You Just Love to Hate Me

I sat patiently on the bench, bored out of my goddamn mind. My breath clouded in the air from the cold and I shivered slightly, but this was better than any scummy motel room. All my money had gone on the plane ticket. I was left with pretty much nothing; just a small suitcase of clothes, including the ones I was in now, and about £200 English money.

The motel was a last resort, as it was roughly £25 a night, even given the condition of the place.

English bastards think they can rip us Americans off. Well not me! I con people, not the other way round.

Rolling my eyes at this, I sighed. I'm supposed to be a “reformed man” since I got out of jail in the States. Fuck that. There's only one person who could ever change me, and he probably hates my guts right now.

Only one way to find out though, hence why I'm here, on this stupid wooden bench. My ass was numb from sitting here so long, but that could've been because of the cold as well.

An engine roared by, and I glanced up eagerly, hoping that what I was looking for was finally here. It was just some annoying teenager with a supped-up engine though, to my disappointment.

Five minutes later, or thereabouts, there was a loud hiss of gas. The sound buses make

Not wanting to get my hopes up too much, I looked up slowly and positively jumped for joy at what I saw. It was a little different, but still held the same memories for me.

The Escape The Fate tour-bus!

And stepping off, right now was none other than the one and only Maxwell Scott Green!

I don't care if I sound like some crazed, stalker-ish 15 year old fan girl!! I was freakin' ecstatic! It was taking all I had right now to stop myself from going up behind him and wrapping him in a big ol' bear hug.

Wow. It's been so long.

My heart sank a little when the foursome sauntered into the hotel, but I knew that if I was going to be able to accomplish my mission, the bus needed to be empty.

I stood up and strolled casually across the road until I was standing behind the bus. A quick scan of the area told me the coast was clear, so I slipped on-board.

Ah. This place still smells the same, too. Sweat and stale food. Home.Not anymore.

Paper crinkled and protested, almost as if it didn't want to leave the safety of my pocket. Eventually I worked it free though, and placed the letter on the table.

Not willing to stay any longer than I had to and risk getting seen, or worse, recognized, I reluctantly stepped back out into the cold air, doing my leather jacket up that little bit cold. It was going to be a long sleepless night of worrying.

Step one of my ultimate plan: Complete.