Somewhere in the Middle

Just the Beginning

Jamie took one last look at his favorite shirt before leaving it behind on the floor. The result of his most recent drunken, late night escapade had unalterably stained it, and he had plenty more where that came from anyway. He zipped up his suitcase, slipped on his sunglasses, and left his hotel room without a second glance at the mess he left behind.

The elevator took too long to arrive even though he had pressed the button repeatedly. His head was pounding. He hadn't gotten enough sleep—again. It was his own fault. He knew that. But it didn't make it suck any less. When the doors finally opened in front of him, he was relieved to find the elevator empty, and rolled his suitcase in after him before pressing the button for the hotel lobby.

With a heavy sigh, Jamie leaned back against the wall and felt the elevator begin its descent. He closed his eyes, silently cursing his manager for making 7 a.m. the wake-up call. His phone was buzzing incessantly in his pocket, but he didn't have the strength to reach for it. He'd face everything when he reached the bottom, but he needed these last few seconds of quiet. All too soon, the elevator doors opened to reveal the quiet, sprawling expanse of the lobby.

Not giving a shit about anyone or anything didn't come naturally to Jamie Robbins. It took a lot of time to develop, but not a lot of effort, mostly thanks to the people who were a part of his life for his first 21 years. Now at 24, he didn't even want to think about them let alone talk about them. The only things Jamie allowed himself to care about were music, the band, and having a good time—and not necessarily in that order.

"There he is," Greg said to no one, standing from his seat on the couch, relief evident in his voice. "Another rough one, huh?"

Jamie slumped down into an armchair and closed his eyes, hoping his silence would be enough of an answer for his friend. Besides, he wouldn't dare meet Pete's eye. Not when flashes of the night before zoomed across the forefront of his mind: distorted, multi-colored lights, the loud and steady thumping of the bass, skin, sweat, the look in the blonde's eye, the smell of her hair as she pressed herself onto him—cigarette smoke and shampoo—the way her body felt against his in the alley outside of some random-ass club after their show in San Francisco.

He didn't care what they thought. But he knew Pete would be pissed, and wanted to put off dealing with that as long as he could.

"I think we can take that as a 'yes,'" said Lucas.

"Alright," exclaimed their manager Pete, his loud voice startling Jamie enough to open his eyes. Pete had one of those booming voices that cut right through you if you weren't paying attention. It made him an extremely good tour manager though. People had no choice but to stop and listen when he spoke. "Time to start loading."

Jamie watched as the guys grabbed their things, and forced himself up when they started to make their way to the hotel entrance. Greg and Lucas took the lead, discussing something that Jamie couldn't hear from a few paces behind them, but he didn't care. The only thing keeping his legs moving was the thought of his bunk on the bus.

What he wasn't ready for, but perhaps something he should have expected at this point, was the group of fans waiting just past the hotel doors. Greg and Lucas headed right over to them with wide smiles, gladly posing for pictures and scribbling out autographs. But Jamie headed straight for the bus, unwilling to be harassed by fans at this time in the morning. Relying on one of the other guys to load it for him, he abandoned his suitcase beside the door, and heaved himself up the few steps.

Rationally, he knew that he was disappointing their fans; that he should have gone over and posed for a couple of pictures. Those thoughts quickly passed as he climbed into his bunk, pulled the curtains shut and rolled over.