Red car, black car, white truck, white truck, white truck.

The passing scenery on the state highway left a lot to be desired. The darkening shapes of trees and fence lines had begun to obscure as the light faded and the rain picked up, blanketing the landscape until it created a thick, ominous border that narrowed the highway into a sort of bleak tunnel. Beth wondered at the repetitiveness—how each town they passed mimicked the next, vehicles, houses, strip malls, livestock; each cow seemed to be the last cow and also the future cow.

She thought this probably had everything to do with why she was sitting on the bus right now. The repetitiveness and predictability of her days and of her actions had only recently started to set in with a slow anxiety. She had become listless, and the steady decrease in her usually driven, ambitious nature had honestly scared her. There was a feeling of change, or at least the want for change, but Beth had no idea how to handle it or what it really meant for her at the end of the day. If pressed to describe it, she could only say conflicted. Beth Greene simply felt conflicted.

She wondered if her sister, Maggie, had ever felt similar, and supposed she probably had, though more than likely about and under different circumstances. Maggie was a lot more confident in her decisions, had always been the first to speak up and the last to get a word in, even when it came to their daddy. She missed her sister, wished she could find a way to tell her about all the things she felt without sounding silly or childish. That was the trouble with being the youngest—her siblings had likely already been there, done that, and even with the best intentions were mostly incapable of hiding the sort of horrible pity that accompanies recalling a shit time in one's life, but a time already filed away and squarely marked as manageable and over; a time that can't quite be remembered with the same clarity, the same acute pain, as the one experiencing it now.

She sighed against the window as the bus jostled over a few potholes, then veered toward the right. The air brakes groaned as they rolled to a stop in front of a somewhat dilapidated Chevron. Beth stared through the rain streaked window at a grey metal awning that sloped down on one side, just inches from the concrete. She could just make out a dull yellow light shining through the dirty glass of the storefront, a bit obscured from her vantage point.

Jimmy stirred in the seat next to her, a soft noise bubbling from sleep as he rubbed the back of his hand against one eye.

"Where are we?" he mumbled, eyes still closed.

"Gas station."

He leaned into her side and slumped back down until his head rested on her shoulder. "I'm so hungry."

She smiled down at the top of his head. "Suppose I could go for some snacks."

Jimmy finally opened his eyes, smiling, until he focused on the run down store just over Beth's shoulder. "Jesus. Where the hell are we? Looks straight out of a horror movie."

"Couple hundred miles or so from Matamoros, I think. God, I can't wait to get off this bus."

He stretched out, yawning. "We're just gonna have to get on another one."

"Still...that's one step closer," she grinned, nudging his shoulder. "C'mon, lemme out. I'll get you something to eat."

Outside, Beth stepped under the cover of the awning and stretched her arms in the air, bent in half, and touched her toes. She unfolded herself and jumped in place for a few seconds, staring out into the surrounding woods, thinking, "This was probably a bad idea."

She wanted to be positive about the experience, and had begun to make an effort, for Jimmy's sake, to seem relaxed and happy, maybe even compliant to some degree. They had left Atlanta nearly twenty hours ago, the first five of which they spent arguing about the likelihood of her daddy, Hershel, disowning her after this little stunt, and Jimmy's waning tolerance for her neverending concern over the good opinion of a parent who refused to treat her like an adult.

She figured he had her daddy pegged all wrong—he treated her like an adult, albeit a particularly fragile one. All it boiled down to was the fact that he didn't want her to be stupid. Beth didn't want to be stupid, either, and all this contrived rebellion—leaving unannounced, on a bus with her boyfriend and a good chunk of her college savings in her pocket, headed toward Mexico like it existed only as one, big, looming party; one, big sun-soaked, alcohol-fueled dream—was starting to make her feel like that was exactly what she was being. But if she was very honest with herself, she had to admit that the thought of doing something wrong for once gave her a little shiver and thrill whenever she managed to tamp down the guilt. But thoughts like that weren't exactly second-nature to her, and even thinking such a thing gave her an inkling of doubt about her own perceived level of maturity.

She held the door open as an older couple ambled from the bus toward the store, pausing just outside the threshold for a moment before nodding their thanks and determining it safe enough to enter. She didn't blame them for being apprehensive; the whole town, as far as she could tell, looked like the remnants of a bombing. A bombing, she thought, that nobody had bothered to rectify, but instead scurried back from and into the shells of buildings and leaning, rusted structures, content to adapt rather than restore. This was the kind of place for passing through, and abruptly, at that. She glanced back toward her seat's window and grinned at Jimmy's sleeping face pressed against the glass, fog expanding around his nose in an amorphous pattern. The sight of him seemed sweet and calming. "Alright, Beth," she told herself, "This is fine. This is good. Everything's gonna be alright."

She ducked into the store and squinted. The lighting was harsh and somehow made the circles surely by then forming under her eyes feel heavy like bruises. The older couple stood peering at a row of fountain sodas, still and possibly confused by the amount of options. She glanced to her left, and the man behind the counter nodded at her.

"Evenin'," he said. He had a nose like a beak, irritated and pink skin that had been greeted by the sun one too many times over the years.

Beth gave a tight-lipped smile, polite but brief. The couple shuffled back toward the door, empty handed and confused. She thought about asking if they needed help, but for some reason felt more and more uncomfortable the longer she stood there.

Feeling weird and silly, she made a sharp right turn into the candy aisle. A broad shoulder clocked hers from the left, and she stumbled back hard, saying, "Oh, sorry," as if by automated response. She was only met with a sort of grunt and shuffle. The man, tall and filthy judging by the grease streaks she glimpsed running like hash marks down his bare arms, continued on past her without a word.

He threw something lightly onto the counter and mumbled, "Pack of Reds."

He looked down and slightly over his shoulder, seemingly aware of her wide-eyed and silent fuming from behind him where she stood still in the aisle. His visage was harsh, angular, with a sloping nose and damp hair that mostly covered his eyes. She couldn't believe he hadn't even had the decency to do the apology-dance—the one where they both mumbled 'sorry' and smiled and gestured in a way to show just how not put out they each were. And well, that was just plain bad manners in her book.

She made a noise like tch! and muttered, "Asshole," before spinning on her heel and turning her attention, begrudgingly, to the vast selection of chocolate.

Just as she picked up a Kit-Kat bar and a bag of beef jerky, she heard the rattle of the door opening, and a low, gruff voice say, "You kiss your momma with that mouth, girl?" She looked up just in time to see his retreating form pass through the doorway and step casually out into the rain.

Beth placed her things on the counter, cheeks hot with embarrassment when she caught the clerk's amused expression—one he didn't attempt to hide as he snorted a laugh.

She glared down at her feet, then looked up sharply at him. "You got a bathroom?"

Still grinning, he slid a wooden block across the counter. A single key dangled from the end. He pointed outside toward the right of the building. "It's round back, on that side. Second door, but..."

Beth grabbed the keys and darted out the door, unable to make out anything else he said as she shook her head in annoyance. She'd been in this town for all of ten minutes, and she'd already visualized kicking the shins of the only two residents she'd even seen something vicious. God, but she couldn't stand bad manners.

She jabbed the key into the bathroom lock, and wriggled it left and right as it stuck slightly in either direction, huffing and growing more irritated by the second until it finally gave way and swung open. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, buzzing ugly and grey against her pale skin. She gazed into the mirror with a frown, pushed a few wisps of hair from her face, and turned on the faucet. Splashing the cool water on her skin, she wondered for the millionth time today just what in the hell she was doing.

She was eighteen, just another month shy of nineteen, and that meant she was an adult, right? She wasn't in high school anymore. Her days had abruptly and unceremoniously dropped off from a whole lot of 'have to' into a strange, unfamiliar territory filled with 'because I want to.' She could spend time with Jimmy and her friends however, whenever. She could go to parties on weekends, or stay home in her sweats marathon-watching old episodes of Mama's Family or Daria if she felt like it. She could even get her own apartment if she wanted, pay her own bills, if she wanted, or go on a godforsaken bus trip across the southern United States to Mexico if she wanted. So why didn't it feel like that? Why did she have to constantly question every single little decision she made for herself? And, most importantly, why did she always have to feel so horribly anxious, so horribly wrong, about doing anything remotely resembling fun?

A little bit tired of listening to herself, she stopped her thoughts with another cold splash to the face, and patted herself dry with a paper towel. Twisting the door knob, a small, cold fear began to spread from the base of her spine; the door knob did just that—it twisted continuously, spinning and spinning without catching the lock. She jiggled it and turned left, then right—nothing.

She backed up, exasperated. "What the...?" She patted her back pocket, hoping to find her cell phone, but remembered she'd only ran into the store with her wallet. She banged on the door, shouted, "Hey! Is anyone out there?! I'm stuck in here!" She kicked the wall, kicked the door, continued shouting, but it seemed no use, drowned out by the now pouring rain.

Oh, no, she thought. Was this it? Was she trapped here, inside the dirty bathroom of a Chevron in the middle of nowhere, Texas, forced to subsist on tiny rations of beef jerky and a Kit-Kat until she died of starvation? She banged on the door harder, louder. She shouted and waved her arms, as if it would somehow make her more noticeable even behind a closed door, and continued to kick pretty much anything in her immediate vicinity until her right foot throbbed. She started in with her left foot, futilely thumping and banging around for a solid five minutes until she was panting.

She lowered herself to the cold tile and put her head in her hands. This, she thought, this was stupid. If she couldn't even open a bathroom door, how in the world was she supposed to convince anybody, least of all herself, that she was a capable adult? What did she even have in her world that was so adult, anyway? A car her daddy had bought her? A twenty year old boyfriend she'd been seeing for all of three months? Sure, she had a part time job at the bookshop, and an embarrassingly puny bank account, but…

"Credit cards!" she announced to herself, hopping up from the floor.

Surely that could actually work, she'd seen it in plenty of movies. Her only debit card gleamed; a last bastion of hope as she pulled it from her wallet, squinted her eyes at the space between the door frame and lock, and wedged it between the two. It took her a few tries, some hopelessly awkward fumbling, because really, Beth had no idea what in the hell she was doing, but the lock finally pushed back in place and she wrenched the door open.

She grabbed her plastic bag and the key from the floor, and ran out into the rain with a wide grin on her face, faith almost restored. She pushed into the store and practically threw the wooden block at the clerk, the key tumbling over the counter and plopping to the floor near his feet. His mouth hung slack as he stared at her blankly, then out the window, then back at her.

"You," she began, finger pointing at him in accusation, "should really consider getting that lock fixed."

She turned to rush out again, but he called out, "Uh, Miss...Miss!"

She looked back at him and raised her eyebrow. He was pointing outside, his face somewhere between amused and uneasy. "The bus," he stated.

"The bus?"

"Yeah," he swallowed. "Weren't you on that bus?"

"Yeah, I was on the..." Beth stopped short as she looked out into the small, dark parking lot, empty and shining like liquid under a lonely security lamp. "You've gotta be kidding me..."

AN: Just a bit of set-up. Bear with me, please. A lot of Bethyl interaction to come.