Page 109 of All That Remains
“Does it hurt?”
“Like fucking hell.”
“I’m so sorry. Oh my fucking God, man, it's bad. Maybe we should take you in.”
“No, it’s alright.”
“Rafe, it’s bad…”
“It’ll close up. I know it will.”
“Fuck, bro…it’s gonna scar.”
“I know.”
He took me inside and helped me clean the wound. Then he retrieved painkillers and antibiotic ointment from our security team. He lent me a change of clothes and let me lie in his bed. We decided against dinner because I couldn’t eat. Talking was painful, for more reasons than one, so we remained silent. He drank lots of wine, and we listened to music until I fell asleep.
The next morning when I woke, he was gone. A note written on hotel stationery lay in his place. It simply read:Love you, Rafe. Be back in a week. -RJ
34
There were many questions about my lip, but I continued to insist I’d fallen. Shows were canceled for a week until I showed progress and was able to sing again. All that sustained me for those next few shows was covering as many of Rome's solos as I could. I wanted to be as close to him as possible while he was away, and this was the only way I could accomplish that without wearing his leftover clothes and jewelry.
By far, I covered more of his parts than anyone, and soon the boys got the gist and tried to comfort me in odd ways. I even unknowingly left space for him whenever we sat, I suppose subconsciously not wanting to shut him out. Both times Nathan forced me to move over to maintain appearances, and in doing so I felt a little more of Rome was erased in the process.
During our first rehearsal without him, things were unusually quiet. We’d become so accustomed to him singing beneath his breath between sets that the absence of his voice was haunting. I wasn't prepared for how much I'd miss his humming around the house, or in bed before I fell asleep.
I missed hearing it when we went out to some obscure little thrift spot in Leeds. Or if we dared to get a B&B for one night, we'd brave a shopping trip at a seaside market and cook each other dinner. It was the only way we could date. Creating our own little worlds outside of the world. Carving out our own unique slices of heaven all over rural England, or in the remote quarters of our hometowns. Places where cable and internetwere rare commodities, and where the residents were unlikely to give a damn about Invicta. Yes, I missed it when we were in the car with nothing but a map and the clothes on our backs, searching for some removed place in Northern England to eat, sleep, and make love before we had to meet up with the crew again.
In any case, his singing was constant. He was music—as much as he was sunshine or warm rain showers, or the hues of autumn. Marking all that I was and all I’d ever known with an undying effervescence.
***
A few days after he quit the tour, I was awakened in the wee hours by a call from him. My relief quickly dissolved as he choked up and wept, confessing he didn't want to come back. But he was also afraid to leave, knowing he'd lose everything and that his family would be disappointed in him for quitting. He said he would be disappointed in himself for giving up, and that the fans would hate him for abandoning them.
I talked him down from the proverbial ledge for hours, trying to calm him because he was so frantic and emotional I could barely make out what he was saying. What I could decipher was anger. He was angry at everyone. Me, the boys, the producers, the label, management, his parents, his friends, Piper,himself. His accent grew ten times denser when he was upset, and on top of the free-flowing tears, it was too much for me to withstand. I broke once or twice myself, just hearing his voice quaver, hearing him articulate his worst anxieties. Like he'd awakened from a nightmare and could no longer distinguish between illusion and reality.
The things he described were disconcerting. I now understood why he was always late; why he skipped out on events; why he couldn't eat sometimes. It was only after I’deducated myself on the dangers of eating disorders that I realized it was as much a mental ailment as a physical one. I also came to understand that while he may have imagined he was in control of the situation, in truth he was ignorant of the fact that he was battling somethingsevere. His denial made it all the more difficult to treat and overcome. Those were some of the worst months of my life, seeing him wither away to nothing before my eyes and being powerless to stop it.
In my obsessive research, I discovered that one of the gravest detriments to a person suffering with this condition wasdehydration. The damage that dehydration could inflict on the body wasshocking,to say the least. Hence why I force-fed him water during every show, and why I went out of my way to ensure he was eating backstage and at home. Whether that be through random check-up calls or showing up at his hotel room unannounced with his favorite snacks and dishes. It's also why I didn't mind him smoking weed, because it made him insatiably hungry afterwards, and in my book this was a means to an end.
Now the fear and confusion had reached its zenith and he rambled on like a dam had broken in his mind. His panic was palpable, reaching out to me through the phone, begging me for help although he was too headstrong to admit it. Not for the first time since I’d known him, he wasmanic, and I felt terrible for being a part of the machine that had contributed to his breakdown. He was a man without purpose, without direction, and since I was lost by association, it rendered me inept.
Nevertheless, I needed to act. I begged him to see a therapist while he was home with his mum, but he refused. I told him to come back to me and we'd figure it all out from there. I told him to return because I thought it would do wonders for him to be surrounded with familiar people and familiar sounds, and to feel structured again with a daily agenda. He needed to be occupied, not sat at home alone, overthinking to madness. Heneeded all manner of familiarity now. Mainly me, the boys, the bus. Anything else would be too strange for the time being, even his own family and the London home.
I didn't like the idea of him being isolated. Mere hours after he returned to London, articles dropped revealing Piper had packed a few Louis Vuitton duffle bags and left him. I needed to get ahold of him and tell him to look me in the eyes and remember who he was. We'd all have asit downand discuss our future together, and figure out how we could facilitate a more rational exit for him. One that wouldn't result in disorientation or overwhelming guilt.
That was my hope. I had no idea how the others would react to his wanting to leave, or whether having a sit down with everyone would only serve to compound his anxiety; but it was worth a shot. Anything was better than the state he was in now, manic and alone.
Finally, he agreed and promised he would be there in Cape Town, shit or shine, whether he decided to stick with the band or not. I breathed easy knowing I would see him again, but still struggled with the abject reality that I must eventually let him go.
***
Later that day, I was awakened by our team. That spelled trouble. They never gathered us on such short notice unless something drastic had occurred. I shut off the rough demo of “Never Be Mine,” a song he'd given me in 2015, and rubbed the crud from my eyes. That tune was the only thing that had gotten me through the night after speaking with him. Little did I know that in a few days' time it would be leaked and the entire world would hear something he had intended for my ears alone.
Half an hour later, the other boys and I were called to a huge conference room on the first floor of the hotel. Management wason the phone, as was the head of the label, Maxwell. Our entire team occupied the chairs around the conference table and the space along the walls—tour manager, security, the local PR. I was the last to arrive and without question, I knew it was about Rome.
Everyone sat around the large table looking grim. No one dared to speak. My breath grew shallow. The reek of fresh coffee made me queasy. I just knew they were going to inform us he wasdead. The atmosphere in the room was enough to drive anyone insane. I became hysterical, but couldn't show it outwardly. I sat between Levi and Nathan, frozen with terror. Leg bouncing and hitting the underside of the table. Hands gripping the armrests and leaving clammy prints behind. I wished they'd just fucking get on with it already.
