Sometime past the third or fourth movie (Rob couldn’t remember which), there was a knock at the door. Moving to open it, Rob brushed the remainder of the crumbs off of his hoodie and half-waddled at the door under the weight of the food within him. 

“Dude,” Austin said as he barged right in. Rob could only roll his eyes as he closed the door behind him. Austin sat on the bed and took in a deep breath. “Smells like pizza and B.O. in here.” 

Rob scratched at his head as he moved to the wall to his left, leaning against it as he faced Austin. “What’s up?” he shot out scathingly. “Am I due another lecture about how I’m not handling myself correctly?” 

“[i]God, you’re both assholes,[/i]” Austin said, prompting Rob to think: [i]what did Jane do today?[/i] Before an answer came, Austin continued. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t really [i]fucked up[/i].” Austin’s eyes locked to the mini-fridge ahead of him.

“I can handle myself now,” Rob said. “I’m not drunk. I’m not going to get drunk…look, can we just not do this?” He tried to put a smile on. “Let’s do something. Anything. Go somewhere. Do something.”

But Austin stood and made for the door. “I’ve got my own shit to deal with, but thanks. It’s enough handling you two.” 

Austin slid out as quickly as he came in. He didn’t seem mad, but he certainly seemed frustrated, and Rob couldn’t blame him for that. Not anymore. In the midst of what Jane and Rob were doing, Sam and Austin got pushed aside. They were left to try to deal with half of their band seemingly falling out. And while it hurt Rob to see his friend so tired of dealing with him, he understood that he couldn’t drag him around to make himself feel any better. 

And thinking about that just made Rob more angry for what Jane had done that day. It wasn’t going to be any good for him to think anymore. Grabbing his room key, he slipped out the door, made his way to the elevators. 

As the doors closed, Rob looked to the buttons without pressing any. The elevator sat still, waiting to be told what to do. His eyes made it’s way back between two buttons; the lobby floor, and Jane’s floor. 

He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and pressed a button. As the elevator slowed to a stop and opened, he walked over to Jane’s room. 

Here, the door was open. A bag had been thrown across the room and sat limply upon the floor. Jane lay on the bed; her face buried within the thick comforter sheets. Based on sight and smell alone, it seemed like she had herself quite a day, yet it was only eight that evening. 

Rob wanted to feel angry at her. For going off and suppressing her thoughts and feelings with drugs and cheap liquor. In strange men and cigarettes. But it was something he had done today as well. And while he might not have done it in the same way, it didn’t matter. Both of them never wanted to deal with how they felt. And looking at Jane now like this; as vulnerable as she was, he couldn’t feel any anger within him. 

Rob made his way into the room, closing the door behind him. He picked up her bag and set it upon the counter. He made his way over to Jane, and nudged her gently. She was still fast asleep in the same sort of alcohol-induced coma he had seen her in a few times before. 

He picked her up gently; turning her around and holding her back in his left arm and her legs in the right. He slipped off his shoe and kicked the comforter off the bed, before setting her down on the clean sheets. He pulled the comforter over her and took a step back. Rob could see why Jane had constantly held him; slept with him. There was a sort of peace to be found in sleep. There were no words, no anger…just calm. And while he felt hurt and torn by her, he also knew that in this moment she could do no ill to him. Rob slipped out the door, closing it gently, before making his way up to his floor.

As he came out through the elevator, his phone rang: Harold.

“How’s everything going?” he asked over the line calmly. 

“I don’t know at this point,” Rob answered. “We play our shows well. Off-stage we’re still trying to figure ourselves out, I guess.” 

“Any new material?” he asked. He had known the band long enough to know material seemed to spur from moments like these. Bad nights and worse mornings. 

“I play the drums,” Rob deflected. “I don’t write material.” 

“Bullshit. I know you bought the guitar.” 

[i]Fuck. He knew.[/i]

“Look, it’s just a hobby,” Rob said faux-happily. “I’m just picking it up to get a feel for it. Besides, I need some time off if you want more shit like the single. And I’m sure you do.”

“You can’t blame me for wanting the band to be more marketable,” Harold said. “I’m no music expert, but I know that your more straightforward music sells better. I’m just suggesting you stick to that.” 

“Sure Harold, whatever you’d like!” Rob mocked as he hung up the phone. He had no patience to deal with the band wanting to slowly drain the life of of their music. There wasn’t any fun in 4/4 time and standard beats, or in carefully manufactured fun. They played [i]rock music.[/i] That used to mean something. 

He slid the phone back into his pocket as he opened his room door again. Inside, it really did smell like shit, but there was no point in cleaning it now. Rob had other things in mind. 

Pulling out a few joints he had made earlier on the trip, Rob slowly covered the room in a haze. He slid the guitar out from under his bed and played a few of the chords he had settled on, before writing down a few lyrics he had been throwing around:

[center][i]The broken souls in torn-down homes
A nascent hope in aging tomes
A burning fear of what becomes of you.[/i][/center]

Rob thought for a moment, then: 

[center][i]With fear of what’s beyond their wither
“There must be life beyond a hearse”
They’ll never stop to consider:
eternity is so much worse.[/i][/center]

In frustration, Rob crumpled up words he’d written and tossed them into the trashcan. How could he be so foolish as to think he could write songs without being heavy-handed and blunt? His mind wasn’t built for such things. Even worse was the thought that if Harold had his way, their music from now on would only be what people wanted to hear.

Sex, Drugs, and Rock ’n’ Roll.

Frustrated, Rob set the guitar down and threw a song on his speakers as he cleaned the room: [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hrATY5SPRDE]Hole - Royal Blood[/url].

Rob could only laugh himself and at the lyrics as he sang them:

“I’m just stuck in a hole.” 

He finished cleaning after himself and slipped into bed soon after, hoping tomorrow would at the least be more successful.