It was still early when I made it to the bus station and haphazardly slammed a bunch of crumpled bills on the counter as the women behind the counter gave me a look. “Where to?” She asked, her tone indicating that despite how odd I was acting, she didn't really care enough to ask further questions. “Somewhere far. Anywhere is fine.” I muttered, trying to keep my voice steady despite being out of breath. She pauses, looking at me again, silently reevaluating if she should do something or just continue her job. I flash a nervous smile, mumbling something about needing a change of scenery and her eyebrows raise for a moment. It's obvious something sketchy is going on here. A teenager alone at a bus station on a Monday with a bunch of bills she clearly shouldn't have. But it was also six in the morning right now and she had clearly been at work a while, judging by the empty cups near the coffee machine. So, she simply counted the money, handing some it back as she turns towards her screen writing something in. “You have ID?” She asks and I dig mine out. She gives it a look, before typing in something more and printing out a ticket. “Bus 67, platform 5.” She hands it to me before looking at the line behind me. “Next, please.”  

The bus was nearly empty as it left, the only passengers besides me being an exhausted looking family and an old lady who was constantly talking on the phone. We got on the interstate, and I looked back at my hometown, knowing I would never return and was now heading towards the unknown. I wish I had the foresight to pack a book. But at least I didn't have to worry about being hungry for now. The smallest silver lining at the edge of a big grey cloud. I leaned against the window, looking at the cars driving by. I wondered if they had finally managed to break the bathroom door and discover what I did last night. I wondered how long it would take for them to figure out it was me. And who had to be the unfortunate person to open that door and see the carnage first? And what would they do? Would they throw up like my mother had all those years ago? Or would they freeze like my father?  

God... mom and dad. I'm so sorry. I tried so hard to be good. Once the tears started to fall, they wouldn't stop. I cried and felt myself hugging the backpack I had taken from home. It still smelled like dad. It still smelled like home. By the time the bus pulled to its final stop, my tears had turned into occasional sniffling. As I got off the bus, I realized this was a small town, even smaller than my home. There was only one bus platform and a busted vending machine with an automaton selling tickets. The old lady was picked up by another old lady and the family called a taxi. As the bus driver got off the bus to have a smoke, he gave me a look. I couldn't just stand here all day and wait. I had to find a cheap place to stay the night. I lifted the backpack off the ground and started walking in the direction the taxi had gone off in, hoping to find something. This place really was backwater, since after walking for what felt like at least two hours and I hadn't seen a single store, motel or anything of the sort. It's a miracle a bus even drove here. If it came down to it, I would be willing to sleep in a barn. At least then I wouldn't have to pay. A second silver lining. Who knew I would be good at finding those?  

Then trough the wind a delicious scent from nearby wafts into my nose. Despite not being hungry now, I stop and sniff the air like a dog. Did someone get hurt out here and just couldn't get help in time? Did someone have a heart attack? The enticing thought of a guilt free meal makes me follow the scent off the trail and into the field towards a dilapidated barn. The sound of someone crying softly inside stops me in place again. I bite my lip. I really shouldn't be doing this. I should call for help, since they aren't even dead yet. They have a family. A family that will grieve and be horrified if they're discovered as a mangled mess. I can still turn around. But I don't. But then I hear a voice. A boys voice. Someone else is there with them. My curiosity gets the better of me and I peek inside through a hole.  

The first figure I spot is an older man, he's wearing a tacky shell suit, leaning against the wall and desperately clutching at a wound on the side of his face, attempting to stem the flow of blood. His eyes are wide and panicked, locked onto the second figure. He is blubbering wordlessly and opening and closing his mouth like a fish on dry land. The second figure, a boy who seems to be about my age, wearing ripped jeans doesn't seem to be in a hurry to call for help though. He tilts his head, eyes displaying no sense of panic or compassion as he chews on something. His face is covered in blood, and it slowly drips down onto his chin and stains his red hoodie. Suddenly it feels like the whole world goes still and nothing makes sense. My heart starts to beat like a drum and my hands start to shake. I rapidly blink as if expecting the sight in front of me to shift into something that makes sense. But it doesn't. The boy's face covered in blood. The man lying on the ground, bleeding. There is nothing else this could be. I found someone else like me.