“Look, mate, it’s sort of complicated, alright? Most things are. I knew him for a while. He's a decent guy. I'm not gonna suddenly deny that. I'm not gonna sit here and let one fuck-up redefine someone's entire character for me." I paused to gather my thoughts, desperately searching the area for a diversion."I've seen way too much of who he really is, y'know? Way too much to judge him based on one bad day—or more like a badweek. So, uh, I can't exactly condemn him for leaving. Not after the way it all played out leading up to it." Finally, I met his eyes again.
"Look, Rafe, I hear ya, I do. But regardless of what happened leading up to the situation, he didn't care enough to be respectable before he left. And that’s after everything you'd been through together, right? Forgive me, but I've known you since you were what? Eighteen? Nineteen? You're an incredible kid, and I wouldn't dream of treating you that way. Not even if you fired me."
While I understood his frustration with how awful it all sounded, he didn't understand how convoluted the truth was. How deep Rome's and my connection ran. Nor did theyunderstand the nature of it. One that required me to be far more forgiving than a typical friend. So, while it sounded like I may’ve been making excuses for his shitty behavior, no one understood the role our relationship played in forcing him to leave so abruptly. Whether I sympathized with his running or not, I was the only person on the planet who could truly understand it.
Asia had become a living nightmare for us both—especially Japan. With each country we moved on to, it became more challenging to pretend onstage. I regret now that the fans didn't see the best of me, but there was far too much going on behind the scenes for me to keep up pretenses of unity or camaraderie.
During the Asia leg, I could barely look at him. I sensed the changes in his personality as if he was slowly shedding an outer layer or removing a mask he’d worn dutifully for years. Things were volatile. There were new elements to his character that hadn't been apparent before, each lashing out at me and demanding space.Becoming physical when I refused to grant it. The number of cracked ribs and bruises I had to show for the late-stage changes in his personality were a secret I carried like my own private ignominy.
His cousin accompanied him in those final shows, and once Alan showed up, Rome never came back within my reach. The cousin became yet another pretext for his avoidance. According to him, we couldn’t clue Alan in as to what had occurred between us, or it’d be ruinous. Singapore was the final straw. At that point, he slipped through my fingers at an alarming rate, and everything I did thereafter was just a lousy attempt to cling to what was left of him. Until finally I was grasping at nothing but air.
Truth was, he simply didn’t want to be there, which translated into him undermining our reputation as a band. Missing countless cues. Playing half-speed. Forgetting lyrics. The fans noticed how empty and cold-hearted he’d become and beganto comment. That pissed me off the most, how badly he’d let them down, despite taking their money. He was becoming increasingly unconcerned with anyone but himself; becoming more absent while we performed, and even began missing shows.
In retrospect, he probably didn't knowhowto feel. He was caught between wanting to pursue his own peace of mind and letting downmillions—equally vexed about abandoning me. No one understood what that pressure was like, and I was grateful the ultimate outcome—his unprecedented solo success—lent credence to the idea that pressure created diamonds. The guy I'd met last night was a diamond if I ever saw one.
Before he left, Rome had been cornered by two frightening choices, both having chased him for years like hellhounds nipping at his heels. He could either stay and play to the masses and remain miserable and ill, or he could walk into a grave unknown, entirely alone. Alienated, disoriented, having zero guarantees of success, and simply hoping to eventually find his way. He chose the latter, and that made him the bravest bastard I'd ever known.
I thought back to his face that day and remembered there were no tears. He’d been scarily unemotional—just done with everything and everyone around him, including me. And I suppose I’d displayed enough emotion that night for the both of us. I remembered being on my knees in front of the door in his hotel room, blocking him from leaving after we fought. I grabbed his hands and they’d been cold. He had no words left in South Korea. We’d said all there was to say days before in Thailand.
7
Bangkok, Thailand
April 2016
Once Roman Jacobs put an end to a discussion, it wasdone. Dead, buried,finito. His lips were sealed like his life depended on it, and you ought to follow suit, or he'd walk out on you faster than you realized he’d borne the inclination.
I found myself on the receiving end of his silence far too often, which left me navigating a minefield whenever I broached a subject guaranteed to piss him off. See, I was naturally disposed to talking through whatever was bothering me until I felt a sense of relief. Rome was the exact opposite. Rather brusque at times, and in such moments, we became oil and water—repelling one another until we couldn’t stand to be in the same room. He always bolted first.
Bangkok, Thailand. My memories of that night were hazy, yet the feelings rang clear. A sense of sinking or free falling into a vacuum. Once the fog cleared, I was suspended mid-air and the stadium appeared. The show had gone off without a hitch. In the end we’d blown kisses to over 20,000 sobbing Thais, then hopped offstage to decompress. As we stopped by the sound-crew to return our mics and have the in-ears removed, I tracked Rome’s every move, certain he was avoiding me. Onstage he’d chucked his chin at me a few times in a silent acknowledgement, but hadn’t uttered a word.
As Nathan crooned about unrivalled love during the sappiest song on our setlist,Rome had again looked my way. A pointed glance. One that indicated he longed to break the ice. As always, I relented so he didn't have to.
Truth be told, I kept dreaming of him. Vivid, detailed, LSD-esque visions. And when I wasn't doing that, I couldn't sleep. Now neither of us had spoken a word since returning from the brief hiatus that followed the Japan shows. He preferred to spend time with Piper and their families, selling the illusion of the happy couple. I tried not to take it personally, since I also prioritized seeing family and friends I’d neglected all year, but his distance smacked more of ghosting than honoring social obligations.
“Thanks, Tim. Oil her up, would you?”
After handing Blackbird over to the tech, I caught up with him outside on his way to the bus. It was dark out. He was already puffing on a Marlboro, the pack peeking from the back pocket of his ripped jeans. He’d changed into an oversized red tank-top after the show. It clung to his body in the wind, exposing the hard lines of his tall, lean figure. There was an unaffected grace in the way he carried himself. It exuded confidence—sex. Trace amounts of something menacing and self-conscious.
He halted short of climbing onboard to finish the cigarette, kicking idly at one of the tires. His chubby, redhead cousin Alan chatted at his side, flinging his hands around and breaking into songs from the setlist. Sensing my approach, Rome ran a hand through his mussed hair. It was getting long, a stray lock escaping to hang down his brow.
"Hey," I huffed. He squinted through the smoke, ignoring me.
"Waddup, Rafe," Alan grinned, dapping me up. “Mate,sicksolo tonight! Where the hell did that come from?! It’s new?”
“Thanks, mate. Yep, been at it for a while. Thought I’d take it for a spin. None of the guys expected it.” I tossed a glance Rome’s way. He was unimpressed.
“You’ve gotta show me that one bit! The one where you go…” Alan sang the melody in head voice and I cracked up.
“Are you daft?” Rome grumbled, cocking a brow his way.
“C’mon, you know the one!”
“Hey, look, I said it before: you’re welcome at Highgate anytime,” I chuckled. “We can work on it.”
“Ahh, mate! That’s my boy,” he squeezed my shoulder, before stepping away to speak with a security guard.
"It's warm out," Rome muttered, taking another drag and expelling the smoke away from me.
