The rich guy disappeared, and Laurel was left with nothing more than a bad case of schizophrenia and questions. Questions. So many questions. But she really didn't even see the point in having them answered. After all, it didn't seem to affect her in any way. She was almost certain this was fake or a dream or something, and she wouldn't be letting it torment her any longer.<br/><br/>Without another word, she gave a look back at the rest of the people and slowly began to make her way out the door, composed and calm as ever. She reached the exit without halt, without even the slightest dilemma, before being stopped by five words.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="color: #e39485">"Oh, poor dear. What would your parents think?"</span></span><br/><br/>Laure froze, taken aback by the sudden arising of her past. She was strong, fierce, smooth, collected. Always. Until it came to the topic of her parents. Hell, she had to spend three days preparing herself to even visit their grave. She had to bite her tongue and squeeze her eyes shut to keep from bolting out of the room and losing it.<br/><br/>Shocked, Laurel back away from the door, standing along the side of the room and keeping her head tucked down, hidden by her hair. Goddammit. She couldn't lose it no, not here, and not at a moment like this. She couldn't let emotion cloud her rational thinking. She just needed a few minutes, that was all.