The next morning, Carlos is talking, but I'm not really registering. His voice is background music, easy listening while I start to think about the mess I've gotten myself into. Was I ever out of this mess? It seems like my life has been at the same point since before I was rushed into the hospital in a rush of blue-red lights and starch white blankets.

That night still comes back to me sometimes. There are parts I don't remember, except when I'm listening to certain songs, but utter silence brings on the worst of the memories. I had locked myself in my room for three days one week, while Mom was out on some sort of business trip. She came back to find me on the floor by the telephone, Joy To The World blaring in the background (to tell the truth, I don't remember that part at all- Mom just wouldn't let me live it down in the days following).

There's a lot more than that; those three days before I gave in were probably the worst of my life. I remember shivering on my bed, even though I turned the heat up to an insane temperature. I remember a headache that pounded against my skull like the baseline for 'Another One Bites The Dust'. But most of all, I remember having this incredible craving for peanut butter and yoghurt, preferably mixed together. I can't recall being so desperate and yet so disgusted by something in my entire life. Even now, when I see a cup of yoghurt or a piece of bread smothered with peanut butter, I start to get phantom headaches.

I haven't told anyone about the things I remember about those days and the ones following in the hospital. During group therapy, Candi always wanted us all to open up about our experiences, but I never even touched that particular subject. Instead, I keep them to myself, to be referred to randomly on certain days. I think about the nasogastric tube, the dietician with her goddamn rubber gloves, and the feel of hospital blankets... horrible.

"Hey Kris. Wake up."

Bob Dylan is playing tinnily in my ear, and for a split second, I think I'm still in my room, that when I wake up I'll see my music posters hanging on the walls. Then I remember what shit I've gotten myself into this time around.

I blearily open my eyes, squinting against the light and wincing as I move from my uncomfortable position on the bus' seat. Carlos is watching me worried, and he's poked me rather painfully on my shoulder.

"What was that for?" I ask, a little more irritated than I mean to be. Mornings are not my high point, and my mood is never alleviated when people feel the cause me bodily harm to wake me up.

"We're nearly there, Kris," Carlos says with a carefree grin. "I didn't want you to miss your stop."

"Thanks," I mutter in grudging gratitude, still trying to shake myself of the bad vibes.

The sinews in my neck feel like they've been replaced by iron cords in my interlude, and they crack as I roll it tentatively. How long have I been sleeping like this? As I look outside, it's pretty obvious that snow must have fallen while I was sleeping. There's frost on the window and the bus' progress is muffled on the long stretch of road. It's almost surreal: the snowflakes here fall just the same as they did in Connecticut.

I wonder if raindrops will be as heavy on my shoulders here as they are back home.

"... so you should probably eat something, you know?" Carlos finally breaks through my thoughts. I blink, a little surprised that my temporary travel buddy hasn't started waving his hand across my face to see if the lights are still on.

"Eh? Yeah," I say, rubbing the back of my head in what I hope is a sheepish and carefree move. "I'm not too hungry right now. I have a bit of a cold."

"That's bullshit, Kris. Pardon my French."

"Pardoned. What do you mean, bullshit?" I say defensively. "I eat all the time. Oranges. I like oranges. And yoghurt..."

"You are possibly the skinniest kid I have ever seen," Carlos counters, poking me between my ribs. "You're starving to death."

"What is with you and poking me?"

I am now legitimately flustered. Aside from the fact that he seems to have no concept of personal space, Carlos is actually unsettling me in a major way. His scrutinization is worse than group hugs.

"Why are you running away, Kris?" Carlos asks, in all seriousness, and continues before I can even open my mouth. "There are good reasons, and then there are bad reasons. Leaving because you have people back home who care about you and want you to be all right is a bad reason."

"My mom doesn't want me to be all right," I say, trying not to let him see how close he's struck and failing miserably. I really don't like where this conversation is headed. "She just wants me to be normal. It's not the same."

"What do you mean by she wants you to be normal?" he says. His persistent tone is actually grating on my ears now. "Is there anything wrong with normal? Or do you just want to be special, Kris?"

"Why do you give a fuck?" I retort angrily. I'm panicking a little inside. I'm losing control. "We don't even know each other, all right? Please leave me alone."

"I really hate people like you, Kris," Carlos says quite calmly as the bus starts to pull up at the stop. His comment is cool and sharp, like a discordant note in a harmony. I stare at him, trying to figure out what brought this sudden revelation on. "The lengths some people go to for attention, for superiority, is just beyond contempt. I know you're sick, but you made yourself sick. Just who are you trying to get sympathy out of by acting out and hurting yourself?"

"Look..." I say, grabbing my guitar tightly and starting to walk off the bus. He follows, through no purpose it seems except to talk to me. "I don't know what your day job is, Carlos, but I think you should stick to art. You don't know anything about me."

"Nobody does, do they?" Carlos challenges, but doesn't follow up with another comment. He leaves me at the bus stop, one earphone dangling idiotically out of my ear. I haven't noticed until now that my music player has run out of juice, but that doesn't seem to matter right now.

I don't think anything for a long moment, but when my brain finally starts working, I wonder why nobody's had this conversation with me before. I check the money in my wallet.

I can wait until the bus back to Connecticut.