After the mental and physical exhaustion of the day, adderall and alcohol were the only things that got Rob through the set. He had a typical habit about him that proved more than reliable on this night—that, if asked to perform, he would perform his heart out, no matter the consequences to his body. By the single’s song, the weak wound upon his arm tore once again at the stitches, letting blood pour out again. The blisters on his fingers ripped once more, and none of the sedation in him could prevent him from grimacing at the pain. It was as if he was literally falling apart at the seams. In front of him, Jane seemed to be suffering in a similar manner. He could only see little more than her silhouette and his own hoodie she wore. For some reason he found it odd she had chosen to wear it. If he had been more sober he might have worried about missing some sort of signal—in the state he was in, he could merely register it. After the final song ended, Rob tossed the bloody sticks into the crowd and moved up to the mic. “I don’t know if I’d touch those if I were you,” he said, with just a hint of a slur. The couple that caught the sticks seemed to pay it no mind, thrusting them in the air as if it were a grand prize. Hey; at least someone was having fun on this tour. Rob moved off to the side of the stage and made for the green room, grabbing the record and moving outside of the venue to meet his hosts in the agreed-upon spot. He found them soon after, and thanked them for coming. Luckily, he had managed not to bleed upon what was probably a prized possession for the hosts. On he way back into the venue, he caught a glimpse of a sulking shadow many feet away. He turned his head to look. In the bitter cold, Jane looked down—her face buried within herself, her small body softly shaking. He felt himself desperately wanted to move over to her. To hold her close and tell her how sorry he was for what he had done. He had never wanted to ask for distance from her—not truly. But after the wake of what had come out into the press, everyone needed some time to get their own heads on straight. But…maybe he didn’t have to be so cold. Maybe he didn’t have to do [i]this.[/i] But there was no turning back. No reclaiming what he had said. No revoking what had already been done. 
He entered the venue and mindlessly helped the band pack up. And luckily, the pills kept him focused enough to remain composed, if only for the night. — Rob was deliberately the last of the entourage to board the bus—having taken an hour to bandage his new wounds. Each other member seemed to have gone to bed in exhaustion, with no one member seeming to want to deal with or talk with the others. Save for Lyla, who sat quietly on the couch—legs crossed under her, hands spread across a keyboard. Rob grabbed a beer and sat down on the floor across from her—not wanting to encroach on her space. He leaned against the cabinets behind and sighed. “How’ve you been?” Rob tossed out into the air. He wasn’t too sure how else to begin. Not after all that lay before. Lyla put on a weak smile. “Alright. I’ve got a lot of folks back home concerned about me, but I don’t think they quite understand what’s gone on.” “I don’t think anyone has,” Rob joked. “If anyone [i]has,[/i] then….well they better tell me. I’d like to know.” Lyla had an odd air of calmness about her. Unlike talking to Austin or Aaron, she was little more than a stranger to Rob—someone that’s comfortable enough for him to talk to more as a confessional than as a friend, while still feeling solace in knowing that they understood where you were coming from. How often did Jane talk to her? “So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Lyla said. “I didn’t think we’d have tomorrow off.” “Me either,” Rob admitted. He looked over to Grant, who had just pulled the bus out of the venue—the deep rumble of the road fading back in underneath them. A feeling he felt empty without. “Where to, Grant?” Grant spoke without looking back. “I was going to head straight to Naples. Unless you two had another idea.” Rob looked up to Lyla, who seemed to be ambivalent. “What would you recommend?” Rob finally asked Grant. Grant thought for a moment, then spoke: “Florence is a beautiful city. Perhaps it’s selfish of me to say, but I have an uncle that lives there. There’s not many concerts in Florence, so I rarely see him through work.” “You deserve a break as much as any of us, Grant,” Rob said. “I don’t see any harm in spending the day off in Florence.” Grant nodded, making a left turn. “I appreciate it.” Rob’s eyes swerved back to Lyla’s. “Have any relatives in Florence?” He asked lightly. Lyla shook her head. Rob tried to offer another smile, but could only close his eyes and lean back once more. The adderall was starting to wean away. “Play something nice, would you?” He asked softly. Even through closed eyes, Rob could tell Lyla moved to dim the lights, then pulled up a Youtube video: it was [url= https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3M_Gg1xAHE4]Pyramid Song by Radiohead[/url]—an old favorite of his. He stifled a laugh and turned his head. From his vantage point, he could see the world swirling past in angled, blurred hues. He let his mind float away with the song’s hypnotic, unconventional tones. And soon he was lulled away to sleep. [i]There was nothing to fear, nothing to doubt.[/i] [i]There was nothing to fear, nothing to doubt.[/i] [i]There was nothing to fear, nothing to doubt.[/i] — Morning caught him unconventionally—his back was the first to wake up, seemingly in quiet agony. His eyes opened to find himself still laying on the floor near the door—his body laying belly-down, his arms and legs blocking the exit of the door from the passengers that had most-likely left. The low rumble of the bus had faded away. On the couch, no one sat. In the air, all was silent. Rob couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed at his position. The thought of his bandmates finding him like this, essentially having to step over him and hope he was alright—was agonizing enough. Rob didn’t ever want public sympathy. And now, after what had happened between he and Jane, all he wanted was privacy. He slipped his phone towards his face, and turned on the screen. [i]One Missed Call From: Zoe[/i] Was it worth calling her back? Why did she call? How was she feeling? Was was [i]Jane[/i] feeling, for that matter? The world flooded back into him like air to his lungs. No. Not today. It was too complicated—too much to think of. In he end, he decided not to find out if anyone was awake—if it were simply the early morning hours or later in the day. Rob simply pulled himself from the floor, left his cell phone on the table, and walked out of the bus. — Florence was nicer that Rob had expected—even after Grant’s friendly words to him. The city here was quiet, and Rob felt no need to find a way to block out the city’s ambience—nor the feeling of being watched. Things were quiet out here. Rob took the opportunity to slip into a nearby shop and order a coffee—a much-needed pick me up after the night’s vices. He sipped on it absentmindedly until he approached a park. Rob moved inside and found a nice bench. Here, the leaves of fall were truly into their full swing—the world was moving to the quiet cold of winter, and the last of summer needed to be shaved off. Fallen away. Rob thought next then of Harold. If he would be worried that Rob had disappeared with no way to contact him. He had probably wanted them to interview at some point today. But at this rate? With he and Jane waiting in the wake of what had just happened? That wouldn’t happen today. Rob next moved out to a nearby hotel; checking in with the company’s card. After talking with the woman through broken sentences and thick accents, he managed to get a room high above the streets—on the highest floor. He entered the room soon after—enjoying the clean coziness of it, rather than the sterile cold feeling the last few hotel rooms he had gotten seemed to feel like. Here, the room was decorated with knitted fabrics and green plants. The air seemed scented with a more natural hue. The place felt foreign without so much as feeling too distant. It was perfect. He moved to the bedroom, stripped off his clothes, and slept. — He awoke to the sun beating down upon his face through white curtained windows. His sore body from earlier this morning (or afternoon, he still was not sure) seemed a bit more quelled by the nap he had just taken. He was as close to enjoying this day as he felt he could ever be, given the circumstances. He had been lucky as to not be as plagued with anxiety as he had just hours ago. He was filled instead with shame and distance. A feeling that he didn’t really want to be with anyone back on the bus. That he just needed this day to himself. To be alone. And yet, simultaneously, in this loneliness, Rob wanted someone. No, not someone. He wanted Jane. But no. He couldn’t have her. Not now. Not after. It wasn’t right. He hesitated for another few moments, before moving to the telephone in the room and dialing a familiar number. After only two rings, Austin answered: “This better be fucking Rob.” “I’m alright,” Rob said, cold. “I just needed to get out.” “Oh my fucking—“ Austin said, seeming to cut himself off. He re-composed. “Look, I get it, we all need some ‘us time.’ But we travel together on the bus for a [i]fucking[/i] living. Do you want to go back to working at coffee shops? Do you want your life to be that again?” “Honestly, Austin,” Rob said, “I don’t really give a shit. Because from right here, right now…it doesn’t really feel like anything will be normal again.” “Whatever man,” Austin came back cold. “You can go off and have your transient experience but you were face down and shit-faced on the floor this morning. Don’t forget that.” For a moment, the two were silent. Perhaps Austin regretted being so harsh so suddenly, or maybe Rob was just considering hanging up all together, but either way, Austin cut the silence short. “Where are you at least?” “The Convitta Della Calza. Room 208.” “You mind if anyone visits you while you sulk? You think I should tell Jane?” Hearing her name out loud stung, in a way. And not because he didn’t want to see her. The opposite was true. But knowing that others knew about what had happened…it wasn’t something he liked to think about. In fact, he didn’t want to think at all. He wanted Jane over. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to walk around the city, visit odd places, enjoy every moment, fuck in odd places…all of it. That evening at the Rock N Roll Hall of Fame…how long ago it had been. How much he wanted it. Even knowing the logical thing to do was to stay away. To not contact her romantically anymore. To solve the problem of their media image before going for the clusterfuck that seemed to be their relationship. Just…ever-growing shards of confusion and miscommunication. Beauty and rage. “I don’t care,” Rob finally said, answering Austin’s question. How long had he been waiting? How long had he been thinking? “No one come. All of you come. Whatever you want to do, man.” Rob set the phone down soon after and moved for the balcony in the hotel. A pack of cigarettes clid from his jacket pocket, and he filled the clear air with tar and smoke. As he had always done.