HangYourSecrets

In Bloom [HangYourSecrets x megatrash] [18+]

Rob awoke to a cold bed, and he was not surprised. He had been awake since he felt her leave him. And soon enough, the mind began to wander:

Faded memories of last night filled his consciousness—his long discussions with Zoe and Trent, his escape from his current situation and his reality, and his ever-unsatisfied, conflicted feelings.

Reality set it not much later—the need for them to leave in a few hours for Kansas City. The fact that Rob would most likely be meeting with Harold this evening, and recording the song in the long hours of the night. The nude photographs that lit up every blog, forum, subreddit, and board on the internet, that seemed to demand an answer. Retribution for days long past.

Jane had left this bed, and he could not blame her. No matter her suggestion that Rob go out, he was giving into a part of himself that he forgot he had; his independence. Perhaps it was this need for it that drove him to Vicarious as well. Trent and Zoe asked for very little in return for their friendship. Jane may not have asked as much as others, but it was his own self that was asking so much. His own drive that had doomed him to fail and set himself up on a brutal, self-fulfilling prophesy.

But real life was rarely so romantic. His interactions with Jane and others less flowery prose upon paper and more short, fragmented sentences. And perhaps he could reason with his own self, and convince his own consciousness of the merit of his actions, but the truth was, no body else saw that. Nobody else cared. The five percent of his endless drivel that he released out into the world only served to confused and conflict others. No doubt Jane was off somewhere, doubting the terms and conditions of their relationship.

Because he was, too. He gave too little to her. Implied too much. Ran off at the first sign of conflict or exploded under the slightest of pressures. His fear of opening Jane up to his own feelings, for whatever reason he had within himself to do so, was ruining it all.

And thinking of Jane, Rob certainly didn’t want to hurt her. In fact, in his own way, he had protected himself; built walls around how he felt and didn’t let anyone really know or understand the truth. And fuck just basic communication—they rarely even spoke to each other more. And the only reason Zoe knew anything, for that matter, was because she couldn’t hurt him.

And Jane could. She really, truly could. And to protect his own interests he felt as if he was suffocating her. Blocking her from her own internal feelings and desires. He simply wasn’t giving enough. And to think in this manner only served to make him feel bad, then feel bad for even feeling that guilt, and on and on and on it would go.

Rob had to climb out of bed. He had to go find her. He had to tell her the truth. And with everything he had in him he forced himself up, forced himself to dressed, and forced himself out the door, hoping to see her.

And he did.

She lay on the couch outside. Odd really—seeing her where the stereotypical man might find himself after a night of conflict.

Her face buried itself within a pillow, and her blonde hair wove around in gentle strokes across the edges of the couch itself. Rob sat himself upon a chair nearby and waited diligently for her attention.

As soon as he had it, he began.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” he said, “and…I’m sorry for having to be so serious right now.”

He knew there would be many more apologies to follow, but he pressed on—refusing to silence how he felt. In order to gain any traction, he’d surely have to be direct.

“I uh, I know shit’s been weird between us lately. I think we both know that. And, I haven’t been completely honest or completely fair about how I felt. And it isn’t the interview thing, or the pictures, or any of that.”

Rob looked down for a moment, then shot his eyes back up to hers. He had to.

“I’m not being fair to you,” he said. “I keep running off because it’s easier. I keep avoiding the problem because I don’t want there to be one.”

He remembered the words he had said to her on the rooftop:

I fucked up. I don’t talk to people like I should. I let people walk away from me. I never let anyone know how I feel.

It was so funny, how even after admitting it, he didn’t seem to learn a damn thing.

“I guess I asked too much of us. No, I asked too much of me. I thought I could handle being open, but I guess that interview proved I’m not ready for it. Even if I think I am.”

Rob’s emotions were at an all-time high; a sort of strange complex he had developed. The closer he came to expressing the truth, the more he panicked. The more he grew scared. After a lifetime of being torn apart, he wasn’t ready to show anyone what lay beneath.

“You asked me what I wanted out of this,” Rob said, “but I should’ve asked you. And, I guess, I’m asking you now. And trust me, I really didn’t want to talk about this, but—“

Rob stopped himself. “Whatever. Fuck what I want right now. I want to know how you feel.”

In Bloom [HangYourSecrets x megatrash] [18+]

Rob watched with conflicted thoughts and feelings as Jane disappeared from the three of them, down the hall and out into the open Minneapolis air. To be frank, the reason he had asked the question was to see how Jane was feeling—for some selfish reason, it never occurred to him that she would simply say she wasn’t feeling up to doing much.

Perhaps this one of those tests? Perhaps Rob needed to slip back to the apartment, join Jane and embrace her. But…that couldn’t be right. Jane was not one for games. Jane seemed to be the kind of girl that made fun of women who toyed with men. And besides—it was one of Rob’s absolute rules. His desire and ambition for honestly always turned angry when seeing or interacting with a person trying to test or examine him.

So, no. Most likely Jane was completely serious in her intentions, but Rob wasn’t going to chase after her. For better or worse, he was very drunk, very driven to stay true to some part of himself, and wasn’t going to head back to the apartment. This is something he was going to choose for himself, regardless of the consequences.

“What time do we leave tomorrow?” He asked his bandmates.

The response was a flat “nine-thirty,” from Sam, followed by: “We’re meeting up with Harold at seven in Kansas City. Hopefully we’ll be ready to record something by then.”

“I’ll catch you then,” Rob said, slipping out of the room and eyes locked onto the screen in his hand. He shot a text:

7:02, Rob: Where are you?

7:06, Zoe: In the bus, duh

7:07, Rob: Want to get out?

…

The next hour was a blur. Rob made his way over to Vicarious’ tour bus, made small-talk with the bandmates, and was back away as quick as he came. He, Zoe, and Trent all rode up to a National Forest about thirty minutes outside of town. Armed with cheap flashlights from a convenience store and piles of Trent’s supply, the three headed down a dark forest path—smoking as they went.

Rob loved the air out here. Minneapolis was a large city, sure, but just miles away was all of this clean air. No musky humidity of the south or dry heat of the west around here. Just calm, greenery all around.

His company was as fresh as the air. Without the years of knowledge, without being aware of their own perfections or imperfections, there was no need to mince words or really alter who he was to them. Rob felt so liberated here. The stresses of creating another single didn’t exist. Being acutely aware of how Jane was feeling wasn’t necessary out here. In fact, there wasn’t even signal out here. Complete disconnection. Complete bliss.

Sometime during that evening, the three stumbled upon an old shelter off the beaten path. It was just down, past a creek and over another ridge.

It was a wooden shelter, littered with trash from previous occupants and stylistic, sharp graffiti. But inside was dry, and nice, and the three sat inside, laughing and joking about everything from tour life to stories of their own past.

On the bluetooth speaker Trent had brought, a familiar song came on: I Think I Lost My Headache by Queens of the Stone Age. And while it’s sound and the record it came on were quintessential for the type of band Vicarious was, Rob couldn’t help but think of Jane.

Earlier this tour, she had bought him the record this track had come off; possibly as retribution for something she had done or outreach to Rob for something he had done. The time had passed and his mind was left so clouded by the surrounding smoke, Rob could no longer fully remember. The thought of her laying in a bed in this moment crossed his mind—her small body held by no one, left alone to her own thoughts, in a room alike the surroundings. In a city she had never been to before.

And as the song so subtly faded to it’s extended, melting outro of horns and squealing trumpets, the thoughts he had repeated as endlessly as the motif he heard. By the track’s so sudden conclusion, Rob has lost himself, within himself.

“Hey,” he heard. Turning, he could see Trent’s quite-concerned face. “You still with us?” He joked, passing another beer to him. Rob tried to let out a loose smile and play it off.

“Yeah,” Rob said. “I’m alright.”

Shortly afterwards, Trent excused himself from the little hideout (something about needing to find a decent restroom, or something of the sort), and it was just Rob and Zoe once again, alone in the small, enclosed space.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Rob started, once the timing felt right. “What, uh, what was all that back in the bus?”

“Oh,” Zoe said, flat. “You wanna have that talk.”

The way she had approached her words—the way it seeped from her mouth like some overused mantra—threw Rob straight unto defense.

“What do you mean?” Rob asked.

“You’re going to ask me what I want, or what I’m trying to get. You’ll use words like ‘from this,’ like it’s supposed to mean anything.”

“Well,” Rob said, “I guess I just like to clarify things. I don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea.”

Zoe laughed. “I uh, I don’t know you too well man, but you think too much, you know that?”

“Yeah.”

The two dropped to silence for a bit.

“I’m not the kind of person that’ll go out and drown my sorrows in drugs or whatever,” Zoe started, no doubt referencing people Rob knew. “And I don’t claim any high moral ground about it, either. I’m just living for me right now.”

“I can understand that,” Rob said. Her words echoed in his mind, he and tried to hard not to overthink them, but before long, she continued.

“But I’m also not the kind of person that second-guesses herself. When I want something, I go get it. When I feel like staying, I’ll stay, or going, I’ll go. Honest to God, if tomorrow I felt like Vicarious wasn’t going to be any fun for me anymore, I’d catch the first flight back home. Ask Trent. I’ve done it before.”

“When?” Rob asked.

“Like a year or so ago,” Zoe said, “me and Andy were dating. Well, I guess we weren’t ‘dating,’ per se, but we were pretty much exclusive for a bit. And, one day, I found him fucking some other girl. In the bus, too. So, I bailed. Called my folks, told them to get to the airport, because I was coming home.”

“Then what happened?” Rob asked. He found himself leaned off of the back wall of the fort they had found for themselves. His elbows rested calmly atop his crossed legs, intent.

“I mean, Trent called me when I got back, begged me to come back. And I did, after about a week. But it wasn’t really because I felt like I left them or anything. It was because I realized that I was having too much fun with playing music to leave it behind because Andy cheated. And, I mean, fuck, I can’t even really say he cheated. We never even talked about being exclusive. As much as I felt like we were, there was no statement about it. Which is actually a good thing. Me and Andy became friends again because we weren’t labeling shit all the time. Or overthinking it. He got bored with what we were, I got over it. No problems. No mess.”

A cold gust of wind swung into the inclosed space, and Zoe sat herself, up, sliding over, next to Rob, and learning against him. He felt her cuddle up beside him, and while it was only shoulders, arms, and legs that were touching, everything felt wrong about it.

“We, uh,” Rob stammered out, “me and Jane agreed to be exclusive. I asked for it, too.”

Zoe seemed completely unfazed. “Why’d you say that?”

“I, uh—“

“Are we fucking?”

“…no.”

“Then don’t worry about it,” Zoe said. She slid in closer, leaning a head against his shoulder and closing her eyes. “Always talking,” she breathed, “always thinking.”

Rob leaned his own head back, and closed his own eyes. In here, in the silence, with the warmth of Zoe pressed up against him, he felt the fine line of his own rules and regulations cry out in terror. Where was the line? What was cheating? Should he be here? Could he even be friends with another woman like this?

But then, he thought next of Zoe’s thoughts and statements. And in truth, they were completely accurate. Rob had become a slave to himself some time ago. And no matter how many times he tried to put up a front for others to see, it would always collapse back down on top of him.

Expectations and worries and fears and failures all emancipated in endless fickle speeches.

Rob remembered the rooftop moment he had shared with Jane—perhaps the best memory of the entire tour. Maybe of his whole damn life.

He rarely had a moment with anyone that involved nothing. That let him be completely free. That rooftop was one of them. And this small shelter in Minneapolis—this was another. Sure, one was romantic and the other platonic, but the honestly was still the same.

And each time his mind wandered to Jane, her photos, the band, and the single, Rob worried he’d never have this feeling with Jane ever again.

…

About half an hour later, Trent returned, slipping over to Zoe’s free side and leaning against her. The three talked for a bit, before calling a cab, climbing out of the enclave, and returning to town. Rob wished a goodnight to both of them, before stepping out of the cab and entering the hotel lobby. And while the worst he had done that night was lean against another woman, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had done something truly terrible.

But the night was old and as weary as himself, and his mind could no longer manage thinking of these things any longer. Rob made his way to the room, climbed into bed with Jane, and was out in three minutes flat.

In Bloom [HangYourSecrets x megatrash] [18+]

Rob was in the middle of a hysterical fit when he saw Jane enter the room through his tear-filled eyes. He straightened himself up as he wiped his face, trying to remember what made him laugh in the first place.

He watched from his spot from the floor as Jane slipped past, heading for the alcohol and throwing Austin fresh lyrics along the way.

Rob was pleasantly surprised. Through the frustration of his own emotion, he had figured Jane wouldn’t have come up with much. He moved over to Austin, slipping a head behind his shoulder and reading over Jane’s lyrics.

Even through the dense fog of inebriation, he could certainly tell Jane’s lyrics were deeply personal—far more than he was expecting. Each line seemed relative to their own story; their own relationship. It was jarring, especially considering the style of Jane’s earlier work. Sure, some of it was more personal than others, but this one?

There was a slight tinge of anger that spawned from it. Not at her, but at the situation. That Jane had seemed to have been forced to write such introspective works due to the situation at hand. But there was also a deep tinge of remorse in him—that realized that Jane, too, shared the same fears about their situation as he did.

He tried to zone it out (which was infinitely easier this drunk) and simply nodded at Jane’s words, noting she didn’t seem to want to talk about it further.

Rob slipped behind the drum set again, and the boys showed their frontwoman what they had worked up in the time they had to practice. It wasn’t much, but (in Rob’s opinion), it was a killer line for a verse, and they had almost worked out a really nice bridge—filled with descending bass lines.

But Jane’s face was impossible to read, and her praise rang flat. She immediately transition into another question, causing Rob to question whether or not what they had played was actually good.

“We’re recording in Kansas City,” Sam answered. “He’ll master it and release it once we play it live in St. Louis. So…yeah. He does expect that, apparently.”

The way Sam had said it showed his own frustration at their situation—which wasn’t surprising. Sam was usually the friendliest to Harold (for obvious reasons) but he tended to understand what the band was saying as well, which was a very welcome voice.

“Let’s try some other stuff, alright?” Rob said. “Might as well.”

…

Four more hours had passed, and the boys felt no closer to the song than they had been four hours prior. The main melody had been hashed out to death, and the bridge was more defined, but they still lacked a chorus and many of the other pieces needed to tie the song together.

By the end of the session, Rob’s fingers bled softly through his gloves, and he slipped into the bathroom to wash his hands off. He had been pushing his callouses far beyond their capacity, and was left popping blisters and gritting his teeth in the restroom for the first time since their very first shows.

He slipped back out to the main studio, his mind blurred and fuzzy from all the cheap booze. The evening was still available to them, and he wondered what to do with it.

He looked to Jane, but couldn’t really tell what she may have wanted—not this drunk. The alcohol had mushed his senses and emotions together to the point where he didn’t know what he wanted or how he felt either.

Austin, the more sober of the bunch, had just finished pulling out a CD of their recordings and was on the phone, talking to Harold about what had been done. Turning to the only other member in the room, Rob pulled aside Sam.

“So,” Rob slurred out, “what do you want to do tonight?”

“I uh,” he stammered out, “I’ve got a date. Well, not a date, but—“

“Got it, got it.” Rob said.

Rob slipped past, approaching Jane.

“So,” he started. “How do you feel? Want to do anything?”

Rob wasn’t sober enough to worry about her response or his own intonation as he normally did, but a part of him wanted to really be with her.

And yet, another wanted something simpler. Maybe hanging out with Vicarious and Zoe.

Rob shook his head slightly. That was the booze talking.

Right?

In Bloom [HangYourSecrets x megatrash] [18+]

Last night seemed like a bit of a blur.

After all the anger he felt and the frustration with the nearly everything, he had slept so soundly, memories of his anger were like passing visions—forgotten as soon as they had passed by.

He awoke the sound of Jane’s whisper, the heat of her breath, and the softness of her lips against him. It made so much sense that Jane seemed to be enthralled by the bed and being into it—the feeling here, the absolute isolation from everyone else, was one of the best feelings i the world.

And each morning it came to a methodical, bitter end.

Rob slipped his phone into his hand, continuing to hold Jane with the other, and checking his messages.

9:27, Harold: Respond to Sam, please.

Rob swiped back and checked his other messages:

8:22, Sam: Hey. So uh, this is a bit shit, but me and Austin are holed up in a studio, and we were hoping to get you over here to practice what we had. Maybe Jane, too. You might want to get over here before any more paparazzi get up.

8:23, Sam: [address]

9:03, Sam: Rob?

Rob rolled his eyes. There one was final message:

9:22, Zoe: Call me when you’re done with that shit.

Rob tried not to think about what Zoe had said and focused on the current issue.

He had figured that practice would need to begin really quickly if they were going to make a song so suddenly, but he was hoping to at least have the morning to himself and with Jane. Managing himself to perform at a record-worthy level is going to be hard enough. Getting Jane to sing with it? Even harder. He contemplated making an instrumental with the other guys, but soon blew off the idea. Harold wouldn’t go for it.

Holding Jane in his arms like this reminded him of the pain she must be going through. His situation called for himself to be more pragmatic about the situation (especially after his outbursts yesterday), but Jane seemed much more forced into the situation than he.

“I’m gonna get dressed,” he whispered to her, before kissing her gently and climbing out of bed. He winced as he dragged the fabric across his hands, slipping the gauze from his hands and exposing the ragged flesh beneath. He’d had to force himself to play with gloves on or risk doing some serious damage.

Today was going to be interesting, he surely knew that.

“Hey, he said, coming back into the bedroom. He sat on the edge, near Jane. “Sam and Austin are at a studio and they need me there. I don’t want to leave, and I don’t want to have to deal with this…”

How do you think she feels? A thought crossed his mind. Don’t be such an asshole. It’s not like you’re the one people are criticizing.

“But,” he continued, “I should at least hear what they’ve got. You don’t have to come now, or ever. I don’t want you doing anything uncomfortable.I don’t really care what Harold says.”

But you’re doing what he’s asking, the thought continued. You’re supporting him, not her.

“Call me anytime,” he finished, holding his phone up. “I’m just going to be down the street for a bit. If you need me to come back, let me know.”

Rob leaned down and kissed her. A wave of emotion immediately followed—first lust, which drove him to nearly straddle her. Then the passion that drove his hands down her sides and across her chest. Then—

Anger?

Rob stopped himself—the frustration of Jane’s past actions and experiences swelling back to him. Thoughts of Lena. Thoughts of the countless other lovers.

“Sorry,” Rob said, pulling away. “I about attacked you, there. I’ll see you soon.”

Rob slipped out, taking a deep breath in the hallway, before entering the elevator.

…

At the lobby, he was quickly pulled aside by a very concerned-looking employee.

“Rob Pennie?” He asked. Rob nodded, and the man continued into a neurotic, nervous speech: “There’s uh, a whole lot of reporters outside looking for you. There were only about three when the other guys left—your other bandmates? I think? Anyways…”

“Shit,” Rob said suddenly, looking out of the large window. Sure enough, about a dozen or so people, lined up with expensive DSLRs waited for him outside. So far, not one had noticed him. Sam had mentioned something about the paparazzi, but Rob felt like he was surely kidding. They hadn’t had a problem with press. Ever?

Now? The frustration having to deal with this situation was threatening to make Rob less pragmatic than he’d like to be.

“We can, uh, slip you through the back,” the employee said. “Through the staff parking lot. It’s gated, so no one should be there. I’ll call a cab.”

“Thanks,” Rob said, and quickly followed the man. He led him behind the counter, past an industrial workspace, a kitchen, and finally, a large storage facility, before arriving at the back parking lot. Not a single paparazzi in sight.

A cab soon pulled up, and Rob slipped inside, thanking the employee for his help. As the car pulled out of the lot, Rob slipped a pair of sunglasses on and looked out to the front of the hotel as he passed by.

Out there, employees of the hotel seemed to be arguing with the paparazzi—probably trying to chase them away. Funny, how their first issue with press had been with this. A bunch of stupid, old photographs had caused this much intrigue.

Rob instructed the cab driver on where to go, before calling Harold.

“I hope you’re getting hit with the press, too,” Rob wished.

“Fortunately, no,” Harold said, “but I’ve been on the phone since five this morning. Any word on that song?”

“I’m heading to the studio now,” Rob said, “so no. No word on the fucking song.”

“And Jane?”

“She can tell you herself what she’s doing,” Rob said, “but I’m not the boss of her. Neither are you. If she even shows, it’s her choice. I’m only doing it for Sam and Austin. Not you.”

“Whatever keeps you warm at night,” Harold said. “See you in Kansas City.”

The phone clicked shut, and the sudden realization that he’d be seeing Harold in the flesh as soon as tomorrow night sent a wave of frustration through him.

Having to deal with him had never been easy. On or off the road.

Rob’s thoughts were broken by the cab driver’s voice, asking for the money he needed. Rob paid and tipped, before slipping out of the car and into the studio before he had time to check if anyone was outside.

In here, a receptionist seemed to shoot him a funny glance, before he slipped off his sunglasses.

“Rob Pennie?” She asked.

“Yeah,” he said, pointing to a hallway. “Down here?”

“Yup,” she said. “The other guys have been here all morning. Where’s Jane?”

Did she really just ask me that? Rob thought. He glared at her, before she broke off eye-contact, muttering a soft “sorry” before consuming herself back into her computer. Rob silently made his way into the back studio.

In here, Sam and Austin where in the middle of a riff, when they saw Rob come in. They stopped immediately.

“Don’t stop,” Rob said, pulling his drummer’s gloves from his pocket. “We don’t have time to stop.”

“And Jane?” Sam asked.

“Jesus Christ,” Rob said instinctually, “Everyone wants to know about fucking Jane. She’ll show if she wants to.”

With that, Sam and Austin said nothing more, and Rob slipped onto the provided drum set, playing the thee instrumentalists through a warm-up they had practiced many times before.

…

An hour passed, and not much had been accomplished. The stress of the deadline hung over their heads, and each idea one person would present was quickly shot down by the others.

Too grungy. Too metal. Too chuggy. Too melodic. Each critique was giving generically, causing the others to press on as quick as possible. Soon enough, Rob lost track of the sound anyone was going for, and slipped out of the room, heading back to the receptionist—who seemed a bit more afraid of him than before.

“Get us some alcohol,” Rob said, ignoring his mental thought that it was far too early.

“What kind?” The receptionist asked, but Rob had already turned around.

“Anything,” Rob shouted. “Just a lot of it.”

He slipped back into the room, catching Sam in the middle of a particularly infectious riff.

Rob stopped in place, looking at the guitar. Near him, Austin laughed.

“I know, right?” Austin said through a smile. “First decent thing someone’s played today.”

Which as completely true. Each riff and drum pattern played thus far sounded like everything that’s come before. The sound of out Sam’s guitar, right now, sounded new. Fresh. Like somebody took the single and absolutely obliterated it—tore it down, built it again. Heavier and meaner.

“Loop that,” Rob said, slipping back behind the drum set.

“It’s in 5/4 if I loop it,” Sam protested, but Rob could only smile.

“I know,” he said. After feeling the rhythm of the guitar, Rob laid down a heavy beat, dominated by open high-hat and a syncopated kick snare pattern. Best part? It was in 4/4.

At first, Sam faltered the rhythm, unsure of the new territory. In Bloom had never played a song in a polyrhythm before.

“Play on the beats, not every two!” Rob shouted over the sounds. Soon enough, Sam got into the groove, and the beat continued on.

Austin came in soon after, laying on first a standard riff, then continuing on, keeping with Sam’s 5/4 beat rather than Rob’s 4/4 pattern. It was one of the few times that Austin and Rob played separate things, and it sounded incredible.

They continued on for a few minutes, before slipping into the booth and hitting record, before playing the song again. By that time, the alcohol was slipped in (by a very quiet receptionist), and the three of them continued to drink while trying new ideas. For now, all they had was a riff, but it was something they were proud of.

To clear their minds, they launched into a cover of Panic Switch by Silversun Pickups, screaming the bridge from their instruments, letting Rob wail his own version of the nasally vocals. By the time they had finished, they were well and truly drunk.

Rob took a break from the kit for a moment, slipping to his phone and checking it for messages.

Would Jane come? He wasn’t sure, but he was hoping so. Having this much fun almost felt wrong. Was he doing it to escape dealing with the problems of being back into the room? He wasn’t sure anymore.

A part of him wanted to shoot a text to Zoe, but he denied that thought. He had better wait to see if any good could come from this session.

“Food?” Sam shot to Rob, breaking his concentration. Rob nodded, and soon enough the three were back, making jokes and ordering shitty food. Sure…he might have been frustrated and even angry. But he could easily ignore it. For now.

In Bloom [HangYourSecrets x megatrash] [18+]

Rob’s fingers had begun to blister somewhere between the second and third song of their set, and he tried to ignore the pain. However, by the final crash of the cymbals and Jane’s final words, blood had broken through the skin, sliding down the sticks and getting flung atop some of the drum set.

He wiped the hair from his face, trying to catch his breath, and smeared some of the crimson blood across his face, from his cheek to his forehead. He could feel the stinging sensation and the bitter taste of iron in his mouth as he looked down to the bloody mess before him. Austin shot him a concerned glance as he walked off the stage, ignoring the relentless roar of the crowd behind him.

It was his own damn fault, too. All the confusion and anger had caused Rob to stop practicing significantly. He had let his callouses soften to the point where they hadn’t been prepared for the onslaught they had taken tonight. Rob’s style of playing wasn’t designed for long, grueling sessions every night, and the break he had taken in the interim between shows had only set him up for this level of pain.

He saw the press pit go wild as he stood up, snapping photos as fast as their shutters could reset. His mouth hung open involuntarily—his body drained from the set. Hopping down off the stage and approaching a line of fans, he held out the bloody sticks.

“Who wants these?” He asked, to roaring madness. It was like the gladiator fights of old. Blood had been spilt, and now these people seemed to long for it. He approached a cool enough person, so seemed honest enough.

“Promise me you won’t sell this shit on Ebay,” Rob said to him, handing the sticks over.

“Why the fuck would I ever sell these?” The fan asked back. “Thank you.”

Rob smiled, and slipped back on stage and over to the back. He had to see how Jane was doing.

“Thank you Minneapolis!” Rob managed to shout into a live mic, before slipping backstage.

And the crowd went nuts again.

…

Minneapolis had been kind enough to them. Their hotel rooms were cleaned, the town was nice, and the nights were chilly enough to require jackets—a feeling Rob had missed driving through the south nearly the entire tour.

Just two more cities, he reminded himself. Kansas City and St. Louis.

Yesterday, after his break and time alone with Jane, he had managed to call Harold. Plans were finally in motion to set them up with a tour bus for Europe, and even though the venues would be shitty, he was excited to leave the country. In fact, he had argued with Harold to let them rent their own van to travel in, but he was less than interested.

“You’ve never even been to Europe,” Harold had said, “much less driven in it. No. You’re getting a tour bus.”

So, Rob conceded. The driver Harold had hired was a friend of the band that they had known for some time, and would be meeting up with them in St. Louis. That left two vacant spots; merch and sound guy.

For merch, Rob had suggested Aaron—a past friend of his, who loved music far more than maybe even him. Aaron had agreed to come, and would also be meeting up with them in St. Louis. As for the sound person, the band had yet to agree on a person. Rob had been meaning to suggest Jane pick a sound person, but between the arguments and the stress, the idea had been forgotten. Maybe it was time to mention it once more.

Rob made a note to discuss it with her sometime tonight, before slipping over to the van and finding his band. He climbed in, and they were off again to another night in the hotels. Come to think of it, this would be some of their final nights outside of a bus for a very long time.

…

“What the fuck, man?” Austin came as soon as he had gotten a good look at Rob.

“What?”

“You’ve got blood, like, smeared on your face.”

Rob looked down to his hands, and realized he had ignored the pain he had felt and forgot to clean himself off. Apologizing, he climbed over the back seat and pulled out some gauze, before cleaning himself up with a rag.

“Better?” He asked. Austin nodded, and Rob proceeded to wrap his fingers in gauze and sit back again. He took the AUX chord, and played an old, albeit shitty song of his that he enjoyed: Pillowhead by Failure.

It was only minutes later that he felt Jane stir, widely swinging her legs away from Rob and staring down to her cracked phone. Her eyes shined deeply, and her expression was so easily worrying to him.

After she had passed him the phone, he realized that he had every right to have been worried.

The images of Jane on the screen were partially obscured by the cracks and crevices of the broken phone, but they showed more than enough. Images of Jane he had only ever seen in person, in their most imitate moments together, were on there, for all the world to see. He felt a deep anger swell up in him, but the source was not Jane.

No, it was whoever had done this to her. Whoever had chosen to release something so private to the world. Rob had felt personally a bit hurt when Jane admitted to a slight moment of subconscious weakness, but this? This wasn’t on her. This was something someone else had done.

He had known things may be difficult dating Jane. For all her imperfections and shortcomings, he had known the stigmas and stereotyping that would surround the two of them. But to see that sort of thing release for all the world to see, was something else entirely.

”At least you have a nice ass, though,” Austin’s words cut through his own mental drone. They snapped a sort of primal anger in him—something deep, masculine, and protective.

“Shut the fuck up, Austin,” Rob growled at him. Austin’s reaction to his and Sam’s comments were clear and direct—yes, sir.

Rob had resolved earlier that week to present the people in his life with a part of himself he had created—to act happy, content, and satisfied. Fake-it-till-you-make-it, in a way.

Seeing the last remnants of his privates washed away in binary seemed to so quickly dissolve that narrative. Maybe tomorrow, or the next day, there would be room for such an act. For now, he was fucking livid.

Trying to calm himself down, he slid the phone away from himself and Jane, and looked to her.

She seemed so deeply hurt by what happened, and hadn’t have bothered to look up to Rob since showing the images. It came as so surprise to Rob that she probably felt like he was mad at her. And who knows? Maybe he may have been.

But the instincts within him, the anger that drove him, it trumped all else. He’d have time to worry about it in the morning. For now, one of his own was hurt.

“Come here,” Rob said clearly, sliding Jane towards him. He moved her, positioning her so that her head could rest in his own lap. He held her, and said nothing.

In fact, no one said a word the entire ride home.

…

At the hotel, Rob had excused himself from Jane, and was outside on the balcony, on the phone, talking to Harold.

“How is she?” Harold asked.

“I don’t know,” Rob answered. “We haven’t had a chance to talk about it. But if I had to guess? Hurt. Sad. Angry.”

“Like you?”

“I’m more angry than anything. Any word on how it got out?”

“I have my suspicions,” Harold answered, “but we don’t know yet. I’m trying to get in touch with the website that hosts it, but they’re giving me the run-around.”

“Lena,” Rob spat out.

“Maybe,” Harold said. “I don’t know. And you don’t either.”

Rob’s temper flared again. Out here, with Jane not around and only Harold to talk to, he let his true feelings show: “I swear to fucking God, Harold—if I find out it was Lena—“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Harold shot, cold. “I don’t want to know or hear about it. We all know how you feel about her, especially now.”

”Fucking cunt,” Rob muttered through clenched teeth.

Perhaps he was surprised by the level of his own anger, or perhaps Harold was shocked Rob had even used said that word, but either way, neither talked for about half a minute.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Rob,” Harold said. “And you’re not going to like what I’m about to say, either.”

Silence.

“Alright then,” Harold continued. “I’ve talked to Austin and Sam already. They’ve got parts ready for a new song. I’ve just booked a plane ticket to Kansas City. We’re booking studio time.”

“What the fuck, Harold?”

“You’re all on publicity blackout until then. Practice with all your free time. We’ll master it while you travel to St. Louis, and you’ll play it live. We put it out on every major market the second after.”

“We’re not your personal slaves, Harold,” Rob said. “Jane’s over here fucking reeling from all this shit. And you want her to write lyrics for you? You want us to make a song in half a week?”

“How do you want me to stop this?” Harold asked angrily. “A tell-all? Another interview? Feed you to the blog vultures and podcast guys, just dying to ask you about this shit? No. We’ve been dealt a shit hand, and I’m fixing the problem. Sam and Austin say they can deliver, and if you want this to blow over quickly, you and Jane will get on board. And you will write a fucking song.”

Rob snapped the phone shut.

Every fiber of his being wanted to toss the phone over the balcony. Watch is smash into pieces on the concrete far below them. Watch it all go away.

But there was no escaping this. No escaping what needed to be done. And unless any of them had a better idea, they might actually have to write this song.

They had a rest day in Minneapolis tomorrow, then travel to St. Louis the next. They’d be in town another two days.

That was four days to write a song.

And Rob had absolutely no idea how they were supposed to do it, either. Rob and Jane never had really confronted it, but they wanted different things for the future of the band. Sam seemed open enough to either idea, and Austin—well, Rob wasn’t sure. But he was almost positive Jane wanted something different.

And to be forced with a deadline like this, to make a song in four days—it was almost unthinkable.

Rob elected to slip back inside, joining Jane once more. He calmly explained the situation, trying hard to show his personal feeling about what had happened.

A little under a week left in America, and there was so much left to do. Rob thought once of Zoe, but pushed it from his mind.

One thing at a time.

In Bloom [HangYourSecrets x megatrash] [18+]

Rob had known Jane was upset at Rob for leaving. No amount of apology or explanation was going to reduce that hurt. Rob was mad at himself for having to resort to that option, but couldn’t say he regretted it. Being able to clear his head was worth the effort.

It was all escapism, when it came down to it. Discussing this sort of thing with Jane was difficult enough, especially knowing her own penchant for ignoring such discussions. Acting out of character for him had been sure to be shocking, so he understood the anger. He just needed go get away. It reminded him of an earlier time:

It was a day or so after one of his most explosive arguments with his father. A simple mundane conversation turned bitter by underlying anger. In the home, Rob felt as if he was a ghost. His mother would occasionally act as a medium, passing messages between father and son so as to not have the two collide any more.

So one day, he slipped away. Told his mom he’d be back in a few days, and loaded up his car, and left. He’d drive down the nearest roads he could find, acting solely on impulse. He’d drive until his car would run out of gas, before filling it back up and just keep going on. His only guide to where he had ended up were state lines. First Nevada, then Utah, Wyoming, Colorado, Nevada, South Dakota, and Montana. For nearly forty hours, he drove on and on and on, only sleeping for brief stints. He was filled with caffeine, cheap cigarettes, and an unrelenting, unveiling drive.

And somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Montana, he stopped. Stayed overnight in a hotel, cleared his mind, then found his way back home over the next two days.

The experience remained one in his mind that felt so purely alive. The experience was one is his most favorite in his life. On that road, there were no goals. No worries or responsibilities. No parents, no friends, no family. Just you…and the road ahead. Total, absolute control.

It was something he missed feeling. Now, in this kitchen with Jane, in a town far from home. In the middle of a tour, with responsibilities and essentially a job, he had ever longed for it.

Right now, however, there was Jane, and himself. The person he cared for most in the world, wanting him. Upset with him. Wanting to fix the problem together. For all his thoughts and fantasies of leaving it all behind, she never appeared in them. And perhaps that was the worst feeling.

He wanted to make things right. Not only fix things with Jane, but with everyone else. The band, the manager, the interviewers, the audience, all of them.

And the only way to start was getting back on good terms. And that meant ignoring the problem. Pretending that everything was ok. Pretending that all of his mind-wandering and his walk this morning made him normal.

Oh, he was reverting back to his old self again. Brick by brick, he was building his persona up again, telling himself that if he pretended all was right, one day, they really might be.

Time would tell. For now, there was a matter of Jane.

“You’re right,” he said softly, “It’ll only get crazier from here.”

He slipped an arm around Jane and pulled her close to him. “That’s enough talking,” he agreed. “We have the rest of the day to ourselves.”

Thinking of her honest words of what she’d rather do, Rob slipped away with her into the bed again.

Some people longed sexuality their relationships for the self-pleasure. Others, for the selfless act of giving it to the other.

Rob loved it because the moment after was the only moment in his life where he thought of absolutely nothing.

That was the true escape.

In Bloom [HangYourSecrets x megatrash] [18+]

A long time had passed around Rob. Maybe an hour, maybe a few. It was hard to tell.

He had existed in an odd median between asleep and awake on the park bench, occasionally looking through his sunglasses, seeing people passing by, giving slight stares as they walked across in front of him.

Shaking himself, he slipped his phone out of his pocket, ready to face the reality:

Please Come Back.

Rob gave a slight grimace at the response.

He knew he had hurt Jane by leaving. But it was for the best. If he had stayed, he wasn’t sure how to react. Embracing a person who had embraced another—even in some slight, meaningless way. Perhaps he was being much too demanding of her. Not recognizing the strength it must have taken to deny Lena. The little concessions she (and him) had made to be with each other.

It was so odd, being so accountable to another person. The very same communication he was demanding from Jane was also demanding upon himself—to allow someone else to enter his own head, understand who he was on his most visceral level.

It was time to face facts.

…

He returned to the room soon after, finding Jane asleep in the bed. The way she was positioned was not the same as when he left her. Had she gotten up? Had she been away to see someone?

Thoughts such as those reminded him of his own weaknesses. Images of Zoe plagued his mind, and he decided that whatever Jane had done or whoever she had seen, was of little importance.

Things weren’t supposed to be this way. Entering into a relationship with a best friend was supposed to be so much simpler. And yet Rob had never experienced a relationship that demanded so much of him as Jane did. Perhaps it was easier to mess things up with a stranger than someone you care so much about.

Rob decided to wait in the kitchen, not wanting yet another bedside confrontation. So much of their time had been spent with each other, each morning and night, only to awaken the other to discuss some hard or sad news.

Not anymore.

Rob made some coffee for himself and Jane, taking a cupful and leaving the rest on the warmer. He pulled out his phone, googling the band’s name. Hoping for some vapid reactions to clear his head.

After reading the daily tabloids and blogs on what they had been doing, he tossed the phone to the couch, drinking his coffee in the relative silence. Without the digital connection, he lost track of the time that past. It might have been minutes or hours, but either way Rob waited, until Jane emerged from the room.

“Sorry,” he had said. “I was going to get in bed, but…I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to keep talking about stuff like this in bed.”

He took another sip of coffee. “I left this morning because I got freaked out. I’m not used to dealing with this stuff with another person. Usually…with other relationships, it’s so much simpler. Because I don’t mind if I end that relationship. But I just don’t want to fuck up so bad I end up fucking up regardless.”

He tried to laugh to himself. “But I’m not mad at you. I guess I just don’t trust myself enough to respond the right way without prior thought. That’s why it’s easy for me to talk with Vicarious, I guess. If I fuck up with them, no harm done. But if I fuck up with you…?”

Rob looked down to the floor. “Well, I don’t want to fuck that up.”

He scratched his elbow and thought for a moment, then: “Maybe we all want to run away from our feelings.”

So he elected to stay, wait, and listen.

In Bloom [HangYourSecrets x megatrash] [18+]

Waking up to a “we need to talk” speech was one of the last things Rob was hoping to do with the day. He didn’t bother to sit up with her, and calmly looked to her from his position, finding some humor from seeing her much higher than himself.

Whatever light mood he had slowly dropped, however, as Jane explained the events of the night before. Of her time with Lena, and the blurred line of fidelity it seemed to create.

His first reaction wasn’t one of anger, but somehow relief. In a morbid sense, he had wondered if they had done much more, and hearing that it was regulated to kissing made him feel better in all of the wrong ways. How wrong it felt to assume Jane would do much worse.

But that relief also faded away, and he was left with an odd, guttural feeling of frustration. It was almost morose. He was mad at himself for not being there. He was frustrated at new layers and complications forming with his relation to Vicarious and Zoe. He was frustrated Jane had admitted to kissing back. And all of this atop countless other intricacies and worries of the tour. It was all culminating in this general sense of dread, and he wanted out.

“Well,” he started, trying to bring himself to some sense of lightness, “that’s a lot for one morning.”

He finally sat up, sliding both of his hands behind his body, onto the bed, to support his position. “I’m glad you told me,” he said. He wanted to tell her that what Lena said was wrong. That she didn’t fuck everyone over. But in this selfish little moment, in all this frustration and rage, he decided not to. He didn’t want to console her or talk about how he felt. He didn’t really know how he felt. All he did feel, was a burning sensation to get out of this room. To get someone safe. Try to figure it out himself, without being accountable to another person.

Alone. As he was used to doing.

“I’m not mad,” Rob said, “I, uh…I guess I don’t know how I feel about it.”

He quickly got up and excused himself from the room. “I’m gonna put some clothes on, aright?”

He slipped into the vacant second room, where he had set his things down to keep the other room cleaner, and dressed himself. He slipped two packs of cigarettes in his jacket pockets as he slipped a hat over his hair and moved back to the bedroom.

“I don’t want you to think I’m avoiding anything, or this,” he said from the doorframe, “but I…I need to clear my head.”

He slipped two fingers onto the bridge of his nose and squeezed slightly. “I’m gonna take a walk.”

And with that, he turned around, slipping out of the room and pulling out his phone, googling the nearest park.

…

A half hour later, Rob found himself pacing around the local park, looking at the different things around to see. He almost thought he could feel his phone vibrate in his pocket, but he paid it no mind, continuing to light cigarettes as soon as the last one’s had burnt straight to the filter.

In his earbuds, an old favorite of his played: Jesus Christ by Brand New. Something about the melancholic, existential lyrics made Rob feel a bit better—even if he wasn’t having a crisis of faith.

More so, a crisis of self.

He had let this problems swell around him until they had grown too large to control. In his efforts to move past his more neurotic and concerned side, he had only served to fuel them. He hadn’t allowed himself to approach his frustrations honestly, but merely ignore issues until they grew too large to handle anymore. If he had accepted his reality from the start, and worked to making things right as they came to him, he might not have blown up on Simon. He might not have done so many things.

Rob soon found a park bench, and sat down, trying to think of nothing but this next cigarette, the air around him, and the present moment.

In Bloom [HangYourSecrets x megatrash] [18+]

Rob waited another thirty minutes for Jane to respond, and even tried calling, but there wasn’t any response. He was beginning to overstay his welcome at the store he was at, and Zoe was waiting.

Was something wrong? Surely not. I mean, Jane had a thing with Lena, but it was Lena, not some stranger or guy. Jane can handle that. I think…

After some thought, I shot a text to Zoe:

8:40, Rob: Alright. Where am I going?

…

Vicarious’ van was parked in a Wal-Mart, of all places. Certainly, with a band as large as Vicarious, the venue would’ve let them park with them for a night?

Judging by the sight in front of Rob? Evidently not.

He knocked on the door, and was greeted by Andy—standing shirtless, with a toothbrush sticking out from his mouth.

“Oh,” his voice came, distorted by the toothbrush. “Izz you.”

“It’s me,” Rob repeated, waiting for Andy to step aside for him to enter the van.

“Whrzz Jay?” Andy asked. The way his face read seemed a bit more frustrated than usual. Almost like he was mad at Rob.

“With a friend,” Rob said, slipping past him and hoping to making a break for the back room, as he usually did.

“Whateevr, mearn,” he muttered to himself, spitting frothy dribbles of toothpaste and saliva out of his mouth as he did. Rob didn’t much else to say, so he slipped off, closing the door behind him.

Surprisingly, it was just Zoe in here—she laid out by herself, her body sprawled across the bed, her eyes down into her phone. Behind her, Get It Together by De Saat played over the speakers, filling the room with the dance-worthy tone. Her eyes only looked up once Rob had ensured the door was closed.

“Where’s Trent?” Rob asked.

“Wal-Mart” She said. Her hand patted the free space beside her. “Come check this out.”

Nodding, Rob moved forward, laying across the bed next to her, looking to the phone. On there, Zoe pointed to the article on the screen: Rob Pennie may not be an asshole, after all

“Good,” Rob muttered. “Glad to know I’m not an asshole.”

“What I’m really wondering,” Zoe asked, “is if you all really did drive around in a Camry for your stateside tour two years ago.”

Shit, Rob thought to himself. She listened to the podcast. Had it already come out? That was just an hour ago!

“Yeah,” he said. “You try loading a whole band’s equipment into a Camry sometime. It wasn’t easy. We slept in the same clothes for like a week.”

For some reason, each encounter Rob had with Zoe was more and more disarming. She seemed to have this way about her. She was direct, but not pushy. She said what she thought and pointed out what she felt needed to be. In some ways, it had been the opposite of what he and Jane were sometimes; overthinking, wondering, hoping not to offend the other. Rob worried so often about how to ensure he didn’t fuck things up with Jane. Zoe didn’t seem to worry about anything. And that difference was relaxing.

Down at their feet, Rob felt Zoe’s leg slip atop his own leg—her jeans against his, and her boot against and on top of his own shoe. Despite his better judgement, Rob let the physical contact slide. It was just a legs and feet. That didn’t mean a thing.

Right?

“Here,” Zoe said, scrolling down. “The comments are the best part.”

Rob looked to what she had pointed out, reaching each comment as she passed by:

Anyone else think this was just a PR stunt? Dude was a total asshole with Simon. This doesn’t fix a thing.

I like how he pointed out how fun it was to make that last EP. You can really tell. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Ways and Means is good, but seriously. The older stuff kicks ass.

Look, Rob can have his own opinion, but the single kicks ass. I dunno what the hell he’s on about.

Is no one else listening to Vicarious? Just me? Because that band is miles better than this Paramore shit.

“You ever notice that any female-led band gets compared to Paramore relentlessly?” Zoe asked. “I swear, they should call that shit William’s Law or something.”

“Any band with a female singer must and will be compared to Paramore,” Rob played along. “William’s Law. Has a ring to it.”

Zoe laughed brightly, and showed a smile he hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t just happiness. But, something about the way her eyes shone. Behind him, he could feel Zoe’s leg slip more over to him, and her body slipped closer to him.

What the hell is she doing?

Before he could get an answer, the door opened, and Trent slipped in. Rob hardly had time to recognize him before Zoe hopped off the bed, moving to the iPod responsible for the music.

“Trent’s here,” she joked. “Back to that Stoner Rock shit.”

“Fuck off,” Trent said. He reached over to a drawer and pulled out a few ziplock bags; the edibles he had talked about. “Trust me when I say, you’re not ready for this shit.” He said, tossing the bag to the bed.

…

Soon enough, three hours had passed, and Rob was higher than he could ever remember being. So much so, Trent and Zoe had to get the address to his hotel out of him, so they could call him a cab. He fell over into the back of the cab, laughing at a face Trent had made almost an hour ago.

“I’m so sorry,” Rob said between bursts of laughter to his driver, who said nothing. By the time he got back to the hotel, he had sobered up to act normal. It was then that he thought about what Zoe had done in the bus.

Rob had a huge history of misreading signs from prospective lovers. As time went on, he typically didn’t go out socializing or looking into the bar scene for sex, but mainly through friend-of-friends and Jane, of all people. She had actually suggested Lena at one point, years ago it felt like, but the thought of it was wrong then and even now.

He dropped his key card twice, before finally getting into the room. In here was quiet and dark, and there wasn’t a sign of Jane’s roommate to be found. Rob reached into his jacket pocket and set over leftovers from the bus, before scanning the hotel for Jane.

After some searching, he found her phone—shattered, laying near a wall in the living room. On it, notifications still glowed between the jagged cracks of what used to be her screen.

Fuck.

An overwhelming sense of guilt swept over Rob. Whatever had happened with Jane, it wasn’t good. And it certainly wasn’t something he should have been away from.

Why hadn’t he come back when he had the chance? Here he was, high and happy, slipping in to some aftermath he should’ve been present for. Had she argued with Lena?

Had she done something with Lena?

He felt even worse for even thinking that. Especially after possibly being too flirtatious with Zoe. That was a whole other issue he’d soon have to deal with.

The stress of managing the different facets of his life was starting to overwhelm him. The expectations he was putting on himself were only serving to harm him rather than help. Trying to shrug it off, he ripped off his clothes and walked into the bedroom, seeing Jane’s frail frame buried in the mountainous blankets. He slipped next to her, feeling her warmth, and dozing off quickly.

Whatever she had done, he would surely hear about in the morning.

In Bloom [HangYourSecrets x megatrash] [18+]

Rob sat wordlessly for pretty much the entire trip upward and westward to Milwaukee. Knowing Jane hadn’t gotten must rest that past night and morning (and their ever-more-frequent eloping wasn’t helping that fact), so she slept upon Rob’s lap, and he ran his fingers through her hair softly as she rested.

It was a not-so-pleasant surprise to see a text from Harold on Jane’s phone, detailing how Lena was going to be waiting on them in Milwaukee. The fact that someone would come now, when Jane was feeling her worst, was bad enough; it didn’t help that Rob and Lena weren’t exactly friends.

Lena wasn’t a bad person, in Rob’s eyes. She just seemed to lack the depth that he typically looked for in friendships and partners. Whether there was more to her than her poor taste in music or her constant self-obsession, Rob wasn’t sure, but surely doubted. Jane, knowing prior events, probably did not feel the same way.

He nodded to Jane, letting her set her phone down and roll over, sleeping soundly. Not wanting to disturb her, he passed his opportunity on the AUX chord and requested Sam and Austin keep the choices more acoustic than electric. They did so, and a soft, calming acoustic guitar song filled the car: Death of A Salesman, by Low.

Rob had heard the soft previously, and softly sang the lines to himself, almost like a melancholy lullaby:

”I forgot all my songs
The words now are wrong
And I burned my guitar in a rage
But the fire came to rest
In your white velvet breast
So somehow I just know that it's safe”

…

At the hotel, Rob waited for Jane as she went off to Lena. The two made brief eye contact, before Lena turned her attention away from him and to Jane. While he knew the two well enough to know he hadn’t a thing to worry about in terms of infidelity, he certainly felt a small sense of jealously—the two had a different bond than he and Jane, and while it may not have been as deep or as vivid, the knowledge that Lena knew a different Jane that he may have felt a bit emasculating. But, perhaps, it was just his inner voice telling him things, as it had done so many times previously.

He made it to the hotel room in relative silence, doing his best to take care of Jane as she had done for him. Memories of his last brush with cocaine slipped through his mind; the thought of his body drooling uncontrollably on the hotel floor haunted him. It was the least he could to do be near her.

They spent that time in between arrival and dinner, talking much less than usual (for her sake), but enjoying each others company, watching music, and having a good time.

Somewhere in between their day off, Rob had stepped into the bathroom, and noticed a notification on his phone:

4:45, Harold: Call me.

Rob sighed, but complied, and raised his phone to his ear.

“How’s Lena?” He asked first.

“We haven’t spoken. Jane tells me she’s coming up tonight with some food for dinner.”

“Do you need to be there?”

Rob thought for a moment, before: “Probably not.”

“Good. Because I was hoping you could do me a favor.”

The way Harold’s voice spat out favor over the distorted audio made it sound like much more of a demand than a request. Although, it wasn’t very surprising to Rob. He had to pay his penance for his outburst sometime. He had gotten off far too easy.

“An interview?” Rob guessed.

A brief silence on the other end confirmed his suspicions, then: “There’s a shop in town dedicated to strictly drum-related stuff. They’d like you to swing in, play a few kits, sign some hardware, and give an interview. And before you ask: I’ve specifically told them not to discuss the single.”

“Not a word?” Rob clarified.

“You have every right to leave if they do,” Harold said, “but I can’t stop them from asking you off the record.”

Rob thought about it for a moment, and quickly realized that, if he stayed with Lena and Jane, he would only be the third wheel. The two were exceedingly close to one another, and Rob was definitely not. And knowing all the shit he had gotten the band into recently, being mad at a roommate was something he wanted to avoid. Perhaps this interview would at least keep the media attention from boiling over. Besides—he hadn’t made a single press appearance since the incident.

“When do I go?” Rob conceded.

“Whenever you want,” Harold said, “I’m texting you the address now.”

Soon after the phone conversation, Rob finished up in the bathroom and slipped back into the living room, taking his seat by Jane.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Rob said, hating the cliched words the moment they escaped his lips, “and you’ve seen a ton of me recently, and you haven’t seen Lena in weeks. When she comes over, I’ll probably slip out. Harold wants me to do this interview to make amends for my last one, and…I probably should.”

After a bit of time, Lena came over, and Rob quietly excused himself, knowing Lena would probably take it as a slight, but seeing no better alternative.

“I’ll be back when it ends,” Rob said, before closing the door behind him.

…

One taxi ride later, just as the sun was setting outside, Rob slipped into the music store Harold had told him about.

Beside maybe two crates of records and a few guitars on a slide wall, the place was littered with hardware for drums: rides, crashes, petals, stands, and pretty much anything else someone would want.

Soon enough, the man giving the interview came up and introduced himself.

“Hey,” he smiled, “I’m Graham, with The Iron Throne.”

The two shook hands, with Rob trying hard not to laugh at the name.

He led him over to the kit they had set up in the center of the room, with a few interested patrons and fans lining the perimeter. He sat down, and looked to the floor.

“Can I get a double bass petal?” he asked. Soon enough, one was supplied to him, and thinking of something to play for the crowd, he figured that he may as well play the song he had practiced, year after year, learning how to play drums.

So he cranked out the first minute or two of Panic Attack by Dream Theater, his favorite song. The crowd clapped enthusiastically as he finished, and the interview soon began.

Graham: Thanks for sitting down with us, Rob. We’ve been keeping up with your technical style for a while now, and we just wanted to say, thank you for bringing something interesting to the genre.

Rob: Thank you. You see too many drummers getting locked into five or six patterns, and never really venturing out. There’s so much that could be done on a kit, and I appreciate being recognized for trying.

Graham: Absolutely. Now, could you just give us a bit of background for those unfamiliar with In Bloom?

Rob: That’s a big question. [laughs] Where do I start?

Graham: At the beginning.

…

The podcast interview actually went on for almost an hour. Rob explained everything from their initial meeting from the same location, to the identity crisis in sound from the early days of the first few EP’s to, to finally playing a statewide tour, before embarking on this latest one in support of their newest record.

It was a fun trip down memory lane for Rob, and for once, an interviewer solely asked about the music. What the thought process was behind their second EP. What the lyrics meant on an older song Rob had been credited. Things of that nature, that really made Rob feel comfortable in his own skin.

Afterwards, Rob stuck around, talking to listeners in the store and signing literally each thing shoved in front of him. Normally, he would find a way away from the fans. But today? He couldn’t count how many pictures he had taken with people. As is turned out, Milwaukee was a pretty nice place.

All in all, it had been about a two-and-a-half hour experience, and Rob waited in an employee lounge, discussing music with the leftover workers, and texted Jane:

Just finishing up. How are things on your end?

While waiting for a reply, he received a text, but not from Jane.

8:02, Zoe: Trent got those edibles he was telling you about, if you want to swing by. Milwaukee is boring me.

Rob hesitated for a moment, thinking of what next to do. Ultimately, it seemed it would come down to Jane and Lena.

Whatever they had done in the time he had been away.