Mark darted across the street as fast as his legs could manage. He could feel his heart thumping erratically in his chest, like it was attempting to turn back on its own. By the time he made it to his front door, even his mind was plotting against him, causing his knees to buckle and feet to glue themselves to the ground. "Fuck me," he whispered to himself, while slowly reaching for the door. "I'm so screwed. I'm fucked. Oh God, oh God, oh fuck me."

Suddenly, as Mark's hand touched the metal doorknob, the door creaked open. Mark's stomach knotted, and he almost turned to run away screaming, until he heard a soft voice say: "What are you doing?"

Air became lodged in Mark's throat and he gasped and nearly choked. His eyes shot from side-to-side trying to locate the source of the voice, but he couldn't seem to find it.

"Are you okay?" the voice asked, alerting Mark to look downward, where his eyes met his brother's.

"James?" he whispered. "What are you doing?"

The boy shrugged and opened the door a little more. "Waiting for you."

"For me? Why?"

James shrugged again. "Because."

Mark didn't query any further and, instead, tried to peer into the house. "Where's Dad?"

"In the back," replied James in a sad, whispered tone. "Are you still going to see Brady?" he asked, while looking down at the doormat.

"Of course I am," Mark whispered back.

James exhaled with a sigh and softly kicked his toe against the the side of the door. "Am I?"

A wave of extra guilt flooded throughout Mark's body, but he couldn't bring himself to answer truthfully. "Of course you are. We'll work this out. I promise. But I need you to do me a favour first."

James looked up at Mark, his eyes slightly widening. "What?"

"Can you help me get to my room? I need to get a couple of things."

James looked confused. "Okay - but what do you need me for?"

"I need you to make sure Mum and Dad don't see me."

"Why?"

Mark placed his hand back on the doorknob and leaned forward, toward James. "I can't explain right now, but I need to know if I can count on you," he said, placing his hands on James's shoulders. "Can I count on you?"

"Yeah," replied James with a nod. "What do you want me to do?"

"Where's Mum?"

"She's in her room."

"Okay, that's all right. Can you keep an eye on Dad? If you see him coming back to the house make a loud noise or something."

"Like what?"

"Umm, I dunno. Anything. Knock over a chair, drop a pot, it doesn't matter. Just anything loud that I will hear. Can you do that?"

"I guess..."

Mark placed both of his hands on the sides of James's head and kissed his forehead. "Great. I owe you one."

"No you don't. You owe me two, at least. If I drop something and it breaks I can get into trouble."

"Two it is," agreed Mark as he slowly tiptoed into the house, giving James the queue to run into the kitchen.

For the first time ever, Mark didn't take off his shoes when he entered, just in case he needed to make a quick getaway. He cautiously walked over to the staircase and peered around the corner to make sure James was standing by the door, keeping a careful lookout, and then he slowly climbed the stairs.

The hallway looked deeper and darker than ever, and for a moment Mark almost chickened out and turned back. However, he couldn't give up now. Not when Brady was expecting him to come back with money and a bag full of clothes. So he mentally swallowed his fear and slowly ventured down the hall to his room.

As soon as he made it, he immediately closed the door behind him. The first thing he saw when he turned around was that stupid chair that his dad had given him so that Brady wouldn't sit next to him on the bed. It's very presence, taking up space in his room, frustrated Mark, causing a surge of suppressed emotions to surface. He couldn't help it. He was angry, and his father wasn't being fair. So he lunged forward, heaving his weight directly at the monster of a chair and delivering all of it through the opened palms of his hands.

The chair immediately tipped over, bouncing off of the end of the bed then fell backward to the floor with a loud, hard thud. But Mark didn't stop there. He felt his blood begin to boil, building pressure within his veins. Within mere seconds it climaxed, releasing more anger and violence than Mark thought he was capable of. He couldn't control it. His arms and legs seemed to be in control now, fuelled by the thoughts that his mind kept feeding them.

Mark ran to his closet and clawed at the hanging clothes, ripping them from their hangers and to the ground several feet behind him. And before he knew it, he had a large backpack in his hand and was standing in front of his dresser, throwing handful after handful of socks and underwear inside. When he realized what he was doing he became even angrier that his tantrum had become so organized, and he heaved the bag across the room. Without worrying about where it had landed, Mark stormed toward his bed and flipped the mattress off of its frame, then turned back to the chair.

The Chair. It wasn't just an object anymore. It was a symbol, like a totem heeding warning to all those who crossed its path. Mark stared down at it. Lying on its back, with its springs exposed on its end. It was evil, just like a secret that had been buried with lies, and Mark wasn't going to allow such a thing to exist any longer.

He dropped to his knees and shoved his hands deep inside the Chair's insides, while positioning his feet on either side of the its bottom. Then he curled his fingers underneath several springs, and, tightening his grip, he pushed forward with his legs and pulled back with his arms. Within seconds, loud, buckling twangs could be heard as the Chair's springs were torn from their brace, followed by a even louder dong-like thump that mixed with cracking wood and tearing fabric. Suddenly, Mark fell back, and his shoulders smashed against the floor, causing his spine to feel like it had just shattered. At first, Mark was reminded of his prior, but probably still-recovering, back problems, but then he saw what he had just accomplished. In his hands he held five curly, black springs and some kind of dark cotton-like material that resembled pocket lint. However, this wasn't he was staring at. In front of him, the Chair was no more. Its seat and been pulled in, causing the thick material to cave in, leaving a large, rounded hole through its centre. The chair had been gutted.

Mark sat back up, dropping the pieces in his hands to the floor, and climbed to his feet. Although he felt a strong sense of pride and victory, he couldn't help but also feel stupid. How could he let himself drop to such a level? Was it really the chair's fault that he was having problems? Mark stepped back and turned away from the dead piece of furniture and lowered his head, feeling foolish and defeated. His mind began to process his recent actions, and the results that soon followed scared him: he was just like his father.

It was then that Mark knew, without a doubt, that there was no way he could stay here any longer. He had to leave and never return, and he couldn't look back. He needed to drown out the thoughts and actions that he could already feel infesting and growing deep within himself. He had to get as far away from his father as possible and retrain himself to be more accepting and in control.

Mark walked across his room, surveying the wrath he had unleashed upon so many things that had done nothing wrong, and located his backpack. He found it on the floor, near his television, lightly coated with a spray of powdered drywall, and he bent down and grabbed it. In front of him he could see where the bag had met the wall, leaving a small dent and cracked paint. As he stood up he dusted it off with his hand, then turned back toward his dresser. He was walking calmly now. His anger had passed but left him with shame, somehow though, he didn't care. He deserved it, after all.

Within moments, Mark had packed his bag and located his wallet. All that was left to do now was leave. However, when he opened the bedroom door, his exit was met by his mother. Mark looked up at her but avoided direct eye-contact. He knew that if their eyes locked he wouldn't be able to move. Her stare could do that to a person, like Medusa but with good intentions.

"Are you okay?" asked Brittany, in a strangely soft and unfamiliar whisper.

Mark couldn't remember how to speak, so instead he nodded, while staring down at the floor.

"Where are you going?" she asked, noticing the backpack.

Clearing his throat, Mark gripped the strap of his bag. He could feel every muscle in his body become tense and begin to shake. Even though somewhere deep down he wanted to, he still couldn't find his voice. Instead, he remained silent and unmoving, as his body began to sweat from fear and guilt.

The seconds felt like long, excruciating hours that never seemed to end, and the thoughts, still stirring in his head, were becoming so jumbled and confusing that he could no longer make sense of them. But then, suddenly, Mark noticed a moving shadow approaching him, and when he looked up he could see his mother stepping closer. Mark panicked and stepped back, not knowing what else to do, and then ran for the stairs.

"Mark!" pleaded Brittany. "Where are you going? ...Mark?"

Speeding down the stairs, Mark jumped to skip the last few and landed in the hall. Briefly looking into the kitchen, he saw James still standing in front of the back door, keeping guard, but didn't stop to say a word. Instead, he turned around, swung open the door, and ran out as fast as he could, not bothering to close it once he was through.

Mark's legs carried him across the street, refusing to stop until he reached Brady's front door. His knuckles immediately raised to its wooden surface and started pounding on it repeatedly. His heart was pounding so fast that it felt like his arteries could burst at any moment, which only caused him to knock with more urgency. Occasionally he would catch himself turning his head back toward his house to see if he was being watched, but no matter how many times he would look he could never recall if he had seen anyone.

At last the door opened, and when this finally happened Mark nearly threw himself into the house, slamming the door shut behind him. His bag dropped to the floor and rolled onto its side, and his eyes looked up to see Brady staring back at him. Mark couldn't control it anymore, and he felt his body collapse, causing him to fall forward into Brady's arms.

"What happened? Are you okay?" asked Brady, wrapping his arms around him and sinking down to the floor with Mark's dead-weight.

Mark didn't answer. He still couldn't find his voice box, which frustrated him. The warmth of Brady's body, combined with his fresh, radiating scent, only seemed to make his insides feel worse, and he couldn't hold it in any longer. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and his skin reddened. He was angry and embarrassed but felt happy as well, which seemed to be fuelling his guilt. He couldn't understand himself anymore and stopped trying, allowing his emotions to shape as they saw fit.

Brady pulled Mark as close as he could manage and tried to comfort him. He had meant to be strong for Mark, and tried as hard as he could, but the more of Mark's sobs he felt, and the more tears that absorbed into his shirt, the more control he felt himself lose. Soon he found himself crying as well, but desperately tried to hide it. He didn't want Mark to see him like this, not when he was the one that was supposed to be comforting him, and making his world better.

Eventually, Mark drew back and raised his head. He looked into Brady's eyes for a moment then wiped the tears from his cheeks. "I never want to do that again," he explained and leaned forward to rest his forehead on Brady's shoulder.

"Are you all right?" asked Brady, trying to remain as still as possible.

"No," replied Mark. "But we will be."

"We?"

Marked slowly pushed himself away from Brady and climbed to his feet. "Yeah."

"Good," Brady said and smiled up at him. "Did you get everything you needed?"

"Most of it. Forgot my toothbrush, though. My mom kinda distracted me."

"Your mom? What did she say?"

Mark shook his head and turned to pick up his bag. "Nothing really. It was more like... she stared. It was weird."

"Oh," was all Brady could think of as a reply. "So - do you still want to go through with this?"

Mark nodded. "Yeah. Did you find the tent?"

"Yup. Almost killed myself, but we're ready to go." Brady rolled forward onto his knees and slowly pushed himself up to his feet. "Damn. My muscles are getting all sore again... Uh, while you were gone I checked online to figure out where we can afford to go..."

"And?"

"...And, there's no way we can get to a train, or afford to get on one. But there's a bus station about two kilometres from here that has good prices and empty seats, but..."

"Okay, enough of the long, dramatic pauses. What's with the 'but's and stuff?"

"If we don't get to the station in like an hour we'll be stuck here until tomorrow morning."

"Shit," Mark said in a grumble. "Can we make it?"

Brady nodded. "Yeah, but that's not the problem. We need an adult to buy the tickets."

"Shit!" Mark said even louder. "How the hell are we gonna pull that off?"

Brady shrugged and walked into the living room. "I don't know. I guess we can try and bribe someone," he suggested, while picking up the tent and his travel bag. "Can you grab the sleeping bags? I ran out of me."

Mark giggled and bent down to pick up the two tightly rolled bags. "Got it," he declared, as Brady moved toward the front door. "Shit, mate!" he gasped. "Let's go out the back!"

"Why?" asked Brady, slightly frustrated. "We don't have time."

"Yeah, but if my parents see us we won't even get to the end of the street."

Brady reached for the front door and locked it. "Okay. I guess you have a point. We'll go through the back and use the alley, but we'll have to hurry," Brady turned around and walked through the living toward the kitchen, "'cause I don't know how long it's gonna take to find someone to buy us the tickets."

"We'll figure it out," replied Mark as he secured his backpack on his back and tucked the sleeping bags under his arms. "I mean, how hard can it be?"

Opening the back door, Brady held it open for Mark to pass and then locked it. "There's a gate next to those bushes over there," he said, pointing to the corner of the yard.

"Jeeze," started Mark, "your yard really is tiny, isn't it?"

"Compared to yours it is," replied Brady, following Mark to the gate. "But it's not exactly small either."

Mark smiled and looked back at Brady. "It's not the size of the yard, Brady."

Brady stopped at the gate and waited for Mark to open it. "Yeah, but we don't use it."

"Well, we'll have to put an end to that, huh?" said Mark with a huge grin on his face.

"Uh..." Brady felt himself blush.

"Shut up," chuckled Mark. "We gotta go, you pervert."

Finally getting the gate open, Brady followed Mark into the alley and turned left. "When we reach the street swing a right," he explained. "When we get to Parson Avenue we turn left and follow it until we reach Logan."

"And then we're there?" asked Mark as he hopped over a thick and cloudy puddle. "Ewww, I don't even want to know what that is."

"Nope. Once we get to Logan we'll turn right again and walk up about six blocks until we get to Johnson Drive. Then we'll be there."

"Ugh. Are you sure that's only two kilometres? That sounds like it's miles away."

"That's what the online map told me. And I'm pretty sure that two kilometres is just over one mile, so it's not really that far. I mean, it could have been worse."

"Yeah, ummm, don't say stuff like that 'cause every time someone says 'it can't get any worse' it does," said Mark, just as they reached the street. "Is this Parson?"

"No, it's Clifton," said Brady. "Take a right, and then we'll walk a couple blocks up to Parson."

"Ugh. More blocks?" whined Mark. "These streets are so boring. At least back home they twisted and turned a little. Here everything is so straight."

"Isn't that a good thing?" asked Brady. "If the streets were all twisty, wouldn't that take longer to get to the bus station?"

"No," Mark shook his head. "'Cause back home the twisty street would have led straight to the station."

"Liar."

"Shut-up," said Mark, readjusting his grip on the backpacks. "So... what happens if we don't make it?"

"What do you mean?"

"What happens if we can't get a ticket and have to stay there overnight and our parents find us?"

Brady shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno. I guess that means they'll take us back home."

"Oh," Mark lowered his head and watched his feet as they stepped along the sidewalk. "I was kind of hoping you had a back-up plan."

"Me? This was your plan, remember?"

"No it wasn't. Well, not anymore," said Mark, raising his head to look at Brady. "I suggested it, and you took everything from there."

"Well... fine. I came up with Plan A, so you need to think-up Plan B," decided Brady.

"Okay then. If we miss the bus we hitchhike," said Mark, awaiting Brady's reaction.

"Forget that! Don't you ever watch TV? Nothing good every comes from hitchhiking."

"Hey! This is my plan. You can't just reject it like that," said Mark with a chuckle. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Hiding behind my sense of self-preservation."

"Fine! If we miss the bus, we'll run back home and grab our bikes."

"Do you even have a bike?" asked Brady.

"No. Not yet. Do you?"

"I might, but I haven't used it in a while - and I only got one."

"Well, see? Then we'll have to hitchhike."

Brady shook his head. "Dude. We're not hitchhiking."

Mark sighed and rolled his eyes. "Well you're no fun."

By the time the two reached Parson they had both run out of things to say. Mark continued to brainstorm toward figuring out a Plan B, while Brady concentrated on the pitch he'd use to convince someone to purchase their tickets without running off with the money.

When they turned onto Logan time seemed to slow down. The street was incredibly busy, which kept interfering with their thoughts and made conversation next to impossible. Instead, they were forced to walk in silence, while watching the cars speed past them.

No more than twenty minutes after leaving Brady's house they arrived at the bus station, which was nothing how they imagined it. In their head they had pictured a more airport-like building, but instead all that was there was a single, rectangular building and a moderately sized parking lot.

"This doesn't look so bad," said Mark, stopping beside Brady at the station's entrance.

"I dunno," said Brady, sounding nervous. "It looks kind of empty inside."

"Is that bad?"

"Well, yeah. If it was busy then we'd have a lot of people to ask to buy our tickets, and the guy selling the tickets would be too stressed out to ask questions."

"So..." Mark stepped toward the door. "Should we go in? I mean, there's no sense in standing out here."

Brady nodded and followed Mark inside the building. Just to their right was the ticket booth, and inside sat an old, grumpy looking man with thick glasses and dull-white, receding hair. The rest of the floor was covered with several rows of chairs that had been bolted to the ground, which were currently only accommodating six other people.

"Can I help you fellas?" asked the man from behind the booth. "No loitering! Either buy a ticket or get out!"

"Shit," said Brady, dropping the bags on the ground in front of him.

Mark watched as Brady reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. "What are you going to do?" he asked hesitantly.

"Looks like I'm gonna go buy us some tickets," replied Brady as he walked over to the man.

In an attempt to not look suspicious by standing at the entrance, Mark picked up Brady's bags and awkwardly stumbled toward the waiting area, nearly tripping over Brady's duffel bag in the process. "Shit," he squealed in a fright and kicked the bag forward, away from his feet. When he sat down and placed the bags on the floor he attempted to watch Brady as inconspicuously as possible, but chickened out when he noticed a man noticing him.

After the most intensely nerve-racking five minutes of Mark's life, Brady finally returned and sat next him, staring at the ground. "So? What happened?" asked Mark, trying to read Brady's expression. "No luck, huh?"

Brady shook his head and frowned, while raising his right hand. "Yup. We're good to go," he said proudly, waving the tickets in front of him.

"Shit! Seriously? How'd you do it?"

Brady shrugged and returned the tickets to his pocket. "I have no clue. Either that guy's too old to see and hear me properly, or he just didn't care. Either way, I'm not complaining."

Mark sat silently. He wasn't sure how he felt, or if what he was feeling actually had a name. He knew he was happy, to some degree, and relieved that the tickets turned out to be so easy to get, but something deep down inside of him was scared. Everything had suddenly become real, like there was no turning back anymore. And the realization that this wasn't just a game anymore twisted his stomach into a knot.

"Are you okay?" asked Brady in concern. "You look like you're trying to poop."

Mark giggled with a nod. "Yeah, I'm cool. Just kind of hungry, I guess."

"Hmm," Brady thought for a second. "We don't have any food yet."

"How long until the bus comes?" asked Mark.

Looking up at a large, metal clock, Brady frowned again. "Like half-hour."

"And how long is the bus ride?"

Brady shrugged. "I think it's like two-and-a-half hours. It'll drop us off in town, but we'll have to keep our fingers crossed that a grocery store is still open."

"I guess I can wait a couple of hours... but what if everything's closed when we get there? It's already coming up to six."

"That's okay. We'll just walk down Main Street to Chester's Grill and get supper there. That place is always open."

Mark raised an eyebrow and looked toward Brady. "Wait - where are we going?"

"Camping, silly," replied Brady, leaning back in his chair.

"Well, yeah, I know that. But where are we going?"

Brady didn't answer at first. Instead a small smile stretched to the right side of his cheek, causing a small dimple to form in its centre, and he sat quietly, like he was recalling a fond and distant memory. "To a place I should have visited a long time ago," he finally said as his eyes began to shine through a slowly building sheen of moisture.

"Shit, dude. Are you sure that's such a good idea?" asked Mark, realizing what Brady had done.

"Yeah," he said simply. "Actually, I think this is the best idea I've had in a while," explained Brady. "Besides, it's looking like this whole thing is meant to be, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for starters, we actually got the tickets without a problem. That's like the first bit of good luck that we've had since we met."

Mark looked puzzled and slightly offended. "That's not true."

"Oh yeah?" replied Brady. "Then what else is there?"

"That's a stupid question. If we're going on this whole luck thing then I think it was pretty lucky that I just so happened to move in across the street from you. Not to mention the fact that we're both... well you know - together."

"Exactly," agreed Brady. "I'm not saying luck has anything to do with this. It's more like, I dunno, fate."

"So... this is our destiny? To run away with each other and live in the woods?"

"No. I'm not sure I believe in destiny. Everything just feels like this is something we need to do."

Just before Mark could reply, he was interrupted by an announcement on the intercom: "Now boarding: Toronto to Sudbury. Please have your tickets ready and luggage tagged. Thank-you for choosing Speedy Travels."

"Shit, is that us?" asked Mark, standing up in a panic. "I didn't know we had to tag our stuff!"

Brady smiled and leaned forward to gather their things. "It's okay. We can get those by the door. It'll only take a second."

"Are you sure? What if we take too long and the driver leaves us here?"

"Um, well," Brady giggled, "then we can hitchhike," he teased and stood up. "Now come on. Let's get out of here."

Mark quickly grabbed his backpack and swung it over his shoulder while collecting the sleeping bags. "We got everything?" he asked, looking over his shoulder toward their seats as they walked toward the bus.

"Yup. All we need now are the tags and tickets," said Brady, stopping at a small counter and putting down his bags. "Grab a pen and write your name on this." Brady passed Mark a few luggage tags. "I think we need to put down our destination and origin, too."

The two boys quickly scribbled down their information and ran toward the bus. "Do we still got everything?" asked Mark, looking back toward the counter.

"Yes. Quit worrying, will yuh?" asked Brady as he stopped beside the bus and placed the bags on the ground.

"You boys travelling alone?" asked the driver, who had walked over to help the passengers load their things.

Mark nodded. "Yes Sir."

The man smiled and reached for Brady's travel bag. "I've got these," he said. "Just let me see your tickets, and you can go find your seats."

"Okay, thanks Sir," said Brady as he slid his hand into his pocket to get the tickets. "Here you go."

The driver took the tickets from Brady's hand to look at them. "Okay. You two are in seats 41 and 42. That's near the back to your left." Tearing the ends off of both the tickets, the man then handed them back to Brady.

"Thank you," said Mark, following Brady onto the bus. "Looks like we're actually doing this."

"Shhh," whispered Brady. "Wait until we get on the bus."

"Oops. Sorry."

Locating their seats, they sat down and got settled, with Mark taking the window seat. "So how much did the tickets cost, anyway?"

"A little over $80."

"How much do we have left?"

"Two hundred and six dollars, a bit of change, and whatever you've got."

"I've got a twenty in Canadian and about thirty in pounds."

"Well, that's not so bad. I guess, if things get really desperate, we can use the pounds for tinder."

"What? Hey, wait, what? What are you saying?"

Brady grinned and leaned back in his chair. "Nothing. I'm just bugging you."

"You're a meanie, you know that?" said Mark as he looked out the window watching the driver close the luggage compartment.

"I'm sorry," Brady placed his hand on Mark's to get his attention. "I was just trying to lighten the mood a bit. You look all paranoid and stuff."

"Yeah... I guess I'm a bit nervous, which is really weird for me," replied Mark. "But what's even weirder is you."

"Me?" asked Brady in surprise.

"Yeah. I thought you'd be freaking out right now, and because you're not I guess my head decided to do it for you."

"What, you want to turn back?" Brady asked seriously. "'Cause I think this is our last chance to change our mind."

"No. I'm still good," Mark assured Brady. "But I honestly didn't think you'd go along with all of this. I kinda thought you'd try to talk me out of it."

Just then the bus driver stepped onto the bus and sat down in his seat. "This is your driver speaking," he said through the intercom. "Welcome to Speedy Travels: Toronto to Sudbury. If you are getting off along the way, please be sure to listen for your stop..."

Mark squeezed Brady's hand and looked him in the eye as the doors closed. Brady just smiled at him sunk into his chair. "Brady?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really hungry," he said half-jokingly.

Brady chuckled and shook his head. "Well, umm, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Mark frowned and looked out the window as the bus began to move. "Looks like there's no turning back now."