Chapter Three Whitney: 12 hours on the road and I was beyond lost. I had a plan, though. I planned to drive straight and only turn right if I had to turn.  It had worked so far....6 right turns and nothing but straight road ahead of me. I was getting tired and I knew I had to stop sooner or later for something to eat. A small sign on the side of the road informed me that in about a mile ahead there would be a truck stop. Perfect, I thought to myself. A minute or so later the small quaint truck stop came into view. Three trucks and a car were parked in the parking lot. I don't like crowds anyways,I thought to myself. I pulled in a spot up front and got out. My legs were getting a little stiff and cramped so I tried my best to stretch them out as I made my way inside.    I opened the door and the warmth from the restaurant hit me. I blinked a few times and yawned, finally realizing how longthis day has been. The whole 24 hours count when you have no where to go and nothing to do but drive. The walls were 60's orange and the seats old warm out leather brown. I took a seat at the counter and grabbed a menu. A woman in a pink dress and white apron with the same "Darla" printed on her name tag approached me.    "Well well," she said, taking out her pad of paper and pen attached to it. "Looks like an out-of-towner." I looked up and smiled a bit, not knowing if my label was good or bad. "Where ya from, sweetheart?"    "London," I managed to squeak, glancing at my menu.    "What are ya doin all the way out here?" she pryed.    "Just...on a road trip," I supplied the answer.    "By yourself?" she asked. I really didn't want to talk about this right now.    "Look, can I just get a hamburger or something?" I sighed.    "Oh, yeah, sure, what do you want to drink?" she asked, scribbling on her pad of paper.    "Just water," I replied, pushing the menu away from me.    "It'll be right up," she told me, closing her pad of paper, turning on her heel, and walking back to the kitchen. I looked around, just a few scruffly old guys in flannel shirts sipping coffee were in the room. They stared at me and I looked away, wishing I was somehow closer to home. Abs: I knocked on Scott's door the next day. We had more recording to do and he asked me to come pick him up. "Scott come on!" I yelled through the door. A few moments later he opened it, dakr circles under his eyes. His shirt was buttoned wrong and his hair was a mess. He stood in his sock feet and collapsed back on the couch as I walked in, not a greeting or anything.    "Now that's a sign of beauty in the morning," I joked, sitting on the arm of the couch close to where he sat. He glared up at me. "Man, what's wrong?"    "Whitney left," he growled.    "Well you guys broke up, didn't you?" I asked. He forced a nod. "Then why does this suprise you?"    "I didn't think she'd really leave," he answered.    "Oh, no, she'd just leave and avoid you and maybe, just maybe you'd get to experience one of those uncomfortable silences, those are always fun," I sarcastically remarked, just tryingto get him to crack a smile. He just shook his head.    "It's not completely like that," he spoke. I gave him a questioning look. "Rease called her house, went over there, everything. She's gone, Abs. She took off. To where, I don't know. But she's gone." The words hit me like a brick. Gone. Gone forever?    "W-why?" I stuttered, still dumbfounded.    "How should I know?" he yelled. I leaned back a bit, struck by his forcefulness. "Maybe because I was a shitty boyfriend, her best friend ratted her out and her other friend, you, you...." he stopped, breathing hard, now standing.    "Why don't I get going," I quietly said, getting off the couch. "I'll tell the lads you can't make it today." With that, I left his house, kicking myself for what I had done in the past. To him, to her, to myself. Chapter Four...