Last night seemed like a bit of a blur. After all the anger he felt and the frustration with the nearly everything, he had slept so soundly, memories of his anger were like passing visions—forgotten as soon as they had passed by. He awoke the sound of Jane’s whisper, the heat of her breath, and the softness of her lips against him. It made so much sense that Jane seemed to be enthralled by the bed and being into it—the feeling here, the absolute isolation from everyone else, was one of the best feelings i the world. And each morning it came to a methodical, bitter end. Rob slipped his phone into his hand, continuing to hold Jane with the other, and checking his messages. [i]9:27, Harold:[/i] [b]Respond to Sam, please.[/b] Rob swiped back and checked his other messages: [i]8:22, Sam:[/i] [b]Hey. So uh, this is a bit shit, but me and Austin are holed up in a studio, and we were hoping to get you over here to practice what we had. Maybe Jane, too. You might want to get over here before any more paparazzi get up.[/b] [i]8:23, Sam:[/i] [b][address][/b] [i]9:03, Sam:[/i] [b]Rob?[/b] Rob rolled his eyes. There one was final message: [i]9:22, Zoe:[/i] [b]Call me when you’re done with that shit.[/b] Rob tried not to think about what Zoe had said and focused on the current issue. He had figured that practice would need to begin really quickly if they were going to make a song so suddenly, but he was hoping to at least have the morning to himself and with Jane. Managing himself to perform at a record-worthy level is going to be hard enough. Getting Jane to sing with it? Even harder. He contemplated making an instrumental with the other guys, but soon blew off the idea. Harold wouldn’t go for it. Holding Jane in his arms like this reminded him of the pain she must be going through. His situation called for himself to be more pragmatic about the situation (especially after his outbursts yesterday), but Jane seemed much more forced into the situation than he. “I’m gonna get dressed,” he whispered to her, before kissing her gently and climbing out of bed. He winced as he dragged the fabric across his hands, slipping the gauze from his hands and exposing the ragged flesh beneath. He’d had to force himself to play with gloves on or risk doing some serious damage. Today was going to be interesting, he surely knew that. “Hey, he said, coming back into the bedroom. He sat on the edge, near Jane. “Sam and Austin are at a studio and they need me there. I don’t want to leave, and I don’t want to have to deal with this…” [i]How do you think she feels?[/i] A thought crossed his mind. [i]Don’t be such an asshole. It’s not like you’re the one people are criticizing.[/i] “But,” he continued, “I should at least hear what they’ve got. You don’t have to come now, or ever. I don’t want you doing anything uncomfortable.I don’t really care what Harold says.” [i]But you’re doing what he’s asking,[/i] the thought continued. [i]You’re supporting him, not her.[/i] “Call me anytime,” he finished, holding his phone up. “I’m just going to be down the street for a bit. If you need me to come back, let me know.” Rob leaned down and kissed her. A wave of emotion immediately followed—first lust, which drove him to nearly straddle her. Then the passion that drove his hands down her sides and across her chest. Then— [i]Anger?[/i] Rob stopped himself—the frustration of Jane’s past actions and experiences swelling back to him. Thoughts of Lena. Thoughts of the countless other lovers. “Sorry,” Rob said, pulling away. “I about attacked you, there. I’ll see you soon.” Rob slipped out, taking a deep breath in the hallway, before entering the elevator. … At the lobby, he was quickly pulled aside by a very concerned-looking employee. “Rob Pennie?” He asked. Rob nodded, and the man continued into a neurotic, nervous speech: “There’s uh, a whole lot of reporters outside looking for you. There were only about three when the other guys left—your other bandmates? I think? Anyways…” “Shit,” Rob said suddenly, looking out of the large window. Sure enough, about a dozen or so people, lined up with expensive DSLRs waited for him outside. So far, not one had noticed him. Sam had mentioned something about the paparazzi, but Rob felt like he was surely kidding. They hadn’t had a problem with press. Ever? Now? The frustration having to deal with this situation was threatening to make Rob less pragmatic than he’d like to be. “We can, uh, slip you through the back,” the employee said. “Through the staff parking lot. It’s gated, so no one should be there. I’ll call a cab.” “Thanks,” Rob said, and quickly followed the man. He led him behind the counter, past an industrial workspace, a kitchen, and finally, a large storage facility, before arriving at the back parking lot. Not a single paparazzi in sight. A cab soon pulled up, and Rob slipped inside, thanking the employee for his help. As the car pulled out of the lot, Rob slipped a pair of sunglasses on and looked out to the front of the hotel as he passed by. Out there, employees of the hotel seemed to be arguing with the paparazzi—probably trying to chase them away. Funny, how their first issue with press had been with this. A bunch of stupid, old photographs had caused this much intrigue. Rob instructed the cab driver on where to go, before calling Harold. “I hope you’re getting hit with the press, too,” Rob wished. “Fortunately, no,” Harold said, “but I’ve been on the phone since five this morning. Any word on that song?” “I’m heading to the studio now,” Rob said, “so no. No word on the fucking song.” “And Jane?” “She can tell you herself what she’s doing,” Rob said, “but I’m not the boss of her. Neither are you. If she even shows, it’s her choice. I’m only doing it for Sam and Austin. Not you.” “Whatever keeps you warm at night,” Harold said. “See you in Kansas City.” The phone clicked shut, and the sudden realization that he’d be seeing Harold in the flesh as soon as tomorrow night sent a wave of frustration through him. Having to deal with him had never been easy. On or off the road. Rob’s thoughts were broken by the cab driver’s voice, asking for the money he needed. Rob paid and tipped, before slipping out of the car and into the studio before he had time to check if anyone was outside. In here, a receptionist seemed to shoot him a funny glance, before he slipped off his sunglasses. “Rob Pennie?” She asked. “Yeah,” he said, pointing to a hallway. “Down here?” “Yup,” she said. “The other guys have been here all morning. Where’s Jane?” [i]Did she really just ask me that?[/i] Rob thought. He glared at her, before she broke off eye-contact, muttering a soft “sorry” before consuming herself back into her computer. Rob silently made his way into the back studio. In here, Sam and Austin where in the middle of a riff, when they saw Rob come in. They stopped immediately. “Don’t stop,” Rob said, pulling his drummer’s gloves from his pocket. “We don’t have time to stop.” “And Jane?” Sam asked. “Jesus Christ,” Rob said instinctually, “Everyone wants to know about fucking Jane. She’ll show if she wants to.” With that, Sam and Austin said nothing more, and Rob slipped onto the provided drum set, playing the thee instrumentalists through a warm-up they had practiced many times before. … An hour passed, and not much had been accomplished. The stress of the deadline hung over their heads, and each idea one person would present was quickly shot down by the others. [i]Too grungy. Too metal. Too chuggy. Too melodic.[/i] Each critique was giving generically, causing the others to press on as quick as possible. Soon enough, Rob lost track of the sound anyone was going for, and slipped out of the room, heading back to the receptionist—who seemed a bit more afraid of him than before. “Get us some alcohol,” Rob said, ignoring his mental thought that it was [u]far[/u] too early. “What kind?” The receptionist asked, but Rob had already turned around. “Anything,” Rob shouted. “Just a lot of it.” He slipped back into the room, catching Sam in the middle of a particularly infectious riff. Rob stopped in place, looking at the guitar. Near him, Austin laughed. “I know, right?” Austin said through a smile. “First decent thing someone’s played today.” Which as completely true. Each riff and drum pattern played thus far sounded like everything that’s come before. The sound of out Sam’s guitar, right now, sounded new. Fresh. Like somebody took the single and absolutely obliterated it—tore it down, built it again. Heavier and meaner. “Loop that,” Rob said, slipping back behind the drum set. “It’s in 5/4 if I loop it,” Sam protested, but Rob could only smile. “I know,” he said. After feeling the rhythm of the guitar, Rob laid down a heavy beat, dominated by open high-hat and a syncopated kick snare pattern. Best part? It was in 4/4. At first, Sam faltered the rhythm, unsure of the new territory. In Bloom had never played a song in a polyrhythm before. “Play on the beats, not every two!” Rob shouted over the sounds. Soon enough, Sam got into the groove, and the beat continued on. Austin came in soon after, laying on first a standard riff, then continuing on, keeping with Sam’s 5/4 beat rather than Rob’s 4/4 pattern. It was one of the few times that Austin and Rob played separate things, and it sounded [i]incredible[/i]. They continued on for a few minutes, before slipping into the booth and hitting record, before playing the song again. By that time, the alcohol was slipped in (by a very quiet receptionist), and the three of them continued to drink while trying new ideas. For now, all they had was a riff, but it was something they were proud of. To clear their minds, they launched into a cover of [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AG8fugqFn9Q]Panic Switch by Silversun Pickups[/url], screaming the bridge from their instruments, letting Rob wail his own version of the nasally vocals. By the time they had finished, they were well and truly drunk. Rob took a break from the kit for a moment, slipping to his phone and checking it for messages. 
[i]Would Jane come?[/i] He wasn’t sure, but he was hoping so. Having this much fun almost felt wrong. Was he doing it to escape dealing with the problems of being back into the room? He wasn’t sure anymore. A part of him wanted to shoot a text to Zoe, but he denied that thought. He had better wait to see if any good could come from this session. “Food?” Sam shot to Rob, breaking his concentration. Rob nodded, and soon enough the three were back, making jokes and ordering shitty food. Sure…he might have been frustrated and even angry. But he could easily ignore it. For now.