[center][b][url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3458218]TEN YEARS AGO[/url][/b][/center] Rob thumbed his way through a nice stack of record, but it was Jane he was really looking at, out of the corner of his eye. She looked beautiful in this moment—the light peering in through the window blinds of the record store, lighting her face in strips of yellow-white. Her small hands wrapped around a few LPs—the same that pulled him gently into the store just a few moments ago. She gripped records from Fleet Foxes and The 1975, and finally pulled a record from Pond before seeming satisfied. The album cover was a cacophony of colors and drawings. It was a cover he wasn’t going to forget. [center][b]NINE YEARS AGO[/b][/center] Rob blinked through red-hot tears as he tore through the loft. Jane was comatose in the bedroom—like she always fucking was—so he didn’t think twice about the noise he was making. This was all ending, all of it, tonight. He’d never see her again. He cracked open the coat closet and ripped his clothes from the hangars, some of them splintering and snapping as he did so. On the floor, he spotted an old pile of records. He flipped through them quickly, sorting them mentally in his head. [i]Mine, hers, mine, mine, hers, hers, hers, mine, hers…[/i] Until he came upon the bottom record. Beaten and crumpled from storage of use was that old Pond record. It hadn’t been song since they got it, but after everything, it hadn’t been played in months. Images of Jane in the record shop tore through his head. Moments that felt like a lifetime ago. Without hesitating, he took it. [center][b]PRESENT DAY[/b][/center] Rob’s world spun as he came back to life. Someone was pulling at his shoes again. [i]Shit…[/i] Everything was a fuzzy blur. The room seemed to vibrate as he felt someone pull off his shoes, then pull the comforter out from under him. He felt himself hit cooler sheets and groaned in annoyance. Soon enough, the movement stopped, and felt the comforter’s warmth again upon his back. “Thankssssssloove,” he muttered out instinctually, then it was back to sweet relief. The past few days had been a blur for him. After waking up far, far past his alarm, he had a brief call with Evan—making empty promises to lay off the drinking for a few days. Evan, for all his grouchiness during that call, was happy to report that Rob’s aggressive drumming style tied up J’s vocals nicely for the single. Something about ‘opposite energies,’ or so he said. He dropped it immediately on streaming platforms, and lo and behold, it was a best-selling hit. The reaction to the single didn’t surprise Rob at first—but seeing the stream count climb several figures overnight was enough to even shock him. The band—a phrase which felt damn good to say again—had a small festive party at the poolside upon the good news, and Rob was happy enough to try and bury the hatchet with Sam. Sam wasn’t very apologetic—he never was—but it was enough for Rob to let it go. Rob also made sure to keep his drinking to a minimum that night. And in front of the others, in the least. Evan had made it clear in no uncertain terms that ‘such behavior wouldn’t be put up with for long,’ as he put it. And to be fair to Evan, Rob wasn’t very much interested in tolerating it either. It was never intentional, the way his evenings went. One moment, he’d crack into a new handle of rum, and the next, someone was always taking his shoes off, tucking him into bed like he was Elle. And it wasn’t like he was much of a drinker, anyways. It was just—sleeping had become so [i]fucking[/i] hard with all of the news and chaos surrounding both ‘Everything’ and MAE’s announcement. His email, which he had given out to a scant few people, had been inundated with interview requests, old ‘friends’ requesting special access, and a number of propositions. By the evening after Everything had released, Rob had to turn his email client on silent. He hadn’t even looked to his phone until a familiar number rang. Sometime around 1 in the morning, between his usual vices, his phone rang—and a familiar photo shone out in the darkness of his room. Rob picked it up without hesitating. “Holy shit!” He about yelled into the microphone. “Holy shit yourself,” Kate replied. Her dulcet tone hadn’t changed much in the four odd years since last they spoke. “Surprised you’ve even answer the phone for a nobody like me.” “Please tell me you’re in town.” “Rob, it’s [u]one[/u].” “Your point?” Rob shot back. He got up from his position at the foot of his bed and began taking his sweatpants off. Hobbling on one leg as the other remained caught, he picked up a pair of black jeans sitting in the corner. “You’re calling either for a job or a congratulations or both, and I’d rather do it in person.” There was a moment of silence on the line before she responded. “You’re lucky I’m already out. I’m at Godfather’s. And Uber here, please?” *** It wasn’t long before Rob was sat across from Kate in one of the most unassuming bars in Orange County. It was the middle of the week—so the crowd remained pretty thin. Rob had thrown on a Dodgers hat had he kept around for this sort of occasion, and from the looks of it, it was working. “I don’t want a job, asshole,” Kate finally shot back after the two had settled into casual conversation. “Maybe I just wanted to catch up with an old friend?” “So, ‘congratulations,’ then?” Rob asked. Kate seemed to contemplate punching his shit-eating grin before swallowing her pride. “Congratulations,” she repeated back—gesturing with her drink in the air as if toasting to a hard-fought battle. “Fucking hell, you’ve gotta be almost thirty by now.” “Twenty-nine, and thanks for reminding me,” she laughed back at him. “I mostly just wanted to tell you I think it’s cool you and Jane and the boys are cooking up some shit. They put your single on the radio and everything.” “Yeah,” Rob said. His tone remained flat as he continued: “I’m sure it was between MAE ad reads.” “It wasn’t, and who the fuck cares, anyways?” Kate signaled to the bartender for another drink for the both of them. “Seriously, bud, you gotta let it go. I know it’s killing you. I mean—fuck—some people said they found you sobbing on a mountainside earlier this week.” Rob’s eyes sobered up quickly at the mention of that, but Kate continued on. “There aren’t photos, calm down. I know my shit. But seriously, you’ve gotta get over her.” “I am over her,” Rob replied. “It wasn’t about her.” “Jane, then?” Rob went quiet after that one. In front of them, the bartender set down a few more dark spirits, before moving on to other patrons. Kate grabbed the drink in front of her and downed it quickly. “Does she know?” “About what?” came Rob’s immediate response. He reached for his own drink and soon enough, it was gone as well. Kate’s silent glare gave him all the confirmation he needed, so he took a deep breath. Then: “Kate, it’s ancient history. Shit happened, she relapsed, I left, you know all of this. She’s…she’s better now. She deserves better.” “What, you’re not good enough for her—?” “[b]NO.[/b]” The loudness at Rob’s response shook them both. He thought a moment, before responding. “I’m old news, K. I’m divorced. My ex-wife is about to suffocate my band out of a second chance. And probably take my daughter. I’m not…I’m not what she needs right now.” Kate watched for a moment, and the two didn’t speak for a good while. She rose up and signaled to the bartender, before handing over a credit card. “I’ve got both of us,” she told the bartender. They quickly swiped the card and produced a receipt. Her hand scrawled out a signature, and she looked back up at Rob. “Maybe let Jane decide whether you’re good enough for her? Neither of you are kids anymore. Congratulations again.” And with that, Kate left. *** That conversation seemed to stick with Rob long after it happened. Throughout every conversation with Jane—every band meeting, every tracking session. Her words rang in his head, over, and over, and over again. Over the past few days, he tried to be as friendly as he could without making it weird. And he had to admit—it was becoming easier and easier with time. Jane told him all about NorCal, her life, her friends—the world she had built for herself when their world together had ended. And he reciprocated of course. Sometimes, telling the honest truth about everything, sometimes giving a Disneyfied version of more sensitive topics like post-divorce and alcohol. But slowly, piece by piece, it was getting easier to lower his walls. Maybe he could work past this feeling—after all, he hadn’t considered being with Jane again until now. Perhaps they could work past it. At the same time, it’s not like he hadn’t considered it, but rather, he refused to think about it. Maybe after all this time, he had always wanted her back. He just never allowed himself to truly admit that to himself. At least until now. It was a lot—a big, confused mess, made all-the-more muddled by Mae, kids, bands, fame, all of it. Sometimes he could work past it, other times, in the evenings, well… The storm clouds grew closer every day. *** By the time he woke up, for real this time, the sun was just cresting over the horizon. His stomach churned and churned. He tossed the carfully-laid comforter across the room as he bolted for the bathroom. He just closed the gap before spilling his guts into the toilet. In a heap, he plopped beside him, his back to the bathtub. He stuck out a hand to flush the toilet, then another to reach under the sink’s cabinets. In here, several bottles of Pedialyte were situated beside bottles of booze. An all-in-one mistake and recovery center. He downed as much as he could before stopping himself. His eyes cast out towards the frosted glass window and from here, he watched the sunrise. Today was Jane’s 33rd birthday. She had told him and everyone else never to make a big deal about it, which was of no surprise to him. Since before they were 20, she had been saying that. And every time he refused. Today would be no different. After getting dressed, he took his package out into the hallway. No one was out yet—[i]perfect[/i]. He hadn’t seen it, but he knew if it was this early, Jane had to be up. At least, new-Jane. Jane the put-together one. [i]What did that make him, now?[/i] He brushed the thought aside and cracked open the door with confidence. As expected, the bed was empty. Moving quickly he set down the carefully-wrapped package onto the bed, and had just turned when a flash of black ink caught his eye. An open notebook at the bedside. A journal. [i]When did J start journaling?[/i] Rob had journaled religiously when he was younger—all throughout In Bloom’s early years. But after all of the fallout, he hadn’t touched a journal in years. He froze, looking towards it. From this distance, he couldn’t make out the words. He should turn—turn and leave—and not look to it. But he didn’t move. His eyes squinted, trying to make out words. He didn’t dare move closer, but he didn’t dare move away. Only one word could be made from this distance; his own name. As he recognized it, he finally broke. He moved quickly out of the room and shut the door. Some things he shouldn’t know. No matter how badly he wanted to know them. The only things Jane would find when she came back upstairs would be her journal and his gift—wrapped gently as to not damage its worn edges. A gift he had to get a friend to grab from his place and overnight it down from Seattle. [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q1vpFmRtb3c]A weathered old Pond record[/url].