Rob held his hands against his temples as he listened to Jane. Austin slipped outside before he could launch into an argument he’d regret, telling them to leave. His voice was almost hard to distinguish above the sound of his own raging heartbeat. He felt so close to exploding. “I can’t fucking do it,” he muttered, more to himself than Jane. “I can’t act like that shit doesn’t bother me. And he wouldn’t [i]fucking drop it![/i]” 
The last words croaked out of his voice like some sort of roar. The interview had pushed just the right buttons. Knew exactly what it took to set Rob off. And now he was filled with a frustration and anger that almost scared himself. He left her leave. Or at least, from his position, he surely [i]felt[/i] like he had let her leave. He knew how much it pained her to sit and talk things through, but it didn’t in the least surprise him that she had walked off after berating him. He didn’t want to be mad at her about the incident, but refusing to talk about their sex life seemed to warrant more than criticism, at least in his eyes. Silently, he got up and got into the car at the passenger seat, silently grabbed the free AUX chord, and cranked [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2NJbRF4CgAA]Ticks and Leeches by Tool[/url]. He silently tapped his foot to the beat, to the endless repetition of rhythm on guitar. A song dominated by the drums. Something he needed to hear right now. Anything but the damn single. And as the ending of the song came on, and the wall of noise driven by the relentless double bass, the car shook violently. No one had even so much as talked to Rob at this point, and he highly doubted they’d call him out on his volume. Almost smiling, he could feel Sam and Austin react to the final lyrics of the song: [i]Is this what you wanted? Is this what you had in mind? Is this what you wanted? Cause this is what you’re getting. I hope I hope I hope You choke.”[/i] … At the show, Rob disappeared back into the Vicarious tour bus, as soon as the band had arrived. He saw Jane disappearing off into a side alleyway with much of the contents of her rider. Taking her lead, he had grabbed his own items—mainly energy drinks and cigarettes—and was soon back with Trent, Zoe, and David, who all had stayed behind after their setlist. “I mean, [i]holy shit![/i]” Trent yelled over the loud, repetitive music. He put on a mocking tone, quoting Rob’s words from the podcast. “[i]No, no, no. I legitimately want you to think about this. Are you fucking hearing yourself right now?[/i]” He burst out laughing as he finished the sentence, falling over onto the bed; his bare chest smearing sweat from the show he had played all over the sheets. Rob sat with his back to the headboard and laughed. He put his cigarette out by dropping it into an empty can by the bed. “Dude,” Trent continued, rolling to his back, “you fucking rock. Like, really.” “I just got mad,” Rob laughed. Trent’s general attitude towards he subject was slowly growing contagious on him, and he felt himself relax. “Dude was being a prick.” “A [i]total[/i] fucking prick!” He continued. He had this way of cursing. Words like [i]fuck[/i] and [i]prick[/i] slipped off his tongue like art. Trent seemed to truly enjoy every facet of being on the road; and in some ways, being a rock star. He explained: “I’m telling you man, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. You can keep fighting it all you want, but it’s your fucking [i]image[/i] to be crazy. You don’t have to like it.” “Well I don’t,” Rob said, sitting up. “I don’t want to have to put on some show every time I get interviewed. I don’t want to be some prick. I’m not.” “I’m not saying you need to act a certain way,” Trent countered. “Just do what you want. And please, for the love of god, stop giving a shit about what they think. If the fucker interviewing you is getting to personal, call them out on that. And, by the way, anyone who thinks you overreacted to that guy is a fucking prude. He was asking for it.” Rob shot a look to Zoe, as if to ask: [i]Is he right?[/i] She seemed to give a curt nod, before looking back down to her phone. Is was her turn to pick a song, and Trent seemed to notice. “Oh boy,” he said, turning an eye to David, who had been previously silence thus far. “Get ready for some weird shit.” “Not that I don’t like stoner rock,” Zoe said, not bothering to look back up, “but sometimes you gotta listen to something else.” Sensing the confusion in Rob, Trent looked back to him: “She likes electric stuff.” “[b]Eclectic[/b],” Zoe corrected, before an odd, almost middle-eastern beat filled the room. Rob made a sort of odd face, before making eye contact with Zoe again. “Wait for it…” she said with a smirk. Suddenly, the room filled with the sound of drums, electric guitar, bass, but even more….jazz instruments? Rob couldn’t tell if he was hearing a violin, a saxophone, or both. It was strange, progressive…and pretty fucking unique, as well. “What is this? He asked by the main chorus, hooking him in completely. She turned her phone to show him the track: [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F58xJE4S5M4]In The Company of Worms by Thank You Scientist[/url]. “It’s like jazz fusion,” she said, “if jazz fusion wasn’t shit.” The waited until the main breakdown faded in, leading to a solo between two instruments Rob hadn’t heard paired so often: violin and guitar. “Guy’s playing on a fretless guitar, with a violinist, on a prog track,” she said. “Who does that?” Rob laughed. It really was something else. And not just the music. Sitting here with people he hardly knew, feeling more comfortable and at home than if he had stuck around with with his other bandmates. They had calmed him down enough to think, enough to figure out a path forward. It was more than he could have gotten accomplished with J— “Rob Pennie?” A voice came. A crew member had tracked him down into the bus. “You’re on in five. And Vicarious needs to move this bus in twenty. We’ve got another band that needs the spot.” “Welp,” Trent said emphatically, “fun’s over.” He looked to David. “Go find Andy. Let him know we’ll probably bail before In Bloom’s set ends.” “He wanted to see us?” Rob asked. Talking to the drummer and bassist was one thing, but the singer? The guy seemed quiet on stage, and more so in real life. If he had to admit it, he almost looked up to him. He seemed so genuine in his actions, like he wouldn’t blow up in a fashion like Rob had. “Yeah,” Trent said. “He plays your stuff on the road.” Trent turned to David, catching him before he left. “Actually, we’ll move to the loading lot. We’ll go see the set, too.” Rob thanked Trent and the others for their time, as he slipped out of the bus. David slipped into the driver’s seat to move the bus as Zoe and Trent walked Rob to the stage. “Don’t blow up on the audience, now,” Trent mocked. “One meltdown is enough. We’ll be stage right after your set.” “Thanks guys,” Rob said, before separating out, catching up with his waiting band. He caught sight of Jane just before he walked out to mount the drum kit. She seemed a bit out of it. [i]Had she already gotten drunk?[/i] Rob tried not to think on it too hard. Between the shit he put everyone through earlier this tour, to the meltdown he had had that seemed to really upset her, he really couldn’t blame her for the usage. But, Trent’s words rang in his head all the same: [i]”Anyone who thinks you overreacted to that guy is a fucking prude”[/i] Rob looked at Jane as she warmed up the crowd, and couldn’t help but feel conflicted about the whole thing. … During the show, the last remaining shred of Rob’s anger at Simon melted away, and he beat the ever-loving [u]shit[/u] out of his kid. He felt this sort of self-confident, fuck-you vibe within himself that he let wash over him—influencing his playing. By the time the single rolled around, he felt as if he was on trial. The audience was the jury, and the critics lining the press pit the judge. He pled his case with his snare and toms, cymbals and kick. By the time the last chorus rolled around, Rob held on the cymbals, rolling wildly as-per the band’s typical closing noise, before slamming down three, spread hits on the snare, each louder than the last. By the final his, he had swung his arm from high above his head, cracking the drum head in two with a loud [i]popping[/i] noise. The crowd let out a roar from the event, and Rob stood up chucking the sticks into the crowd and waving, before making a mental note to let Harold know he’d need a new snare. Off stage, Trent, Zoe, and David stood off to the side, waiting and smiling as Rob approached. Behind them, Rob could see their guitarist, Matt, picking at craft services, while Andy made conversation with Jane another few yards away. He let her have her space before thanking his new friends for their time. “Dude,” Trent came, “have mercy on that poor snare. What it’d ever do to you?” Rob laughed as the two pulled in for a half-handshake-half-hug, before separating. “Totally worth it man. Each show feels better than the last.” They talked for a bit, before saying their goodbyes and soon enough, [i]In Bloom[/i] was back in their usual van, getting ready to leave. As Sam and Austin slipped out of the van to get the remainder of stuff left from the rider, Rob turned to Jane. Time to make amends. Somehow. “I, uh,” he started terribly, “I’m not going to make you talk about what happened, or anything. And I’m not itching to, either. I just…I couldn’t take that guy berating me like that. Maybe it shouldn’t have gone on in the first place. I didn’t let on how much that interview bothered me until it all came out like that.” He paused, before stating again. “Maybe that makes me the asshole drummer,” he said, honest. “I don’t know.” Before he could continue, Sam and Austin slipped into the car, and soon enough, the drive started off, back to the room. Tomorrow, the nearly-five-hour drive would take them to Chicago, where they’d play two separate sets; and no doubt, he’d have to confront Harold about his actions at some point. He tried to shove it from his mind as Sam spoke up. “Harold wanted to know why you didn’t announce the tour tonight.” “What?” Rob muttered out loud, before it hit him: he had completely forgotten. “Oh…I guess that’s on me.” “Yeah.” The way Sam had said it, it seemed to say so much more than just an acknowledgment. More of a, [i]”I’m really fucking mad at you, Rob,”[/i] than a “yeah.” Rob had easily forgotten that Sam actually liked his father. Perhaps Harold had told Sam about Rob’s outburst. Rob looked to Austin, who just shot him an empathetic look, before turning around. It seemed that, at least for now, he was in exile from the rest of the band. Regardless of how he felt, he realized the kind of position he put them in. And it was going to take a lot of explaining to get him out of this drama. [i]Jane first,[/i] Rob thought to himself. [i]Then I’ll deal with everyone else.[/i]