A/N: Honesty time: This chapter was a very interesting one to write. That is all.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Chapter 10

Lauren's POV

Staring at the route map for at least an hour, I realize that we are following I-94, which turns into 90, for the entire trip, and then I start counting the large number of stops we have in Montana - 22. I have only been there twice, once with Mom, Dad, Bizzy, and the Captain, Mom's parents, and we stayed in Yellowstone for a week over my fourth grade Christmas break. Needless to say with Mom's relationship the way it is with her parents, who can be a bit…condescending towards her and exhausting in general…that wasn't a very fun trip, except for when Mom taught me how to ski. The second time I went was two years ago with Bella's family, and we stayed at the Old Faithful Inn in the park (which I guess technically speaking is in Wyoming), but it was over the summer, which was infinitely better than being stuck in feet upon feet of snow and crabby grandmothers who I'm not actually allowed to call Grandma. I guess my point is that both of those times I had traveled to Montana we had flown, so now I will get to experience firsthand how uncharacteristically huge the state is; I can't wait.

Two hours, the rest of Wuthering Heights, two apples, and one vending machine coffee later, I notice the station getting significantly fuller, as more and more people get ready to load the bus. Sitting in the corner of the room, I try to stay as out of the way of people as possible. However, as I look around a notice one man in particular, who's surrounded by a couple friends I assume them to be, staring right at me. He looks to be about 40, is dressed all in black and from what I can tell, is someone who doesn't really appreciate the benefits of daily personal hygiene. Thankfully, I am dressed just about as conservatively as you can get for a teenage girl – black and white converse, jeans, a Boston Red Sox t-shirt, and now a zip-up hoodie to cover that. Oh, and reading glasses for God's sake. Still, there is something about this guy that really freaks me out; remaining in my seat, I acknowledge his stare and give him a small smile to be friendly and then look in the other direction. I really don't want to give him any signal that I want to talk to him, because I don't. I don't know if it's by sheer luck or what, but before the voice on the intercom tells us to get ready to board the bus, the man doesn't come and sit next to me. Now, if only he'll repeat that similar action while we're actually on the bus.

I intentionally walk out to the terminal next to a normal-looking woman who seemed to be in her mid-20s, in the hope that she and I could hit it off within the next two seconds and she would sit next to me. "So…pretty late to be getting on a bus, huh?" I ask her, trying to make small talk the best I can with a stranger.

"Hmm yeah," she responds. Shoot. I'll have to do better than that.

"Where um, where are you headed to? If you don't mind my asking…" I question her.

"Minneapolis, and the sooner I get there the better. Hopefully this freaking bus doesn't leave two hours late like it did the last time," she seems annoyed, so I put on my best frown and lie.

"Oh yeah, totally. That's happened to me so many times with this bus you don't even know!" I fake exasperation. "But you know what really helps me when things don't leave on time? Having someone to talk to. I'm headed to Seattle myself so it should be a pretty long trip wanna sit with me?" I didn't intend to become a rambling, desperate mess, but I see the man looking at me again and I need this woman to cooperate. I need to look like I'm with someone I know.

"Oh well umm sure," she replies. Score. Who cares if she's only going to Minneapolis? This gives me time to figure something else out later.

Once we get on the bus I do like I did on the train and throw my school bag at my feet, except this time there's a compartment underneath the bus for people to throw their bigger bags, so despite my better judgment I have to part with my camping backpack. The woman, whom I find out is named Madelyn, and I find two seats together almost halfway towards the back, and she allows me to take the window seat, which I am again grateful for. The man I am weary about takes a seat about five to ten rows behind us on the opposite side; I make a point not to look at him or in his direction when he walks by, so I don't know if he made any effort to look at me (or for me) once we got on the bus. I just figure I will mind my own business and with any luck he will leave me alone and let me be on my way.

Right away I can tell that Madelyn is not going to be as chatty as Irene was, since she makes little effort to talk to me, and about 20 minutes after we leave the station, she is fast asleep. I guess the whole sleeping thing makes sense though, it is past midnight after all, and I'm feeling pretty tired myself. Before I decide to try and get some sleep, I do my best to crawl around Madelyn and make my way to the back of the bus where the little bathroom is. Trying not to wake anyone as I walk down the narrow isle, and once again intentionally not looking in the direction of the strange man, I reach the tiny room and shut the door behind me as quietly as I could. Immediately changing into a pair of my black capri yoga pants, I stand in only those and my bra, letting myself (and my t-shirt) air out as I wet both my face and my hair. In order to travel as lightly as possible, I tried not to take too many clothes when I left New York, only because I knew I would have to be carrying them all. However, I am changing again because thanks to Chicago and its unbelievable humidity, I feel gross. Letting the cool water run through my hair and over my face, I suddenly become excited for the time when I can take an actual shower again. After tying my hair back, I take paper towels and dab water over my front and back as well, trying to get some of the sticky off. I feel slightly better, so, drying myself off and putting on some deodorant, I put my t-shirt back on and head back to my seat. Madelyn is still fast asleep when I get there, so again I exercise my greatest crawling abilities. Eventually I am able to settle in my seat and take out Winston, once again for comfort. I think about Irene and how she and her family are doing, slightly jealous that she gets to spend the night with them, all together, safe and warm. But then I remember that I did this to myself, I wanted – I want – this; I want my dad. Leaning my head against the window and hugging Winston to my chest, I allow myself to fall into a fitful sleep.

The next time I wake up, the sun is already risen and Madelyn is gone. I immediately panic; did I really sleep that long? Did we already pass through Minneapolis?! No. No, Madelyn can't just be gone like that; she can't have just left without me even noticing her departure! I didn't even have time to think of what I was going to do next – I didn't want that strange man to come and sit next to me. "Laurie, come on," I mentally chide myself. "Get a grip. You don't even know if one, you've passed Minneapolis yet, and two, if that guy is even still on the bus. Relax." I take a couple deep breaths and slowly look around. The screen on the small TV just above my seat tells us approximately where we are along I-94 and that it's 8:15 Sunday morning. Much to my dismay, we have already passed through Minneapolis, but only about 15 minutes ago. We are just now approaching the suburb of Maple Grove, Minnesota, and we have a little less than five hours until our first transfer in Fargo. I crane my neck around a little more in search of the man, wanting to know if he was still on the bus. I freeze when I see him, fortunately asleep, but still sitting several rows behind me. I feel my stomach turn, because even if he is asleep, everyone else on the bus has someone sitting next to them (not to mention none of them are near me), and he still gives me a weird feeling, what with the way he was staring at me yesterday…no, we are on a bus, technically I'm "in public," I'll be fine. I try and shake it off, and zone off with the second book I brought, Northanger Abbey. I've got a thing for the classics.

Three and a half hours later, I can feel a presence standing next to my seat. Sticking my finger in my book to mark the page, I look up slowly. My breath catches in my throat when I see the man standing beside me. "Mind if I sit here?" he asks in a thick Midwestern accent, although it didn't really come out as a question.

"Um-" is all I can get out before he sits down next to me anyway.

"So you like the Red Sox, you from Boston?" he asks. I can sense him scooting closer to me, to which I respond by pressing my entire left side as closely to the window as possible. I don't answer him.

"Oh come on now, I'm just trying to be friendly," he tries again. "So, you from Boston?" I can tell he's not going to give up.

"Y-yes," I stammer; I'm not going to give this guy one truthful detail about me.

"I'm from South Chicago myself," he tells me. I shudder to myself; you don't have to be from the Midwest to know that that part of the US isn't exactly known for all of its model citizens. "The name's Marcus, Marcus Johnson." I just sit there and nod, really wishing this guy would go away.

"Well, aren't you going to tell me yours?" With every fiber of my being I do not want to talk to this guy. I think for a moment what would happen if I suddenly made a scene, would people tell him to leave me alone? I'm not really sure, because technically speaking he hasn't done anything to me; he hasn't touched me, said anything inappropriate, no, society might not be on my side yet on this one. Also, no matter how much of a scene I made, it wouldn't change the fact that he and I would still be on the same bus from here to God knows when.

"Um…my name?" I breathe. "I'm-I'm Sarah," I spit out the first name I can think of.

"Well Sarah, it's nice to meet you," he brings his face closer to mine slightly and I can smell the nicotine on his breath.

"Yeah, yeah you too," I breathe. He scoots back over a little and, although still uncomfortable, I am able to relax slightly now that there's a solid five inches between us instead of one. I think about maybe trying to get past him and go back into the bathroom, but then I realize I wouldn't just be able to take my bag, and I don't want to leave my stuff alone with this guy.

"So Sarah, you travelin' alone?" He starts to pry again.

"No! No, I am not," I say the first thing that comes to mind.

"Oh, funny, 'cause it sure looks like you are," he scoots closer again.

"No, I am not. My f-friend Madelyn is…is in the bathroom!" I am such a terrible liar, and it doesn't help that I am getting scared.

"Oh," he chuckles, "you mean that pretty little thing that got off back in Minneapolis? Yeah, sure looks like you're traveling together," he chuckles some more. "Sarah you gotta learn to relax. See those two guys down there? They're my good buds…now, I don't think this Madelyn is a very good friend now is she? She's gone and left you in Minneapolis!" I can feel my armpits start to sweat; I don't know what to say to this Marcus guy anymore to make him leave, so instead I try ignoring him again, which does not settle well with him.

"Now Sarah, it's not nice to ignore your friends is it?" He's mocking me.

"F-friends?" I whisper. There are so many words swimming through my head that I would like to say, hell that I'd like to scream, out loud, like for one: "Get the fuck away from me!" But for some reason, nothing is coming out. I have never been in a situation like this before, which is funny given the fact that I grew up in New York City; then again, in New York I didn't exactly take public transportation alone very often.

"Well of course we're friends, Sweet Thing," and he's back to being one inch away from me. Sweet Thing? Suddenly, I feel his hand snake up my right thigh and I squeal, jumping just about a mile high. "Oh, too soon for that I see," he says and pulls away. I pull my knees into my chest and notice him bringing his mouth right next to my ear. "Don't worry baby, we'll get there," he whispers. I can feel the tears prickle in my eyes. Why wasn't anyone around me doing anything? I need help! Then I remember that there isn't anyone sitting close around us, they all got off in Minneapolis. The closest people to us were where Marcus' cronies, I mean "buds," were sitting. No. I need to get out of here. I need to get off this bus. He will transfer onto the other one, and I'll just stay at the station and wait. I start to squirm in my seat; it's blatantly obvious how terrified I am, and he is playing right off of my fear.

As if by some miracle, I hear the driver come on the microphone and say that we are about five minutes from Fargo, so anyone who is getting off there needs to grab their belongings. That's my escape; I have to get off in Fargo. But I only have $20, how will that get me to Seattle? I can't very well buy another ticket for the price I paid for this one. No, I'm sure that if I get off there and explain the situation to someone at the station, they will be able to help me. Hell, maybe they'll even just let me on the next bus heading west that passes through. They will understand.

"You know what?" I say, trying with all my might to build up some courage. "This is my stop. I-I have to get off in Fargo. So if you will excuse me, Marcus, I need to gather my belongings and get ready to leave. I need to leave, s-so excuse me." He gives me a look, one that I can't really decipher, but then he gets up.

"Well alright then," he says, and I can hear the sarcasm. "I'll see you around, Sarah." With that he gives me a wink and walks back towards the back of the bus.

I gather my things as quickly as I can, sitting with my bag on my lap, my knees bouncing and my breath heavy; I really want to get off of this bus. As soon as we stop at the Fargo Greyhound bus station, I almost trample the driver in my attempt to get off and grab my backpack as quickly as possible. Once I grab my bag and thank the driver, I race inside the station, wanting to get as far away from Marcus as I could, as quickly as I could. However, in my hurry I failed to notice that the bus schedules and routes are actually listed outside the station, right to the left of the front door. I allow myself to stand inside for a moment, to catch my breath and stop shaking from that last hour-long encounter. Letting out a deep breath, I head back outside to where the last bus had left me. Immediately, I am met with a rush of hot air – it must be at least 80 degrees. I stop a moment to take in my surroundings; aside from some very Old-Western looking yet tall-ish buildings, North Dakota is flatter than flat. "Hello tornadoes…" I say to myself quietly. But otherwise it looks like kind of a neat city to explore. Making a mental note to watch the movie Fargo someday, I walk over to the schedules and route maps. Picking up one for the same bus I was just on (just in case the next one came at a different time), I hesitatingly decide to take out my cell phone and listen to more of my messages. I'm ready to listen – that last encounter with Marcus scared me enough that no matter how angry I am with Mom, I need to hear her voice. Since she's left about a dozen messages, I decide to just skip the first one (sent Friday night) that I had started last time, listen to the second one, and leave it at that. But what I don't know is, when I skip to that second message, just how much the grief in Mom's voice will stick with me for a very long time.

"Laurie," she starts, and I can hear her openly crying in the background, something she's always tried to hide from me. "I know…I know you're upset r-right now, but please come home…I…I'm so worried and I…I'm so sorry, honey, I just need to know that you…that you're alright." She sniffs. "I hope that you're safe right now w-wherever you are, and I hope…I hope you know how much I love you sweetheart."

Tears immediately spring to my eyes, and it takes everything I have not to fall to the ground. Mommy. I want to cry out to her, and run into her arms. But I left her – I had to get to Dad, and she betrayed me, betrayed us. I had thought she wouldn't be worried, since she seemed so adamant about being angry and disappointed in me. She literally made me think, not that she didn't love me anymore, but that she had lost all respect for me as her child, and I didn't want to face both her rejection and Dad being gone at the same time. "Mom," I say to myself, "I'm sorry…I love you…I will call you back."

What I don't notice is that while I am standing there near tears over my mother, three men walk up behind me, very silently. Everything happens so fast I barely have any time to process; the hand over my mouth, the twisting back of my arms, sending my cell phone flying out of my hand onto the ground shattering into a dozen pieces, and the slimy sound of Marcus' voice in my ear.

"You didn't think you could escape me that easily, did you Sweet Thing?"

Please don't kill me. So...what did you guys think? Reviews would be amazing!