Author's Note: Goodness! I SO didn't mean to keep this update waiting for so long! This is what I get for having too many commitments. I hope you all can forgive me! And I'm not gonna prattle on, because I know you all just wanna read. Enjoy!

CHAPTER SEVEN: 10 000 Miles

10 000 miles to take me home

I don't belong, out here alone at sea

-- 10 000 Miles

Roger wanders the city of San Francisco, hands in his pockets, eyes on his feet. Around him is the bustle of tourists and locals, looking for somewhere to grab some lunch, and, more than once, Roger has bumped into someone. His mind couldn't further away from him.

His show the night before was, needless to say, amazing. The crowd loved the band, and the party afterwards was just as fun. Yet, through it all, Roger stayed relatively on his own. He couldn't stop thinking about what Mark had said – what he had said.

His mind can't get off the topic. In all honesty, Roger is flattered that Mark cares so much about losing him. The musician can't think of anyone else who's ever felt so strongly about him before. It makes him feel like an ass even more. He knows that he was out of line with such a cold farewell. Hell, he was probably out of line in more ways than that. Roger shakes his head, and finds himself outside of his hotel.

His feet carry him to his room. He unlocks the door and immediately starts packing up his things. The band isn't set to go back to New York for another day, but Roger can't see the point in staying any longer. He needs to get back and set things straight with Mark. After scribbling a note for his band mates, Roger takes his things and walks to the bus station.

The bus ride home seems to be taking longer than it should. Roger is getting restless in his seat. He digs through his bag and pulls out a pad of paper. Writing always makes the time pass. But Roger is uninspired. He chews on his pen, letting his eyes examine the other passengers on the bus. How many of them are returning to lovers to fix things up? There's a good chance some of them are, Roger thinks. After all, this is his second bus trip back home to a scorned lover.

Roger taps his pen on the paper. He isn't the mood to people-watch. His eyes travel to the scene in the window. There is nothing really fascinating to be seen. Cars drive by, fields roll along. It looks like something Mark would film. Roger's pen stops in mid-tap. He stares at the back of the seat in front of him, and immediately starts writing.

Back when he was in high school, someone told Roger that writing down what he's feeling will help organize his thoughts and clear his mind. He's never done it before. The page on his lap is filling up steadily with thoughts of his illness, his past, and Mark. Every second sentence seems to be about Mark. Roger stops writing and puts his pen away.

A familiar feeling is sneaking up on Roger. He can feel the obsession – the addiction – creeping back into his body. A dull ache fills his stomach. He thought he was over this. Everything had been going so well. Roger closes his eyes and takes a few, deep breaths. He opens them again and watches the cars drive by the bus.

Roger reminds himself that he is not supposed to be addicted to Mark anymore.

Author's Note: I know! It's a crap chapter! Please don't kill me. I'll try to get another one up by tonight or tomorrow that will (hopefully) make up for the length and lameness of this one. Please review! It makes me confident. And. Thank you to all those who are still reading this.