He lumbered up the hill smiling. He had been smiling all day. They loved each other that was all that really mattered. But even in his happiness he could feel something was wrong, she hadn’t seemed so happy all week. Her eyes had seemed slightly less devoted, her gaze often directed elsewhere. But it was nothing to worry about, love would conquer all, he reassured himself.

The hill was long and steep, he bussed to the bottom of it and walked up every day to see her. She would smile, and he’d be happy it was what he lived for. But as he finally ascended to number ninety two, her house, and made his way down her short drive, he felt uneasy. There was something wrong, she was staring out her window at him.

He smiled and waved, but she didn’t smile and didn’t wave back. He felt more uneasy, and made his way towards her door. He knocked and she was there. He knew something was wrong, there were tears in her eyes.

"Ivor, we have to talk."

He kept smiling, everything in his body seemed to reach the tip of the rollercoaster, anticipating the fall, "Yes…we do, I brought you some chocolate, and a flower picked from Mrs Jenkins garden."

He produced them out of his bag, but she shook her head.

A few tears began to well up, but subsided slowly, he could feel it coming, "Ivor, this can’t go on."

He felt the tears start coming but blinked them away hurriedly, "Why not, why?"

"I just…I don’t know, I think I’ve fallen out of love with you." She shrugged, "I’m really sorry, but it just has to end now."

The roller coaster plummeted, the world seem to spin around briefly, his insides began to throb as if someone had stuck a hot iron poker into his chest and mixed it around nice and slowly. She turned and went to close the door. He spluttered, "It can’t be it, it can’t be over, not like this…Roxanne…"

"Its the way it has to be." She stared at him for a moment, and then shrugged, "Sorry."

The door slammed in his face. Everything started whirling around and around, he dropped to his knees. For a second he let it run over him, the pain flowing through from his toes to the tips of his fingers. His eyes shuddered and he held back a moan. Shaking himself out of his state, he stood up, he had to fight it. She was, after all, only a girl. Suddenly images flashed in his mind, her smile, her face distorting with desire, everything about it seemed wrong, he loved her why didn’t she love him back.

His eyes suddenly fell on his watch and he remembered the time of the bus. Standing up hurriedly, he brushed himself down and grabbed his bag. Turning nimbly he began loping down the hill in an uncoordinated but quite fast sprint. His eyes were slowly welling up but he concentrated on the pain in his legs as they continued their war with gravity.

The hill was difficult to cope with, he remembered how happy he was as he came up. He remembered her smiles, and their expeditions in the past. The sneaking in, the sneaking out, the diving into bushes at the sight of the parents car. His face was awash with tears, he could barely see.

He knew he was near the bottom the slope was evening out, he wiped his face with his sleeve. As he went to walk to the bus stop only a few metres away, the bus slowly passed him. In the rearview mirror, he could see the driver chuckling to himself. An anger burned in him, but another memory rose its nostalgic head and quenched the fire. They had to walk home, after the bus driver drove straight past them. They had both been angry and talked about how bad the bus driver was for hours.

He couldn’t take it, a walk would do it, walk away the pain. He began towards his home, it was only a few hours away. His collapsed arches painfully rasping against the bottom of his shoes, his twisted ankle began to complain loudly. And slowly as he began realising more and more pains hindering his progress, the flow of memories died away. It took an hour but eventually, all he could think about was his aching body. Her face had even vanished away behind the pain.

Time passed slowly, his aching joints slowly ticking by click by click. Two busses steamed past him, one a familiar face seeming concerned but Ivor had smiled and waved sending hi m on unworried. Suddenly, his body gave in, he collapsed on the footpath. Everything ached beyond reckoning and he shook his head. It was only a short walk, he had done it a million times but everything seemed to hurt. Seeing a bus approach, he pulled himself up and limped over the road.

He would go into town, relax, have something to eat and come home from there. Everything was ok, the bus juddered to a halt. The young Mexican driver smiled as he entered, "Town?"

Ivor nodded briefly, and dished out a dollar from his inner pocket, "Thanks."

"No problem buddy." The bus driver said, slamming the money into his cash register, "My name is Michaelangelo, you ok."

Ivor nodded again, attempting to nullify the driver’s friendliness and descended down the bus.

The bus driver stared at the boy, he was tall, seemingly disjointed. His eyes seemed to be permanently out of focus, and a thin layer of perspiration soaked his face. The term that came to mind was terminally stoned. He grinned widely, remembering the expression from his own childhood and accelerated towards town.

Ivor stared out of the window, the pain was gradually subsiding. His hands were throbbing from the fall; a neat layer of skin grated off by the harsh gravel but his joints were easing up and the warm heat of the bus was relaxing his muscles. As everything began to hurt less and less his eyes slowly shut. His body slowly fell into a much-needed unconsciousness.

His dreams were vivid, she was smiling, everything was happy, they were playing, they were…the bus came to a halt throwing his head against the window. He shook himself steadily and looked out into the familiar bus exchange. Most of the bus was disembarking and he quickly followed suit.

Once out, he felt a sharp pain in his gut. He looked down and suddenly everything came back. She had dumped him for nothing, she didn’t love him, it was over. He was standing stock still forming a wedge in the quickly moving crowd. Most steered clear, judging him quickly as a junkie, others accidentally bumped into him not latching onto his proximity.

He hurt, his heart burned. He couldn’t take it, he ran for the door, knocking over a wheelchair sending a paraplegic sprawling. Not even looking back, he rounded the corner and sprinted towards the outer door. Everything was moving horribly slowly, people were pointing staring, everything hurt, but everywhere she was laughing at him.

His pain passed into anger he ran faster, out onto the main street packed with people and cars. He ignored everything and sprinted across the street. He would run, until it hurt again, then he would walk till it all burned away it was the only way. As he ran, he banged into a middle aged woman wearing a strange rubbish bag dress and holding a large white loaf of bread.

She turned around and swore loudly at the boy but stopped as she saw his face. This was the first time that Alexandra Jenkins had ever seen the boy. His hair popping up and down, his strange eyes, his odd run, the pain that was so evident it seemed to be screaming, she liked him immediately.

After a brief apology he had continued his run, but she had noted his face. It was a hard one to forget, she took another mouthful of bread and looked around. There were as usual the few starers, looking at both her and him. She fixed each one in a startling eye contact, sending people walking very fast in indiscriminate directions.

Once she had finished, an old woman walking blindly into a C.D. store, she chuckled and began to make her way home. Her concept of home could be described as different than most peoples. Alexandra Jenkins was known on every bus route, she had a "monthly pass". Working as a housekeeper at several ignorant households, gave her enough to afford bread and monthly pass, with a little left over for luxuries.

She slept on the buses, survived on the buses, she would make a replacement rubbish bag dress every few years, stolen from the unknowing households, and get changed in the bus exchange public toilets. The bus company knew exactly what she was doing, but everywhere she went there was a small band of admirers. Sociality students did assignments on her, in fact, a classified government department kept tabs on her every move. The bus company realised her importance to their subsidies and popularity, and never questioned her strange habits.

Time was different in Alexandra’s world, she could sit in the bus exchange for days and not realise that time was ticking by. They passed quickly, Alexandra got used to the boy arriving and running away. He would eat occasionally, laugh, smile, get ready to take a bus, although day by day he seemed to be sporting more and more injuries. Then suddenly a pained expression would pass over his face and he would zone into the same strange walk moving towards the door.

One day, she was sitting eating her daily bread when a strange man in a dark suit approached her. He was very black, his eyes shining like lightbulbs in a pitch-black room. She stared, she wasn’t racist by any stretch of the imagination but he was really, really black.

"Can I have a moment of your time." She felt the second shockwave pass over her, he had a crisp posh accent, one would almost describe it as slightly artistic.

Masking her amazement, she stared absently in the usual manner, "You know, I had a man once."

"Yes, I do, he was a fireman, he was killed in the fire that destroyed your house." The black man said smiling broadly, "He was also a police officer murdered by the same man who killed your whole family."

She felt slightly uneasy, he knew her ways, "I have lived here for twelve years you know."

"Yes." He smiled, his teeth shining like the moon on starless night, "They call me the Skin, I wish to ask you a few questions."

Alexandra shrugged, he had done his homework, she didn’t really care, "Time ticks by."

He smiled again, "Have you seen this boy."

The boy’s picture was produced out of the folds of his jacket, she stared, "Terminally stoned."

"That is what they call him." Skin said, drawing out a small notebook, "You are here a lot, how often do you see him?"

"Time ticks by." She repeated, smiling broadly.

Skin grimaced, "You have to understand, he seems to have taken a certain personal situation seriously, he may not be eating…"

She interrupted quickly, "He eats when he needs to eat, he is happy when he is hurt, he will find himself in time."

"Unfortunately its not a problem of whether he is finding himself or not," Skin said savagely, "I have been paid to do a job, the police can do nothing, and his parents have assumed the worst."

"Time heals." She said and stood up suddenly, "It seems to be his way of dealing with it…don’t take it away."

A bus suddenly pulled up and the bus exchange doors shuddered open, "Good luck." The rubbish bag woman said as she limped towards the queue.

Skin mumbled his thanks and made his way out of the bus exchange. He smiled briefly, he had finally got a lead. He looked at the picture again, it seemed strange he would want to run away. His parents seemed a nice enough lot, they seemed reasonably well off and he was in the middle of a school year. At first, the police had been called in, they had issued a manhunt but before it had even started, a police car ran across him walking along a road in an outer suburb.

After briefly questioning him, they were forced to give up. He was seventeen, he wasn’t in any major health risk, he was pretty much within the bounds of the law. His parents had tried to find him but failed, the police refusing to give any details. Now Skin was instructed to bring the boy home using whatever methods necessary. He looked at his pad briefly, pretty much from her rambling he had assumed he came every few days.

All he had to do was wait. He stared at the bus timetables, fifty five busses in all, all coming in at different times. He settled into a seat and began to wait. An hour passed with only a few buses entering and exiting, people getting off and on. They began to give him strange looks, like Alexandra he had been getting them his whole life and had learned to deal with them. His skin was so dark that it was almost unusual not to stare but that didn’t give him any incentive not to stare back. He was interested by the game for a while, but eventually felt the wave of tiredness float over him.

He started reprimanding himself for the feeling, but eventually with no buses coming for half an hour he thought closing his eyes briefly wouldn’t do any harm. Three hours later, stretched out over three seats, a police officer woke him up, "Sir, if you would leave the bus exchange immediately it would be appreciated."

The police officer was a young man, his eyes betraying what he was trying not to show; extreme fear. Skin woke up and swore, the bus exchange was swarming with people. He stared at the young officer for a moment, "What’s your name?"

As usual he reacted to Skin’s accent with a gasp, "Um…Fletcher, my name is Officer Thomas Fletcher."

"I’m no tramp Mr. Fletcher, I’m just a legitimate businessman trying to get my job done, if that’s worrying you." Skin pronounced in articulate tones, "Now, the one they call terminally stoned, have you seen him in the last few hours?"

The officer was taken aback by the direct line of questioning, he stuttered, "Um…I’m…not allowed to say anything about that, its out of our business."

"As I said Mr Flettcher, I’m just a legitimate businessman trying to do my job, if you aren’t obliged to tell, I accept its your duty." Skin said, removing a small wallet from his pocket, "But man to man, I’m sure you can let go a few little details."

Ten minutes later, Skin burst out of the main bus exchange doors five hundred dollars the poorer and knowledge of where the bastard was the richer. He had been sighted sprinting down Ferry Road half an hour ago, he dived into his car, a sleek black convertible. He streaked away down the road, as fast as the slow run of traffic allowed.

He rounded the corner and blazed down Ferry Road. His expertly trained eyes began scanning the road, looking for anyone who fitted in the features for a "Terminally Stoned".

Ivor was entering his zone. He had found the zone after the first week, it was where everything hurt and nothing mattered. The perfect place to be until it hurt too much to go on. He was now on Ferry Road, reduced to a walk. He didn’t even think that much anymore, he found it brought up too many memories. He’d just found the zone, and he’d go back, often getting on the bus to go home but then it would hurt too much and he’d start running, then walking, then sometimes crawling until he got into the zone.

He had learned to love pain. The dull aching of a hundred lacerations where he had fell and ripped open this or that. The pull of a hundred too well worked muscles. The sharp bolt of pain as he landed on his seemingly broken foot. It all overcame everything and made it all seem better. Cars zoomed past, he didn’t notice until one stopped beside him. Two cars had stopped beside him in the past, one a family friend begging him to return but he had just kept running.

The police had also stopped him but he had explained, and one policeman had sympathised. That was all he needed, this car would probably be another family friend he thought angrily, he didn’t want any more sympathy, he just wanted to walk. But it was a large black man, Ivor shook it off assuming the stop to be coincidence and continued walking.

A few seconds later he felt something grab him from behind and cover his mouth and nose with a strange smelling towel. He tried to struggle but suddenly felt the warm grip of unconsciousness take over and fell into Skin’s arms.

She made her way over his lawn. She was feeling excited, they had found him. Ever since he’d left her house she’d felt guilty. He was finally found, she would apologise for how she treated him that was all, she thought quickly. Somehow, over his absence, she’d been sad, even though getting rid of him had been a great weight of her mind at the time.

She knocked on his door, and his mother opened the door. She was large, her face round and almost made for smiling, and she hadn’t truly hated anyone since high school. But her son’s long absence and its primary cause had aroused old emotions from deep inside, "Hello Rachel." She said cooly.

Roxanne tried to smile, "Um…is Ivor home?"

She nodded curtly, "I’ll see if he wants to see you."

Roxanne nodded, and desperately tried to withhold her fear. She had been always liked by his mother, she had never seen any evil side before. She began to regret coming and tried to retreat down the drive, but his mother was already there again glowering, "He does want to see you, try not to hurt him too much this time Roxanne."

She tried to apologise but already his mother was walking away down the hallway. She had cried so much when he was found missing,, she mused sadly, she could feel it all coming back. Shaking her head and breathing deeply, she made her way through the house and to his door. He had obviously heard her coming, his voice sounded vaguely hopeful, "Come in."

She entered and looked at him. Suddenly, as if a light had been turned on in a room she hadn’t explored in a few weeks, it came back. She loved him, she ran over to him and hugged him. He hugged her back and she went to kiss him. He held back, "Roxanne…"

She stared into his eyes, and suddenly realised. They weren’t showing love, she stepped away from him, "What…what is wrong…you loved me so much you couldn’t handle it."

He stared at her again, "Its complicated…it was you at first…but…it became more that I liked the pain…I don’t know…but I hated the feeling so much that you gave me that…I…well…stopped loving you."

She digested the words slowly, "I don’t understand."

"Neither do I." Ivor said approaching her, "I thought when I saw you it would all come back, but…"

Roxanne interrupted, "Can’t we start again…can’t we try again?"

Ivor shook his head, "No…its over, you ended it, it has to stay that way."

Roxanne stared at the world melting away, "But…but…"

Tears were appearing on his face, "Don’t cry Roxanne, I’m really sorry."

She didn’t realise it but the fears were flowing freely, "I can’t…I can’t…"

She ran out of the house crying, he tried shouting after her but failed. She knew he would have run after her, but he couldn’t. She ran crying and crying, everything hurt so much. Why had she done it why? She kicked a lamp and felt pain throbbing through her foot. His drive was only a few metres away from the bus stop and she made her way towards it hobbling along. Along the road came a bus, a young Mexican at the wheel, he stared at the girl for a moment, if there was one thing Michaelangelo remembered it was couples.

She was the young thing that Terminally Stoned guy used to go around with. He stared at her impassively waiting for the bus, he remembered his first girlfriend, and the day she had dropped him. He felt the anger boil up, and drove passed ignoring her urgent wave.

She burst into another flood of tears and stared questioningly at the retreating bus, she would have to walk home. For a moment she remembered a time when they had missed a bus together, they had been happy then, they had been angry but they had both loved each other, the tears came back and she had to sit down. Finally after a few minutes she shook away the tears and shrugged, walking home wouldn’t be that bad, might feel better, a walk would do it, walk away the pain.