The drive was short, for the first leg. A morning set was something to be desired for Rob. Something that didn’t involve waiting the whole day for. Typically, his mind would never relax the day of a show; having the need to perform at the back of his mind. Today, he would get it over with. 
That was, if there hadn’t been a second set on the horizon, later that day. He had texted Harold about the scheduling as they had checked out of the hotel, asking him about why the schedule seemed more and more crowded with each passing day. He was faced with a passive response about how theres a need to keep money flowing in and out to “cultivate demographics” or some of the other bullshit terminology Harold liked to use. Although, once Harold had berated Rob with the specific costs of creating and shipping out more records to each tour in advance, as well as the organizational costs and other miscellaneous things the band had to absorb due to their new-found fame, he dropped the issue. His mind couldn’t focus; he sat quietly as Jane curled up next to him and Austin gained control of the stereo once more. [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lmc21V-zBq0] Run Boy Run by Woodkid[/url] played over the speakers, shaking the car with the augmented bass response provided by the track. He watched as Austin violently beat the upholstery to the endless beat of the drums. Rob closed his eyes, listening to the beat, feeling the vibrations of the car. He couldn’t shake his mind from what had happened earlier. And it wasn’t that he hadn’t enjoyed himself—rather, it was one of the best experiences of his life. In the past, Rob had looked at sex as something to gain from. To use to satisfy his own desires. But this morning didn’t seem so selfish. It was mutual. A shared experience. Stronger than any high or trip he had ever had in recent memory. She had only helped fuel the fire earlier that day. [i]”I [b]will[/b] be climbing all over you after our set tonight,”[/i] she had said. Not a suggestion, not an invitation. A promise. Rob couldn’t help but feel a tinge of remorse for focusing on such words, but she had been so [i]forward[/i] about her actions and desires. And it shouldn’t have surprised him, but it really had. Perhaps it was the jarring disconnect between his mental state just twenty-four hours ago, and that of his now. He felt a weight upon his lap, and looked down to see Jane’s legs stretching out slightly from their previous position; her feet now across to his right, her small frame to his left. Her legs rested upon him, and Rob couldn’t help but look back up, seeing if his other band mates had noticed. It was then that he realized this confusion over speed wasn’t going away anytime soon. Austin poked his head back over the seat at some point during the trip, alluding to what he had known. Rob pushed the conversation Jane had with Austin out of his mind, laying his head back, putting on his headphones, and trying to block out the rest of the trip. [hr] They had arrived at Philadelphia right on time, loading the equipment so methodically, it had gone by without so much as a second thought to them. The men and women in black set to help them grew more and more faceless with each show they had played. Once he had finished, he made his way to his usual spot—in the press pit, waiting anonymously as the band before them finished their set. As he watched this band, their energy seemed to enthrall him. The singer (a male with a strong undercut and tattoos up to his neck) seemed so genuinely happy to be on stage. The guitarist sang backup, belting out each word and syllable as if it was the very first time he had performed. Their drummer slammed his kit so hard, Rob wondered he he could manage without ravaging blisters. What this band in front of him was not controlled chaos. It was pure energy. They weren’t playing to be far from their problems or escape their better natures—their true selves. They were them on stage, playing the music they loved, being cheered on by those who loved them. Introducing new people to their music. Maybe Rob had lost that over the tour. Sure, each time he played, he truly played his heart out, but maybe…it really was all an act. An exercise in release of tension. Of stresses from home, or from Jane. From anything really. He looked down to his phone as they continued on, opening his messages. He hadn’t spoken to his parents since the tour had begun. Rob’s parents were pragmatic, cold people. They were the inspiration Rob had drawn from when forming his own self-image—copying their ruthless, stringent natures to cope with the loss he had felt from them. Sure, he had his own personal falling out with his father, but it was his mother too he felt so cold from, especially now. A sudden feeling of imposter syndrome fell over Rob, all at once. [i]Where were these feeling coming from?[/i] He asked himself. [i]Why am I so concerned about my parents?[/i] He couldn’t know, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about it. So few people remained in his life after high school. He had no siblings, no real friends outside of the band, and even fewer true friends [i]within[/i] the band. And now, that he had willing entered uncharted territory with his one, true friend… Rob walked away from the press pit before the set had ended, sliding out through metallic scaffolding and into the band parking lot. Here, busses sat surrounding each other like a miniature town; the larger carrier busses hulking their massive frames above the smaller vans. Unluckily, his phone rang just as he had sat himself down. He checked the caller ID. Harold. 
“Yeah,” he barked into his phone. He held the device between his shoulder and neck, lighting a cigarette with his free hands “I know you’re about to go on,” he said, his nasally baritone voice showing a hint of anger. “So I’ll keep it short. Do you have any new tracks?” “I’m the drummer,” he said. “I don’t write the songs. I just support them.” “Bullshit. I know you’ve been working on something with that new guitar of yours.” Rob’s mind flashed to his bandmates. [i]Who had told Harold? Who had known? Austin? …Jane?[/i] He tried to pay it no mind. “Anything I work on with that guitar is my own work. Besides, you wouldn’t like it. Too [i]complicated[/i] for you.” “Look,” Harold said. “I’ve tried to play nice on you because of whatever you and Jane have been doing, but I really need you to get with the program on this one. Music isn’t what it used to be. We can’t afford to wait around another three years until your next album. And we can’t afford to keep tracks like [i]Speechless[/i] on the setlist.” Rob openly grimaced. “I didn’t know you were controlling our sound now, Harold.” “I know what sells. So do me a favor and make something I can sell, ok? Sam’s got a few riffs he wanted to show you. Talk to him” Suddenly, the line cut off, and Rob lowered the phone, cursing to himself. [i]Sam had new stuff?[/i] Normally, the songwriting process was a lot less organized. People would approach with different ideas, and it all came from there. [i]Since when would Sam tell Harold about new stuff? And why not tell me himself?”[/i] A crew member walked outside, signaling Rob to come up the set. He obliged, thanking the crew member before meeting up with the rest of the band to get on stage. Sam shot him a pained smile. 
Since when did [i]they[/i] stop talking? He figured he had enough to deal with [i]besides[/i] the thing with Jane. Now Harold was working band members against him? He looked to Jane and smiled softly. He didn’t know what she expected of him, and she most likely felt the same way about his expectations. They were going to have to figure this out, one way or another. Instinct and intimacy would work great now, but when push came to shove, he knew Jane liked the sound of the single more than she let on. How were they going to deal with public life? Rumors? New tracks, new problems? Looking to his left, he saw a crew member standing beside a small table of drinks. He walked over, getting her permission to partake, before downing two shots of whatever spirit had been sitting out. From the taste, he assumed vodka. He’d surely need it if he was going to play as if he enjoyed it. “Good luck!” Came a voice from behind him. Rob turned to see the drummer for the band he had seen just a few minutes ago. The drummer offered Rob a happy, toothy grin and a wave of the hand. Rob reciprocated, watching him follow his other band members off to their next adventure. He knew it was dumb to think they had it better, but in this moment…damn. Did he envy them.