Band On The Run

Flags Of The Old Regime

"Yo, Staub!"

I jolted up. Well, that wasn't quite true. I jumped so violently that I almost toppled off the trendy metal chair I was propped rather precariously on. At least it had my eyes snapping open so that I saw the balled up piece of paper that was flying straight at my forehead. It gave me time to dodge that assault, although it almost came at a greater cost of landing on my ass.

Thankfully I managed to avoid that by gripping tightly onto the seat. And I blearily blinked, finding William smiling at me far too innocently. At least Mark was being honest. The expression he wore was full out disparaging.

"I wasn't sleeping," I grumbled as I pushed up properly in the seat. The promise was ruined by the fact a yawn broke out of my mouth, that my hand quickly darted up as if to grab it back, but it was far too late by that point.

Mark rolled his eyes as he shuffled through the papers in front of him, but was smart enough not to make a comment.

There wasn't a person around the table that could blame me if they knew that I'd only succeeded in getting about ten hours of sleep in the past two days. Fly Way had decided they wanted to get in the studio earlier since I had to get out to do a sound check at a club, plus playing another gig that night. And then I'd had to stay up into the wee hours of the morning to do a call in with a morning show in England, between writing for the new album as well. Plus I'd been trying to fit the all The Spares' publicity that Mark had booked us for around that.

It was a rather precarious balancing act, and I could already feel the weariness tugging down on my limbs. I never used to be good at knowing when I was about to burn out, four straight years on the run with The Spares being proof of that. Now I knew it was happening. The problem was I couldn't see a way around it. There was no time to slow down, everything was paramount and I would just have to get through it.

But that hollow feeling in my chest had returned with my noticing. At any given moment throughout the day, I wanted to hold my hand over it, as if to keep it clean from everything around me. The problem was I couldn't hold my hand over my heart without gaining some attention.

And it all found me at a morning meeting with Mark; apparently he wanted to get together once every couple of weeks to deliver the news in person. Talking to me on the phone was getting boring – at least that's what he told me when asking to meet the four of us for breakfast. In further explanation, he'd said it was nice to see other people's face that weren't mine since I was becoming the biggest pain in the ass he'd ever had. He hadn't said anything about the fact only three of us had shown up, Will and Mark sitting across from the side of the table where Jake was picking through his breakfast at my side.

Seth's absence was glaring, and for more than just me I was sure, but I was thankful no one brought it up. It was already more than an hour into the meeting, and he hadn't bothered to even call. That wasn't going to go ignored, least of all by me.

I was the only one that had passed on breakfast, opting for multiple cups of coffee – meaning multiple trips to the washroom. However the idea of choking down food made my stomach lurch alarmingly. So I settled for the coffee, and curling my fingers around the bottom of the chair to keep myself from rubbing the heel of my hand above my breast. Yet all of that didn't keep me from dozing off there.

"So I've been going over everything between The Spares and UAE," said Mark as if there had been no interruptions. Across the table Will stuck his tongue out at me, and I responded without a thought by flipping him the middle finger. It was at the exact moment that Mark glanced up, and he only let out a deep sigh. "Am I boring you, Staub?"