A/N: Thank you for returning! Here is the next chapter. I appreciate F/F/R's and the support this story still gets. This is still kind of on hiatus at the moment...

Also, I'm trying really hard to continue writing this but it's kind of hard. Bear (bare?) with me!

Tell me, should the next chapter pick up with his life starting back up in Santa Barbara?

/

Chapter 8: Different Places, Different Faces, Same Old Shawn

He'd been gone for two weeks now. He hadn't called his father, or even Gus.

Shawn knew they were probably worrying, at least Gus would be, but he couldn't bring himself to pick up a phone. What would he say? "Hey, sorry for abandoning you with nothing more than a note, but whatever." Yeah, that wouldn't work.

He'd gotten a job at a small café, his charismatic persona winning over the elderly owner. Said owner, Gertrude, had in turn won him over by not being overly nosy. Until today.

Shawn was standing at the diner's counter while the woman was sitting in a barstool across from him. The doors had yet to open and since the cooks were preparing in the kitchen, so they were totally alone.

"So, where are you from?" Her voice was sweet, but Shawn could sense her minor distrust of him.

Shawn looked up from the countertop he was wiping down, "..A couple hours away from here."

He didn't feel like explaining where he was from, he wanted a new life. One where he wasn't the cop's kid, the screw-up, the victim.

She eyed him, "You're not an ex-con, are ya?"

He almost laughed. She didn't need to know about his one night in jail, she'd fire him. "No ma'am. I just..don't like talking about myself."

She nodded, not taking her eyes off of him until it was time to open.

.

.

.

.

Shawn opened the door to the motel room he'd been staying in.

He put his tips for the day in his duffel bag, he'd learned the hard way not to put it on the dresser when a maid bombarded him with a hug and excited screaming for the 203 dollars he'd left as a 'tip' and he'd had to explain what happened.

He sighed at the memory, it wasn't easy seeing how disappointed the girl was but he couldn't afford to hand out money like that.

He rifled through the top drawer he was holding his clothes in, deciding to shower in the morning and just go to bed.

.

.

Shawn shifted slightly in his sleep, mumbling incoherently and whimpering for the better half of the night.

At three, he jumped up, unable to handle the nightmare any longer. He thought that if he left, everything that had happened would be put behind him...that he could pretend it never happened at all. But he couldn't.

Each night he was plagued with the voice of his mother, the ghost touches trailing along his body as he resisted the urge to vomit. He wondered if it would ever get better.

.

.

.

It hasn't gotten better.

He tried to give it a little more time, and with how impatient Shawn was, four weeks was a tremendous amount of time.

The nightmares came at full force nearly every night, every touch sent him reeling, and every woman with blonde hair was automatically his mother.

"Hey man, are you alright?" A stranger asked him, surely seeing the panic written on the 18 year old's face.

The young Spencer glanced up from the dirty ground, eyes bloodshot from crying. "Huh?"

"...The bus is here." The black haired man commented, "I was asking if you were alright."

Shawn stood up, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for telling me."

The man gave him another imploring gaze before entering the bus' interior. Shawn saw him pause and look back, wondering if the strange teenager would be following behind. He did, climbing the steps cautiously at the newfound attention. He slipped a dollar into the driver's hand and walked towards the back.

Six times now. Shawn thought to himself, He has glanced at me six times.. The stranger's eyes were making him uncomfortable, and an eerily familiar feeling washed over him.

Maybe he'll get off soon. There were only a handful of passengers left, and merely two stops until he would be kicked off. He wasn't sure he should get off, maybe it would be better to wait until the man was gone- then he could just walk back to his room.

His breath caught in his throat, the shuttle had stopped once more, leaving only Shawn, the driver, and the dark-haired man. Why did my bike have to break down?

One more stop. The thought was repetitive, seeping into the silence of the ride. When the man glanced at him again, Shawn's skin crawled. This man wasn't right, something was off about him. It was then that he decided he would never let it happen again.

.

.

.

Shawn ran his fingers along the blade in his pocket that his father had given him so many years ago, and after the years of using it against himself he knew it could hurt another person.

The bus was nearly out of sight, and the man was lingering a few steps behind Shawn. His breath was picking up, the street was dark and not another single soul seemed to be around.

"Hey, kid!" The man's voice called to him, and Shawn quickly pulled his knife out.

He turned, facing the man with a wild look in his eyes. He pointed the knife towards him, "Leave me alone!"

The stranger's hands shot up, surprise evident on his face. "Whoa man, I just wanted to make sure you're really okay. You look pretty young to be out here on your own."

Shawn faltered only slightly, unsure if his instincts were overly sensitive or if the man was deceptive. "I'm perfectly fine, who says I'm alone? I appreciate the concern, but I'd also appreciate if you would leave. me. alone." The gleaming knife never strayed from its target, and Shawn's determination hadn't either.

The man nodded, walking backwards until he felt he was a safe distance away. Shawn watched as the man turned and ran, his knife still pointed at the shadow of the man that stood there.

The young Spencer stood still, pocketing the now closed weapon. His mind was all over the place, but it continuously returned to a certain thought. He didn't know whether to trust his instincts anymore, he wasn't even sure he was the one who was defending himself, for he was never that bold.

He walked slowly in the direction of the motel, tears stinging in his eyes.

Who am I?

He no longer trusted anyone, he suspected everyone.

They might seem nice, but who knows what happens behind closed doors?

He wondered if he would ever be able to love, or trust, or just live normally. But he knew the answer, he would never do any of these things, and there was a reason. Shawn caught his appearance in the glass of a shop he was passing, quickly averting his eyes.

She ruined me.