beneath the band's sheets -- skylar vrobelesky
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    beneath the band's sheets -- skylar vrobelesky
    <center>

    Don't pretend to know me
    You don't know a thing
    All the world's a stage to you
    You've lost reality
    Baby, you're a shining star
    Far beyond my skies
    Don't you know my knees are burned
    And I can't take your lies?
    Don't pretend to love me
    I can't take the pain
    I'll use you and abuse you
    If you'll just look at me
    Baby, you're a shining star
    Far beyond my skies
    Lift me up to where you are
    And I'll tell no more lies..


    S k y l a r | V r o b e l e s k y .
    She knows the band -- inside <u>out</u>.</center>

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    People seemed to get stupider by the day. Slender legs carried her to the chaise lounge, and she dropped down, cell phone laying idly in her lap. It'd be any second before it rang-- in the meantime, television was flipped on, freshly lit cigarette brought to lips. Lungs sucked in addiction, and she flipped to the weather channel (of all things). Finally, the small black phone vibrated violently.

    "Yeah."

    "Darling, it's Paul. Listen, I can't get NBC to change their time with us, it's impos--"

    "Listen to me, Paul, is it? If you want our contract to remain standing, you will find a way. I don't care if it's the fucking President, you will do what I tell you to, or I'll drop you so fast cement will plaster to your ass--"

    "Fine. Damnit, this is your fault, you little bitch. Get your shit together, put it on a calender, and pay attention. You're rolling with the big dogs now, not your shitty little garage band you might have managed once-upon-a-time. Got it, doll?"

    Before she could respond, there was a click, the line disconnected. Jaw tighted and teeth grinded into each other, as cell phone was chucked at the opposite wall. The band had been known for what, eight months now? And already she was getting kicked around like a useless little runt. She wasn't given any credit for the lyrics she wrote, of course she wasn't given any credit for the whole fucking tour she put together. Nevermind that the break-up with Channing was a horrible mess that made her want to move to-- somewhere far away. Anywhere far away. Seething, she stamped up the stairs and knocked profusely on Olivia's door, letting herself in without invitation. Olivia sat on the floor, making lines on a sheet of paper. Excellent timing.

    "I'm joining."

    "Good, I can use company."

    Legs folded beneath her indian-style as she fell to the floor lightly, across from the girl. Wooden box that was alread opened was tugged closer to her, straw pulled from the top of it. Eyes glanced around the room, waiting for the dirty work to be done.

    "Tell me about your day. Where the fuck were you earlier? I was out by the pool with everyone and it was lame."

    "People are such bitches, 'Via. Paul fucked up the booking for Saturday, and I'm the one getting blamed on it. I love how when shit hits the fan it comes down on me, but when everything is perfect, I get nothing."

    Heavy blues rolled while Olivia smirked, before wiping her hands off on her thighs. Hand was held out for straw, and it was handed over, before bending down over the paper. Fingers moved to rub over forehead and temples before it was her turn, straw brought to nostril gently.

    -----

    The next few hours were a blur. Visions of her mother kept creeping through the studded movie reel that spun through her head. She stayed on Olivia's floor, best friend sprawled out on her bed in her underwear. There was the occassional sputter of laughter that would protrude from both females' lips, though neither of them talked. They waded in their waves of dreams, floating in a pool of incessant tranquility that otherwise would not have been found. Lids were thrusted back in her head as she stared up at the ceiling, pupils unrealistic. Unhealthy. Dark, deep holes that stared into nothing, yet saw everything. She lay there, in a pile of grass, the ocean at her feet. Not sand. Grass. Her mother would come and wrap a blanket over her, singing to her. No words, just various languages and syllables and inaudible tones. She'd stare at her mother, the clouds moving incredibly quickly across the sky, the run quickly rising and falling in one constant motion. Her mother would laugh madly, throwing her head back, thundering bolting through the sky, echoing within tympanic membranes. Her heart would race as her mother would become a maniac, staring down at her with hungry, fierce eyes that were pure black against white. She'd tremble, fingers gripping the grass until knuckles turned stone white. She'd hear Olivia in the background, mumbling something incoherantly-- she'd silently move to scream for her, her mother moving closer to her face, asking her who she's yelling for-- there was no point-- only they existed in this Dreamland. She tried to sit up, tried to pull herself up-- she was too heavy. She was sinking in the grass that had now become warm, wet sand, pulling her down, enwrapping her body in a sea of cement that would harden. Her chest would rise and lower in heavy, throbbing movements as she opened her mouth to scream again--

    -----

    Body shifted and rolled over onto her side, eyes blinking open, squinting in the dark. They searched the unfamiliar room, too groggy to panic, and found the alarm clock beside her on the end table. Red digits read 3:51AM. An audible sigh swam from her lips, and she fell onto her back, sinking into the mattress. Dry lips were wetted by tongue before swallowing, saliva spilling down her throat slowly-- warmly. Head moved to see who was beside her, and it hit her like a brick-- he hit her like a brick. Arm moved to lay across his abdomen lightly as she rolled back onto her side, facing him. It wasn't Channing's room, it wasn't Channing's bed. It was Ethan's.

    The moonlight spilled through the opened windows, curtains billowing gently as the night-time breeze skidded through the room. She could hear the ocean, slapping against the shore-- and in that moment, she felt perfect.

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    <center>

    How would it feel
    To know I'm in your shoes
    Walking around these dirty streets
    Wearing your clothes, your perfume?
    How would it feel
    To hear my voice as yours
    Singing, screaming, making plans
    Would it be sublime?
    How would it feel
    If I stole your dirty sheets
    Wrapped myself in a ball of cotton
    And collapsed inside your bed?
    How would it feel
    To know I had to give up
    And these words I speak are the words I bleed
    Knowing we've fucked up...
    </center>

    8.19.05

    Dear Little Black Book Called Pizza,

    I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I can't see straight, I don't know which end is up, I'm swimming through a sea of shit way too deep for me to get out of. Paul called me back last night to let me know he fixed everything, and I have today off, before the week of hell. Saturday, a pre-filming for Wednesday night's Jay Leno. That's at eleven. Then, tomorrow afternoon, we fucking fly to New York to do SNL. Sunday, we gig in Norfolk-- Monday, Charlotte-- Tuesday, we're off. Wednesday, Channing has a radio interview in Fort Lauderdale, Thursday we fly back to California, and Friday they have a gig in San Fransisco. Can I call in sick? Just once? Just to say 'Hey, the band will show, but I won't be there to sign papers, so don't bother paying them?' That would be fucking hilarious, in my book-- let them play their hearts out, and when the bills roll in and I'm not around... oops.

    Something happened last night that I can't go into much detail with. Not even in my little Pizza. It was something amazing, and perfect, and it wasn't even sexual. It just was... damnit. I lost myself in him, there on the chaise lounge. It was dark, we were close, the television was on. I'm not obsessed or anything, I mean we do share the same house-- but I woke up to him this morning. And for once in my life, I felt... right. And what's more, while we were laying downstairs, he told me to turn off the television. He didn't need television to spend time with me. What a change. What a perfectly amazing change. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm getting wrapped up in something that I mostlikely shouldn't. I know his lifestyle, I know his women... I know my heart. I put on the 'badass' show for when I need to, but deep down, I'm just like any other chick. I'm a fucking fawn, and if he hurts me, I don't know what I'll do but something.. stupid. Dramatic, and stupid. Jesus, it feels like highschool all over again. Magic Eight Ball, does he love me? ...Love. What a sickeningly scary word, that people use so often. I heard somewhere that the Chinese have sixteen different words for 'love'. We have one. Love. We have the same word to express how we feel about a glass of water, as we do our favorite hockey team, as we do our families and our soul mates. Maybe I'll start saying, 'I cheese you.' If I love chinese food, how can I possibly love people? From now on, I cheese them. I cheese you, Pizza. Thanks for letting me rant.

    I suppose I'm jumping ahead of myself. Whatever we're doing is not something to get worked up over. I just.. it's not that I'm nervous. It's that I want to tell everyone what's going on. But I won't. It isn't time, he isn't ready, hell, I'm not ready. We'll know when we are. Until then... well. The sex is fucking incredible. Mm. Dreamy. For the sake of this entry, I need to talk about something other than him, just for a second, so I don't seem obsessed. I got a phonecall from my mom yesterday-- I dreamt about her, I dreamt we were on a beach. Anyway, she called, and she said something's happened to Kate, and I need to come home for a few days. She said Kate's fine, just acting-- 'differently', as she put it. I offered to fly her out here for a few days-- she's Olivia's age, maybe they'd bond. Mom refused, said, 'I know your lifestyle, no way in hell are you subjecting my little girl to your drugs.' How quaint, Mom... how quaint. At any rate, I'm going to call Kate later this afternoon and see what she wants to do. For all I know, Mom is holding her hostage and threatening to take away her tennis racquet for ransom. My family. So different from me, yet similar. We've both been in magazines-- they've been in 'Southern Living' as the 'ideal family', I've been in Rolling Stone as one of the 'most influential chicks in music.' Funny, how the fruit never falls too far from the tree. I miss my family. I hope everything is alright where they are.

    My day off, and I have no idea what to do with myself. I think I'm going to go lounge out by the pool and claim the hammock-- I have a new cute skirt that I really want to play tennis in. Somehow, I doubt anyone would play with me-- maybe I'm starting to miss my All-American roots just a little bit. Oh my god, am I already getting partied out? This can't be happening. Must get shitty tonight.

    I'm off to stake out the hammock and have some leftover chinese for lunch. I cheese you, Pizza!

    -Sky

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    <center></center>

    8.26.05

    Pizza-

    The studio was absolutely rediculous today. I flew out to Houston last night (wretched flight, but I'll save that for another time) to stay the night and do sound checks with Paul for the new album. The hotel is awesome, Paul came and we swam around and hung out and checked out the minibar. Excellent time, he's become a pretty good friend I guess. Neither of us have been able to breathe, we've been so busy -- but it's been fun. He's an amazing person to work with, he is so in tune with the band's wants and needs, and mine as a manager. I stuck this picture in here as a reminder -- Jeoff took it while Paul and I were sound checking. I've always wanted to record my own CD -- I think if I ever did, he'd be the one I'd go through, provided I could get signed. This has been by far the best time I'e had yet working with him and the rest of the crew, we're really starting to clique and that's so important professionally speaking. Anyways. We had a terrible mess of a time with the mics. Enough babble.

    I think the little sisola is flying out to spend some time with me after all. Mom is refusing to pay for it, but money is obviously not an issue, and she needs some time to get her act together. I haven't booked her flight yet, with the move going on I'm not sure when the best time will be -- probably after we get settled. One thing I'm going to miss about that house is the pool... floating on my back, staring up at the stars. I found serenity in that when I otherwise would have drowned in chaos -- no pun intended. The new estate is amazing, though, right on the shore -- but I might have to splurge and see if we can somehow work a pool into the back lot. I can't remember exactly how much land the property is.

    We hired a new lead singer! Rather, I hired a new lead singer. He's great, though, his name's Christopher and he's sweet. Also plays piano, which is very excellent. I think the band is moving in an excellently delicious direction -- as long as we can keep our feet moving on gigs and recording, I don't think we'll have much inbetween time when it comes to fans' statistics. The numbers have had only a slight drop-off, but the website has quite a few hits and we're still getting the usual fanmail. I have a radio interview in Dallas on Tuesday, I'm looking forward to that. Anything to promote my sweethearts!

    Things are looking up. And I'm going to go lay down.

    &lt;3-

    Sky

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    Radiant beams snuck beneat the bedroom door, trickling against the hardwood slats of cherry, crawling up towards white silken sheets that had been delicately tossed aside. They lay in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed, limbs sprawled and contorted in various directions, golden strands falling across her face that wore no make-up, not one bit. It vibrated violently as it often did, dancing its way across the end table onto the floor, hitting the wooden slats with a quiet plunk, before blinded fingers reached down to feel for the cool mixture of plastic and metal. It was flipped open and brought to her ear, voice groggy with salty saliva and scratched with smoke. None if it came out any louder than a low husk.

    "Yeah."

    "I'm sorry to wake you up."

    "It's okay." Forearm moved to rub over her eyes, before glancing at the clock. Noontime.

    "It's weird having not seen you lately. I feel like there's some sort of... wall, or something."

    "Yeah."

    "That's all? Just yeah?"

    Palms pressed against the mattress as she sat herself up, spine pressed against the headboard for support.

    "I don't know what you want me to say."

    "I want you to say you feel the same way."

    Nostrils flared lightly as she sucked in air, exhaling audibly.

    "I can't."

    "Why?"

    "Because things are different now. I really have a career now. I have people to look up to. I have a schedule. I have... business."

    "Oh, I see. But before everything happened, you were just any old body, who didn't have a clue?"

    "Pretty much."

    "That's shit."

    "Why are you calling me?"

    "I don't know. To hear your voice."

    "To hear my voice, or to harrass me?"

    There was a heavy sigh on the other end, and a pause.

    "Maybe this was a mistake. Sorry."

    "Please, I don't need more drama with you... I'm just tired, I'm sorry for being a bi--"

    "No, you're right. Things are different now. You have a life, you aren't a little girl anymore. Perhaps you can come home soon though, just to say hello, alright? Your mother would appreciate it. And I suppose I would to."

    A click.

    Phone was dropped onto the endtable beside the alarm clock, limbs rolling over to flop against the mattress tiredly. The sun was sickeningly bright-- and she knew it was going to be an interesting day.

    Especially life with Daddy.

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    Members do not see advertisements
    beneath the band's sheets -- skylar vrobelesky
    Bona Fide.

    The sheets felt wet with sweat, producing a stench far greater than the smoke that slithered its way below her door from the outside. Heavy grays moved to glance at the window, the large pains pressed tightly closed, shielding the waning moon that hung low in the sky. Several clouds trotted past that circular mass of black and gray, eyes squinting to see no sign of stars. Glands protruded and retracted as she swallowed, chest heaving lightly as she fell into a panic. Fingers gripped the sheets as she stared at the steady stream of smoke, eyes wide with a wondering. Something isn't right. Brain ticked and tocked in an awkward pattern of panic, sending signals of danger to her limbs, who painfully retracted from the signals and stayed put. She felt her muscles strain and pull against themselves in an attempt to flee -- the more she tried to free herself, the more resistance muscles had to offer. Move. Please... I beg you, please move. Tears burned retinas as she squeezed her lids closed, wanting to call out to her mother and father, wondering where Toby was. The hums started quietly, barely squeaking through lips that were tightly closed into a straight line, tucked under only to be captured by teeth. She rocked back and forth, humming, eyes squeezed shut. She pictured her hair as it trailed behind her as she pumped her legs, swinging on the tire swing down by Sadder's Creek. She pictured her pink and white gingham dress that came to her kneecaps, white socks and black paten leather shoes with snaps on the sides for easy access. The light pink piece of yarn tied around her wrist that Toby gave her, their teacher giving him his reward for "Caring and Sharing Day." The hums grew in volume, eyes now fighting against themselves, lids wanting to thrust open though muscles pushed them to remain closed. Finally, the tiny mews of words bled from her lips, trembling, manic.

    Hush little baby don't say a word,
    Mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird...
    And if that mocking bird don' sing,
    Mama's gonna buy you a...


    They flooded and skidded through her eye lids, visions of that night, the memory of her limbs struggling, fighting themselves. The tears were what woke her up, small puddles forming on the cotton pillowcase that had one donned the crisp, store-like appeal; now limp and filled with her scent. She felt her fingers moved to grip the pillow, arms tucking between the pillow and mattress, face burrying itself, sinking as far into the cotton as possible. She choked and sputtered, limbs feeling as though they'd been thrashing for hours, when all the did was tremble. One would not even see her tremble, it was all inside; the fighting, the feining, the endless nightmares. People didn't know. People didn't need to know, they didn't need to experience the extreme paranoia that gripped her sanity days upon days, end upon end.

    This is the trip she'd take.

    This was the day Toby died.

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