Chapter 3 - Remember When?

                                    

                                          
A/N: BIG WARNING in this chapter for negative body image and depressive thoughts. As always I appreciate y'all very much. XOXO
Song of the day: Thirteen by Big Star


 When Sylvie got back to the hotel, her band members were already sitting around a coffee table in the lobby looking impatient. Their suitcases were around them. Sylvie's was the only one missing, it being obviously still in her room. 
     "I still don't understand why we have to leave so suddenly. Weren't we supposed to spend another night here?" argued Brian in the distance.
     Farrah stood imposingly at the center of the group. "Management wants you all to schmooze with a few producers on the way to Ann Arbor. We have to allow an extra day in Minneapolis for a lunch meeting to discuss what the hell you're gonna do with your next album," she said. 
     Fuck. Sylvie had been avoiding that particular conversation. She wanted to bring the band back on the same track they'd been on in the beginning, but it wasn't like she had any ideas to back herself up. Meg would probably end up winning that fight, and Sylvie would be left pissy and uninspired. 
     "Sylvie! We've been waiting for you," said Farrah, marching up to her.
     "For once it's not my fault I was late," she replied, "Nobody gave me any notice that we were checking out."
     Rowan snickered. "Me neither. Our lovely manager busted into my room not even an hour ago to tell me. I was, ah, occupied with this blonde chick I met at a rave last night."
     "Gross," muttered Brian.
     "You went to a rave?" questioned Meg. Rowan showed her the wristband that had been issued to him, along with the generous amount of glitter still clinging to his skin.
     "As Sylvie was saying," asserted Farrah, "It wasn't her fault this time. I apologize for the abrupt change of plans. With that said, Sylvie, you've got about fifteen minutes to get your shit together so we can check out."
     Grumbling to herself, Sylvie hurried to the elevator and into her room. She had never really unpacked in the first place. All there was to do was to grab her hygiene products and attempt to clean the spilled makeup on the carpet. At least one stick of eyeliner had snapped in half; a cake of powder had crumbled inside its container. 
     Son of a bitch.
     She ended up stuffing it all haphazardly back into her makeup bag, a green thing with Kermit the Frog's face printed on the side of it. Meg had given it to her for her 15th birthday around eight years ago. The little bag pleased her to no end; she had always loved the Muppets. 
     With the last of her things in hand, Sylvie dashed out of her hotel room.
     The tour bus, as always, was a crowded affair. The band members were even more likely than usual to agitate each other. Rowan, who was mellow by nature and used to sharing a space with lots of people, was the only one immune to it. He had grown up in South Bronx, sharing a bedroom in a run-down apartment with two younger brothers who were constantly at each others' throats. He was the only member of the group who could honestly claim to have started at the bottom - Sylvie and Meg came from the suburbs, and Brian's family owned a very successful chain of restaurants. 
     "You know who I met today?" said Sylvie, trying to find something pleasant to talk about.
     Meg looked up, as a signal to continue. Brian and Rowan were busy throwing paper airplanes at each other.
     "The lead singer of the Strokes. Julian what's-his-name. I'll tell you what, he's cute as a button." 
     "Really?" replied Meg. "Julian Casablancas, huh? Where'd you meet him?"