The first thing that next morning, Rob had taken a taxi over to a local music shop. After talking with the owner for a bit, he allowed Rob into the back room for practice a few songs in peace. After what had happened, he needed to clear his head. So…he cued up a song he typically only played to release anger: [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b7bxjDGbrLI]Thrice - The Earth Will Shake.[/url]

It started out so soft…

[i]We dream of ways to break these iron bars. We dream of black nights without moon or stars.[/i]

Rob thought of the night before. The calm he had shared with Jane as she had awoken him. The feeling of her skin against his; her weight atop his. The trust, the silence…all of it. He allowed himself to feel every emotion as the song built underneath him, feeling the emotion surrounding it. Next, came the call-and-answer section:

[i]Heartbroken we found a gleam of hope. Harken to the sound, a whistle blows. Heaven sent reply however small. Evidence of life beyond these walls[/i]

As the sound grew louder, Rob began to think of his darker thoughts. His frustration at her reluctance. Her closed-off approach to how she had handled her own feelings. The way she had felt somehow justified in rejection of himself, only to lie with him in the night like his own feelings hadn’t mattered. He had told her she couldn’t protect him from how he felt. And the full force of those emotions, the frustration…all of it was beginning to take over. 

Suddenly, the song dropped to silence. The mantra repeated itself over and over:

[i]We dream of ways to break these iron bars. We dream of black nights without moon or stars.[/i]

Calmly, Rob began to roll on his snare. First, holding onto strict control of the sticks. Then, as the end of the song drew near, harder and harder, until the head seemed to strain under the weight of his force. The call-and-answer returned. Louder. Fiercer. Madder. The symbols shook under the weight of his force. The equipment rattled at each crash—each strike. Finally, the songs devolved into it’s ending:

[u][b]Look to the day the earth will shake. These weathered walls will fade away.[/b][/u]

And as the final crash rang out, Rob dropped the sticks with a sigh upon the floor. 

[hr]

Rob wasn’t sure if he had a right to be mad at Jane about what had happened.

He had told her not to worry of his own feelings, but with each passing moment he regretted what he had said. He had opened himself up to her. Given out ammunition. A weapon to be used against him at-will, however consciously or unconsciously. Rob knew Jane would not willingly hurt him, but he knew she would willingly help herself. 

Laying with him…holding him…kissing him. It was all for her. Rob knew that. But it was a cruel thing to have done to him and everything within him wanted to tell her to leave that night. But he couldn’t. Even if he could…he probably [i]wouldn’t[/i], either. There was a thing in him—however self-destructive— that wanted Jane, and it wanted her to be happy as well. It wouldn’t allow him to be mad at her for what she had done. But it certainly allowed him to feel betrayed. 

Walking back into the hotel lobby, Rob saw Jane in the breakfast area, playing with her food as she sat by herself. He stopped for a moment, while she still didn’t see him. Still, even now, he knew he wanted her. But another voice shattered his thoughts:

“Hey!” Austin said loudly, approaching Rob from behind. He turned quickly to face his friend, however frustrated he was at the inconvenience of his timing. “You’re sweaty,” he said blankly.

Rob looked down to his own soiled shirt. “I had to get some energy out.” He frowned as he said it, and Austin seemed to instantly figure things out.

Before he could respond, Rob turned from Austin. “I’ll catch you later,” he said, and walked down the nearest hallway, keeping his back against the lobby and breakfast area. He heard a faint “great” from the distant Austin in his typical dry tone as he entered the elevator. 

Arriving at his room, Rob showed off the sweat from earlier, slipped back into his old hoodie, and turned on his television to find a film. As he searched, he dialed room-service. 

“Yeah, could I get a pizza up to my room?” He said into the receiver. “Yeah…sausage would be fine—oh, and pepperoni too. Plus a 2-liter of soda. …any kind. Surprise me.”

Rob hung the phone back up. He didn’t care about what the others might have wanted from him, or how they felt about what he was doing. But he needed some time away, and he needed some time alone. If he had to lock himself in his room and down his sorrows in pizza, there were worse ways to do it. 

His eyes darted from the mini-fridge, then back to the opening credits of the movie he was starting: [i]Gone Girl[/i]. A part of him wanted to get a beer from the fridge, but the rest knew it was a bad idea. Besides, this was the perfect movie for the moment:


Everything’s fucked up in it.