Under Control.

chapter thirty nine.

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Touring made way for bad habits — for oblivion and adrenaline, for soaring highs, and subterranean lows.

Everyone was more-than, on tour. More than they needed to be, more than they could bare. More.

There was too much to do and people to see and things to get done, and the best way they had found to weather the storm — They, the kinds of people who did This for a living — was to try and shave down the edges of it all, and in whatever way they could.

For the past two weeks, Julian had become a veritable, booze-soaked chimney. He had puffed his way through interviews and appearances and being on stage, and then once he fell off it, he had soothed himself with whatever else was around — so long as whatever it was was to be imbibed, and not seduced.

And every other night, he called Nora. And every other night, she answered.

He talked and she listened, and then she would do the same, and Julian would try his best to be patient. But being far away made it all the more difficult. Because being far away meant he was alone, and being alone meant his mind had too much time to wander, and doubt, and self destruct.

'e talked and she listened, and then she would do the same and Julian would try his best to be patient. But being far away made it all the more difficult, because being far away meant that he was alone — and being alone meant his mind had too much time to wander, and doubt, and self destruct.

'You sound tired,' she says, here and now, tonight, her voice soft and distorted down the line.

Every so often, Julian can hear the rustle of bed sheets, and it was driving him just a little bit up the wall, but in the good way. 'I am. I'm so fuckin' tired.'

Nora can hear the strain in his voice — the shadow of something dark that she'd come to know the sound of on nights like these. And she knows that, for the most part, it's everything else. But she also knows that Julian is trying hard at this with her, and so that formed part of the reason why he was so drawn, as well.

On opposite coasts, still, they mirrored each other. Nora was laid up in bed, her phone on the floor and the coil of the cord twisted nervously around her bare arm, her fingers, while her legs were tangled in the mess of her sheets and blankets. And Julian where he was was sprawled out across the top of his unmade bed, his shirt half-undone and his pants low on his hips where his hand that wasn't clutching at his warm beer, was resting. He had the receiver cradled against his head, the phone strewn on the empty side of his titchy queen-size, and but for himself, the room was empty.

It was later for Nora than it was for Julian, and so she always felt at a slight disadvantage during these late-night talks of theirs. She was barely awake, and even though he was too, he was nearing sleep whereas she was struggling to get out from under it. And the fog of that — of her inhibitions only being half-there — made all of her very good intentions to keep this thing between them light, all the more difficult. Because, on nights like these, when his voice was slow and low, and the room around him hummed with longing, Nora wanted nothing more that just to run to him.

'I miss you.' Like he could read her mind, or feel her drifting, Julian called Nora back to the present. 'You know that?'

He did this sometimes, lately — checked in. Made sure she knew how he was feeling, and that she remembered what he'd said before he'd flown across the country and far away.

And, she did.

'Yeah, I know.' Nora said the second part first, and slowly enough that there was room for Julian to sigh sorrowfully in-between. 'I miss you, too.'