walking.
I wasn’t ready.
Not today.
Not when my life was basically a collapsing building with me stuck inside.
But he followed, quick steps echoing behind me.
“Faye, stop.”
I didn’t.
He caught my arm—gently, but enough to make me halt.
His voice dropped. “Just tell me the truth. Jacob… you and him—”
I turned slowly, meeting his eyes, and what I saw there made my chest tighten.
Jealousy.
Fear.
Doubt.
“Are you really asking me that right now?” I asked, my voice barely holding together.
He swallowed hard. “I saw him holding your hand.”
“And that’s it? That’s all it takes for you to think I’d betray you?”
“I’m not saying that,” he said—but his hesitation said everything.
Silence.
You could practically hear the crack in my chest.
Then he spoke again—quiet but sharp:
“You should’ve told me you were with him.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “Cole, my mom got arrested. PUBLICLY. Everyone knows. You knew. The whole school knew before I even stepped foot on campus. And still—this is your priority?”
His jaw clenched. “I wanted to talk to you. But you ran off with him instead.”
“I didn’t ‘run off’ with anyone,” I snapped. “Not everything revolves around jealousy.”
His expression flickered—hurt, defensive, something darker.
“Then why were you with him?” he pushed.
And that was it.
The last thread inside me tore.
“Because I was falling apart!” I yelled, voice cracking. “Because everything in my life is crumbling—my mom, my family, the truth—everything! And the one person I wanted to talk to was busy being mad over something he didn’t even try to understand!”

“What the f—”

“Just…just leave me alone,” then I ran.

Everything finally breaks.
Cole didn’t talk to me for two days.
Not a message.
Not a glance.
Not even that stubborn, half-annoyed look he always gave me when he wanted to pretend he wasn’t worried.
Nothing.
And I tried—I really tried—to respect it. Maybe he needed space. Maybe he was hurt. Maybe he believed what he saw, or maybe he just didn’t want to deal with me anymore.
But the pause between us didn’t feel like space.
It felt like abandonment.
Like a door closing while I kept knocking from the outside.
And then came the final blow—
Mom getting arrested.
Dragged out of our house in handcuffs, even if they said it was “temporary detainment.”
Neighbors staring.
Reporters circling like vultures.
Everything I thought was stable just falling apart in front of me.
But that wasn’t even the worst part.
Because while the officers were escorting her, I saw it.
Her face.
She wasn’t shocked.
She wasn’t confused.
She looked… tired.
Defeated.
Like she’d expected this.
And my entire world tilted.
Something was wrong.
Something big.
Then the next day—the truth about my father.
The files.
The doctors’ notes.
The autopsy that suddenly didn’t match the stories I grew up hearing.
His death had a high chance of being caused by poisoning.
Poisoning.
And every part of me felt split open.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t think.
There was no one to ask, no one to trust.
Mom might be a criminal.
Dad might have been murdered.
And the only person I wanted to talk to—the only person who could’ve steadied me—
was avoiding me because of something he misunderstood.
By the time I reached the campus parking lot, my chest was a full-blown hurricane.
And that’s when Cole finally confronted me.
He didn’t shout.
He didn’t even move at first.
He just stood beside my car, arms crossed, jaw locked so tight I could see the muscle tick.
“Are you done?” he asked quietly. “With Jacob, I mean.”
His voice was low, cutting, painfully controlled.
I felt my throat close. “Cole, listen—”
“I saw you,” he said. “I saw him holding you.”
“The same old story, Cole? We talked about this last time, right?”
“Just tell me the truth,” he snapped. “Do you want him?”
That did it.
Something inside me broke wide open.
“Are you serious right now?” My voice shook—not with fear, but with exhaustion. “After everything that’s happening to me—you think this is about Jacob?”
He hesitated, but his pride held his mouth shut.
And I couldn’t hold it anymore.
“My mom got arrested,” I said. “Yesterday. You didn’t even ask.”
He blinked. “What?”
“And I found out my dad might have been poisoned.”
My lip trembled. “Poisoned, Cole.”
His face softened instantly, but I stepped back.
“No,” I whispered, voice cracking. “You don’t get to comfort me right now. Not when you couldn’t even look at me.”
“Faye…” He took one step forward—slow, careful, like approaching something fragile. “You should’ve told me.”
“I tried!” My voice snapped, raw and hurting. “But you were too busy being mad over something that wasn’t even real!”
He winced.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand, but the tears kept coming.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered. “I can’t carry everything and then still have to fight to prove you should trust me.”
Cole’s eyes darkened—not with anger, but with something close to regret.
He reached out, fingertips brushing my wrist. “I’m sorry.”
But I pulled away.
“Sorry isn’t enough.”
My voice cracked completely. “Not this time.”
He looked like he’d been punched—hard.
Then the dam finally burst.
I slid down the side of my car, covering my face with my hands as the sobs came fast, uncontrollable, ugly.

“Get out in front of me, Cole,” I looked at him with my blurry vision, his expression says he won’t, “If you don’t, I will kill myself right now, right here,”