[url= https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tM82zEsvAfE]Wanted Criminals by The Evens[/url] played quietly in Rob’s headphones as he stared out into Venice. The air here was calm, and the rivers that flowed through the city provided a great, relaxing ambience whenever Rob decided to take his headphones off. He had walked out this way about a mile from the venue—against both the suggestion of Harold to stay low until the interviews happened as well as his better nature. So much had happened emotionally in the past weeks. So many things had happened that had given him so much grief that all he wanted now was to be outside of his head. So far, the easiest way to do this was simply walk around and fill his ears with any sort of noise. Anything to drown out the racket inside his own head. Here, he soon realized, he needed a distraction. Not from Jane, but from the whole band entirely. Anything to keep him from letting the part of his mind take over that was probably right. The part that thought he had just made the biggest fucking mistake of his life. Without so much as a second thought, he pulled out his phone and sent out a tweet to the world: [i]Any @InBloom_Band fans hanging out around Venice before the show? PM me.[/i] It was inconspicuous enough, and while he was certain Harold would see it, he could see no harm in it. He could easily play it off as a merch giveaway, when in reality, he just wanted to see what sort of responses would come up. 
In five minutes, he sorted through about ten separate offers. A few from men, another couple from women, most suggesting far more than Rob was willing to put up with. One user seemed friendly enough above the rest, however. The profile picture seemed to show a happy Italian couple, including the message: @Rob_InBloom We’re pre-gaming with a couple of close friends. It would mean the WORLD to us if you stopped by. Rob looked up as the song ended abruptly, leaving him with the simple Italian air, and the creeping feeling of his own thoughts. 
No. He couldn’t turn back from what just happened. Not now. He typed out: [i]@pseudowax Address?[/i] — A few minutes of logistics later, Rob found himself in a clean apartment in downtown, sitting across from two very nervous fans. He smiled and thanked them again for the opportunity, making sure to get the obvious photos and signings done so that the group could talk. As the rest of the group filed into the room, Rob soon began putting names to faces. Smiling and feeling good, being surrounded by so many people that seemed to be fans. Happy people. Willing to put up a stranger because he helps make good music. If Rob thought about it too much, he might have been uncomfortable. After an hour or so of relentless answered questions, Rob left after taking down their names and promising them stuff signed by the whole band. They were cheery and happy as he walked out. By the time he stepped back outside into the open air, evening was beginning to fill the air, and Rob knew he needed to get back towards the bus. He called a cab, arrived quickly back to the Venue (which had nearly been in walking distance), and stepped inside. He didn’t so much as bother to look around. The quiet inside the bus was more than enough recognition to him that there wouldn’t be much arguing. If he could just manage to leave quickly enough. Rob pulled out a sharpie and slipped out a copy of the band’s album. He signed it in his usual way (an “RP” hastily written, then circled), and left it on the table with a note: [b]For some fans. Please sign.[/b] He slipped right back outside and made his way back into the venue. As he opened the door, a knot seemed to form in his throat. A feeling of swelling immediately began to take hold. His chest seemed to cave into itself. He immediately broke for the restroom, slamming the door behind him. Tears had already begun streaming down his face, and his body soon began to shake. He leaned against the wall, trying hard to pull out his phone. He dropped it twice before managing to activate Siri; ignoring the slew of missed calls and texts. “Call…Aaron,” he muttered. He was surprised he could get that much out. And he could only hope that there was enough time for him to answer before he completely lost control— “Rob?” Aaron answered. “Where are you? We tried to call you earlier but—“ “[i]Help,[/i]” Rob said, in a tone Aaron hadn’t heard in several years. “Oh [i]fuck[/i],” Aaron responded. “Where?” Rob didn’t respond. “[i]Where, Rob?![/i]” “Venue. Bathroom.” “I’m coming.” The phone clicked off, and Rob lowered himself against the tile flooring of the bathroom. His head seemed to throb to the brink of explosion. — Twenty minutes had passed, and Rob was sitting upright again; his hands were wrapped tightly around a water bottle, and Aaron was sitting next to him. It was the most debilitating panic attack Rob had had since high school. He and Aaron used to have a system in place to deal with such a thing, but years had passed since then. Rob used to have panic attacks weekly then. Now, it seemed, those were coming back into reality. “Any idea what it could have been?” Aaron finally asked once it seemed that Rob had had a decent grip on himself. After a moment, he responded: “I think I broke up with Jane. I didn’t mean to…I think…I didn’t want it to sound like…that…” “Hey, dude,” Aaron cut him off. “It’s fine. I don’t need all of the details. You’ve been rock solid recently anyways.” Rob felt anything but rock solid. His moments sitting here on the bathroom seemed to undermine any newfound confidence he had had. Any faith in his own resolve. Here…he felt completely and utterly worthless. 
 “You good for the show?” “We have to play,” Rob muttered almost to himself. “We need to play.” “If you can’t Rob, it’s ok—“ [i]”I can play, Aaron.”[/i] “…alright then.” Aaron looked down to his watch. “We’ve still got time just take a moment and just breathe, ok? Just breathe…” — The blur of the day brought Rob next to find himself exiting the restroom with Aaron close by behind. Out here, Sam and Austin were standing—giving concerned looks, but saying nothing. Rob was thankful, at least, for that. All of that work he had put into taking the initiative. All of the effort he had taken to resolve things. It all felt so worthless now. But maybe only to him. Maybe if he could just fake it. Maybe that could work. Or not. Everything in Rob’s head felt like a fucking blur. “Hey dude,” Austin said, finally approaching. He handed the now-signed record over to Rob. “We were throwing around the idea of doing the interview today, but after what happened…” Austin cut himself off. “Nevermind. We’ll just take the days as they come. Harold called and said he told of some of the dates wrong, so tomorrow we have completely off. Naples the day after that.” “Yeah, sounds great,” Rob said. Both of them talked to each other more like strangers than friends. At this point, Rob felt distance from anyone and everyone. “Just uh,” Austin continued, feeling the discomfort of the situation, “just let me know if you need anything from me, ok?” “Yeah, will do, man.” Rob said dryly. As if the words fell limply from his mouth. He turned from Austin and grabbed a beer bottle, downing in it half a minute. He immediately reached for another one. And then another. He watched as Sam’s hand intercepted him on the fourth bottle. “Dude,” Sam said, “you still need to play.” Rob nodded, turning around, and making his way into the green room. He tossed the record down onto one couch and laid down on the other. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out something he had been saving for a long time. A handful of adderall pills. He shoved them all into his mouth and swallowed painfully. He could only hope they kicked in before the show. If he could just make it to the other side of the show…then. Then he could sleep.