Fix Me, Fix You

The oversized Greyhound bus pulled up alongside the curb where Jesse Pinkman and two other strangers were standing idly. The low rumble of the parked bus was met with a deeper rumble from above. Jesse glanced upward. Though the sky was pitch black at four o'clock in the morning, he could still see the dark grey clouds rolling through the Albuquerque sky, threatening to drop rain and lightning. The weather so perfectly matched Jesse's mood.

With nervous trembling hands, he threw his large backpack over his shoulder then followed behind the two strangers and boarded the bus. He handed the driver his ticket and walked through the narrow aisle to find a seat.

The overhead light was dim due to the late hour. It flickered as Jesse sauntered below it, observing the ten other passengers – all of them were asleep. He chose a window seat toward the empty back of the bus and sat down, sinking low into his seat, wanting to neither be seen nor heard.

Though he knew he was in the clear and no longer in danger of being thrown in jail or killed, he was still paranoid about being seen, especially by locals. His name and face were all over the news stations that covered the recent tragic and traumatic story of his old high school chemistry teacher turned meth manufacturer turned "monstrous" meth kingpin – aka the story of Walter White's transformation into Heisenberg, who just so happened to be Jesse's meth-cooking partner.

Three months ago, the story came to a head when Heisenberg, after running from the law for months, returned with a vengeance to take care of the last of his business before dying. In the process of it all, he managed to free Jesse from being held captive as a meth-cooking slave, but it didn't take long for the police to find Jesse's fingerprints and connect him to Heisenberg's crimes.

Jesse's name was eventually cleared when (most of) the truth came out about him being held against his will to cook meth. His role in (known) previous crimes was overlooked due to his cooperation, and most charges were dropped when he gave up the names of the few people in the business who were still alive.

Eight hours ago, he got the call that his role in the investigation was done. His name was officially cleared. He dropped everything and began packing. He packed his few belongings, flushed his stash of drugs, shaved his head and trimmed his beard, gathered his money, and headed for the bus station. He was ready to start his life over.

Rain began to fall as the bus began to move. Jesse rubbed his freshly shaven – but tear-stained – face as he stared out of the window. His bloodshot eyes watched as his hometown disappeared behind him.

The last two years of his life had been a living hell. He didn't look or feel like the same person anymore. But it was finally over; he was finally free.

He tried to sleep. He wanted so desperately to sleep, but his body was restless. His hands were beginning to shake, but he didn't know if it was from anxiety or sobriety. Probably both.

By the time the sun came up, Jesse was going through full-blown withdrawal. He was sweating and shaking and writhing in his seat. His stomach was in knots. He pulled the fabric hood of his leather jacket over his shaved head, trying to hide his anguish. He prayed he could hold it together long enough to make it to the next stop, where they had a fifteen minute bathroom break.

He groaned slightly when the other passengers began to wake up. Slow chatter started to build. The noise hurt his ears and the lights hurt his eyes. His head pounded. He leaned forward, taking deep breaths.

"Alright folks," the bus driver announced. "We're in Tucumcari, New Mexico. It is 6:50 AM. This is a fifteen-minute restroom and food break. Our next stop will be in Amarillo, Texas around 10:20, so you might want to take advantage of this stop."

Before anyone else could even begin to stand up, Jesse had booked it to the front of the bus and out the door. His strained eyes searched for signs of a bathroom, and he bee-lined toward it when he spotted it.

Just as he was barging through the door and into a stall, the contents of his stomach came rushing up his esophagus. He grunted and allowed the bile to pour out of his mouth. He braced himself against the wall as his body trembled and his throat burned.

Once he had expelled everything in his stomach, he stood up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He exited the stall and walked over to the sinks where he examined his appearance as he washed his hands. The bags under his eyes were dark, but his eyeballs were bright red. His cheeks were flushed. He looked strung out and pathetic. And that was exactly how he felt.

He leaned against the counter and sighed, staring at his pitiful reflection in the mirror. It was going to be a long bus ride to Miami.