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 [i]didn’t[/i] 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: [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cjPyvoLXPs4]Jesus Christ by Brand New[/url]. 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.