ROBBIE’S POINT OF VIEW
We went on a world tour until September 2016, covering Europe, Australasia, South America, and North America. It was incredible. we truly had a blast! But it was relentless round of gigs, a blur of gigs, sometimes so fast that we weren’t even sure which city we were in. It was over one hundred shows, with huge crowds, massive earnings, and a whole team of people traveling with us to make it happen.
I'd always known, or sensed, that we had it in us to be massive, to crack America and to become one of the next great live acts. In the States, we played in venues such as Madison Square Garden in New York. In Europe, we played mainly stadiums. We headlined Glastonbury and other massive festivals. We played Wembley stadium. We played Croke Park in Dublin - which was the ultimate dream!
I still remember as though it was yesterday, staying up all night outside a shop in Dublin to get tickets for U2 concerts in Croke Park in 2005 and now we were playing there! How can you even get your head around that? It happened so fast. Our lives changed in what seemed like a heartbeat and now we were one of the most popular bands in the world.
Playing Glastonbury was so special. It was the highlight of U-N-I's life and a career-defining concert. The few minutes before stepping on stage were probably the worst of my life though, but once out there, I felt completely at ease and truly in my element. That pre-show nervousness had always been there, no matter the gig, but headlining Glastonbury was on another level. It was a huge milestone in our career.
Thankfully, it was a triumph. When tens of thousands of people started to sing along to entire songs, it was such a rush that we were almost lost for words amid the euphoria of the crowd. For me, all I could utter was, "wow, thanks". No words could capture the feeling, but it was so special. However special we'd imagined it to be, it was more. I couldn't believe we got to play Glastonbury when we'd turned twenty-five!
We had reached our wildest dreams. We had set ourselves what seemed like an unattainable target years ago, having ambition bigger than ourselves and honestly, back then, we were incredibly delusional to think that we could do it. But we had fucking done it. In what I could only describe as an amazing success story.
We enjoyed a mammoth commercial success with our first album. The media almost universally hailed our record as a masterpiece. Few bands could dream of reviews like the ones that were written about our work. Not to mention the awards we received at ceremonies, sitting around bands we used to listen to when we were at school. I sometimes couldn't believe this was our lives. It was the fulfilment of dreams we had chased since we were teenagers. Fate had dealt us an extraordinary hand.
Back then, we had a masterplan, the five of us, and we would have done anything to develop it. The priority was songwriting, followed by almost daily rehearsals, and then, our first gigs in small pubs and clubs. We couldn't see much further than that but we truly believed we had potential. But with the release of 'Yellow', everything changed and we became the band on the tips of everyone's lips. There was just something about that song that made us so likeable and popular, but only Mark and I could really understand.
I always knew he had it in him to be a great songwriter. Maybe more than he realized himself. It was all so easy to him, so effortless. Watching him compose was fascinating - his talent practically radiated from him. Damn, even Elton John said 'Yellow' was a song that he wished he had written.
Suddenly, everyone was singing along, buying our album, and seven years later, we had become a multi-million-selling band. We were performing our songs in the biggest arenas and stadiums across the globe, with tens of thousands of fans singing frantically to our ever-growing set of classics. It was astonishing, and we were completely caught up in just how massive everything had become.
And that was just the professional side of my life. My private life was even more incredible. Being with Mark was something I had dreamed about for years - yet never dared to believe could actually happen. He was the boy of my dreams, in every way. I had always loved everything about him. We were so close growing up that I couldn’t help but wonder if he might ever notice the way I felt about him. I remember, I used to lie awake, secretly hoping he might want to explore a little - just once or twice. Though deep down, I didn’t think it would ever happen.
So having a relationship with him, the way we were, was something I could never have predicted. It felt like I had it all. And I did.
Coming out had always been something I found terrifying, but I’d never struggled with my own sexuality. There was never any doubt in myself - I knew I was gay by the time I was twelve. Still, I couldn’t stop fretting about the backlash I might face. The homophobia at our public school could be brutal, and then there was the prejudice in the wider world. The thought of it all made me anxious, even when everything in my heart was clear.
Later, my father would always tell me before we came out publicly, "as long as you feel certain in yourself, because you need to be sure before you start telling people." But I had always been sure ... and it felt like I had always been in love too.
The hardest coming out I ever had to do, though, was to Mark. Telling him I loved him terrified me. I didn’t want to know what his response would be. As long as he didn’t know, I could keep fantasizing, keep hoping for something more. I didn’t want to hear the words “I like you as a friend, but I’m straight” or “I love you, but not in that way.” I knew that was the likely outcome and I was dreading it. I didn't want to hear it. So, I just kept him in the dark because, as I wrote in our song 'Fix You' five years later, "I was too in love to let it show".
But then it happened. That first kiss - fireworks, literal fireworks.
I just wasn't expecting it. It blew me away. The most amazing love story of my life, the only love story of my life, began with that first kiss. Even back then, no matter what’d happen, I knew for certain he was the love of my life. There could never be another one like him.
He was everything to me. My boyfriend, my lover, my soulmate, my partner, my bandmate, my brother, my best friend. We knew each other inside out. I would've done anything for him, anything to see him happy. That's all I ever wanted, to see him happy. To know that he was ok, that he was safe, that he wasn't hurting. If he was happy, then I was happy. And despite the hardships of his childhood, he was happy.
He always stayed positive no matter what, something I found harder to do. He always thought I was the stronger one out of the two of us, but I wasn't, he was. He was a lot stronger than me. Because he knew how to protect himself. He had learnt how to deal with sadness and rejection at a very early age and he was stronger because of it.
Like me, he had insecurities and he worried about a lot of things too but at the same time, he was always optimistic and determined and didn't really let anything get to him. No matter the obstacles, he always found a way through. I think the way he was raised gave him the tools he needed to cope with fame. He didn't give a shit about what people said or thought. As long as we were successful, as long as we were in NME, as long as we had fans and could achieve the goals we had set for ourselves, everything else was secondary.
I loved that about him. He could lift me when I was feeling down, calm my doubts, make me stronger simply by believing in me and expecting the best of me. He had this rare capacity to make me feel special and extraordinary in a way that no one else could - even amidst millions of fans.
Yeah, I had the career I had always wanted to have and I was with the guy I had always wanted to be with. Life was great, it was all good, right?... Supposedly.
When our world tour ended, we already had a backlog of demos - songs that hadn’t made the cut for our third album but that we thought might work for the fourth. We’d composed so much while on the road that, by the time we returned to the studio, we already had a clear vision for the next album and the direction we wanted to take. It felt pretty easy.
We went back home and settled into what resembled a normal life again, slipping back into routines, even as we worked on new tracks. We began collaborating with a well-known producer, but we didn’t fully focus on that - we should have, because the pressure to follow up three albums that critics now widely hailed as classics was immense, and it was hanging over us constantly.
Instead, we released a couple of songs, promoted them, played them live, and suddenly the fame whirlwind hit again. Literally overnight, the world was watching, everyone was after me again. At first, I convinced myself I had mastered it, that I could handle it - but I was lying. It all became too much, all over again.
Despite trying to keep my personal life out of the spotlight, I knew it was inevitable the media wasn’t going to be accommodating. And I started to really not enjoy it. I had reached such a level of fame that the constant attention was driving me crazy. It was terrifying and overwhelming at times, and I often felt completely vulnerable. All I wanted was to escape the madness, to be with Mark, to focus on writing a new album without the endless cycle of promotion, without the pressure to become even more famous than I already was. Because I found it hard to take in everything that had happened. If I sat down and thought about it, it kind of freaked me out, so I just wanted to not think about it and just concentrate on the music.
Unlike other bands, we genuinely loved the recording process We thrived in the studio, creating new material. And I wished we could have focused on that, and just that, because juggling promotion and recording at the same time left us drained. It felt like we never had enough time to do anything properly.
On top of everything, I was struggling to cope with the vitriol that flew so freely around the music world. I worried, probably too much, about the critics. We all did, and I think it showed at times in our public behaviour. We were tired, and the media and fans noticed. Rumors started to swirl, stories of stress, inter-band arguments, possible splits, as if we might implode under the weight of our own success.
Basically, after Mark and I came out, people either loved us or people hated us. Some seemed to take it personally that we were doing so well. It was exhausting and fed self-doubt, frustration, and negativity. I was bored of the same questions over and over, as if being gay somehow invalidated our right to play rock music, to be successful, or to break into America.
And yet, America was already captivated. Our duets with Bono and Rihanna were getting heavy radio play, the stations going absolutely crazy for it. We didn’t have to fight to infiltrate the U.S. We even won a couple of Grammys and sold out venues without having to lift a finger. Promotion there was easy, really no more work than the promotion we were already doing in Europe. And yet, despite all of this, the constant scrutiny and judgment made it hard to fully enjoy any of it.
Anyway, the music world really was an ocean of contradiction and weirdness and in my opinion, we had had no learning curve to really know how to deal with it and to get used to the pace of stuff. It had been a vertical gradient.
There wasn’t a single alarm bell going off in my head telling me I’d had enough or that I needed to step away from the band. But I knew I needed time to recharge, time to focus on what truly mattered. I knew that was Mark, my friends, and my family. The problem was that the world around us was spinning too fast. We had no space to think about happiness, let alone ourselves.
Our lives became a loop, house to dressing room, dressing room to stage, stage to studio, studio to TV appearances, TV studios to hotels, hotels to planes. On and on, without pause. It was relentless. There was no time left to live anything resembling a normal life.
Happiness, to me, was simple. It wasn’t about extravagance or rock ’n’ roll clichés. It was going from home to an interview, a gig, or a charity event, spending time with my parents, going on holiday, coming back home to hang out with my mates, make music, and be with Mark. Cooking, watching a film, talking, going to bed, cuddling, having sex, just being a couple. That’s what happiness looked like to me.
But life didn’t allow that. Either we had time, like during recording periods, and could enjoy it, or we were working nonstop and had no space for our relationship. We kept hoping things would calm down, but they never did. Everything revolved around the band, around being Robbie Myers, the performer. I had no time to focus on what mattered to me or to just be myself.
I’ve always felt like two people. There was the real me, the one with my mates and my boyfriend - and the other me, the rock star, the entertainer, constantly loved, admired, or criticized. Living like that was exhausting. Sometimes, all I wanted was to stay home and not deal with any of it.
And yet, this other side of me wanted to have it all. I kind of had become really competitive and I wanted us to get better and better. From my family, I had received a good education and enjoyed a pretty privileged upbringing but I understood the meaning of working hard to achieve your goals. I put pressure on myself to succeed and refused to give up, none of us did, no matter how hard it was sometimes. I wanted us to have the best album, to have a great career, to tour stadiums around the world, to be idolized as if I had something to prove. Because of my sexuality mostly.
Even so, I knew I couldn’t keep up that ambition forever. I could feel I was starting to lose my fire. Jordan would say, “Enjoy it while we can in our twenties, and when it starts fading, time to have kids and settle down.” He was right. It was fun, but life had more to offer than just fun and selling millions of records.
But at the time, all we could focus on was having the time of our lives and achieving worldwide recognition. And we did, but it came with intense pressure, and I knew tough times were inevitable. Adjusting to success was never straightforward, and for me, it certainly wasn’t easy.
I felt low during the promotion. I'd genuinely had enough. So I think I tried to make myself feel better in the worst way possible. I began going out more than usual, really letting go. It wasn’t like me, or at least, it hadn’t been - but that other version of me had taken over. If I’m honest, I had fun being him, but I didn’t know how to stop anymore.
Mark could see how exhausted I was, but he was as powerless as I was. I was under the biggest spotlight and took most of the flak. Mark had to deal with it too because our success inevitably brought about a relentless media interest in our private lives but not as much as I did. Honestly, Damon and Dylan didn't feel that famous. They could still put their hats on after a gig and slip back into anonymity. Jordan and Mark could as well if they were going out alone. But I couldn't. Everywhere I went, I was recognized, the band’s name inseparable from mine.
Mark always tried to put things into perspective. Calm, rational, kind, thoughtful - he could make sense of it all and usually made me feel better. I knew I should have listened more. I always had. But this time, the pressure was too much.
I needed a bit of anonymity. I needed to unplug from the selfie culture and get back to something that felt like real life. I was losing my mind, not enjoying any of it, and desperate for a break, but I wasn’t allowed one. I should have handled it better, but I didn’t. So I decided that if I was going to fall apart, I’d do it the rock ’n’ roll way.
I threw myself into the chaos. I went out constantly, played cat and mouse with the paparazzi, partied with Jordan, sometimes Damon, but more often than not with industry people who were always around. There was always someone to call who knew where the next hot spot was in London or any other big city.
I knew most of them didn’t care about me, only the access, the money, the good time. Having fame and money was such a weird thing. It changed people around me, even people I thought wouldn't change. But I didn’t care then.
I was in the papers all the time and got used to it. I talked to paparazzi while buzzed, which only fed the “bad boy” image the tabloids loved. Even after we came out, I’d still be asked, “Are you really gay?” or “Where’s your boyfriend?” As if it was all an act, as if we didn’t fit their idea of what we were supposed to be.
Mark eventually stopped coming out with us. The partying was constant, and he wanted something quieter, spending time with Rachel, making music with Dylan, living more normally. He didn’t like how Jordan, Damon, and I drank too much and sometimes took soft drugs or even get high on ecstasy. It was all so easy to access, and at the time it felt fun, manageable - part of the lifestyle.
Mark had tried E on a couple of occasions, which was enough for him. It had been amazing the first time, especially the heightened appreciation of music. The sex was incredible too. He thought that was like an interesting experience and one of the most pleasurable sensations ever, but he hadn't liked the fact that he'd felt horrible the next day. He felt like he had drained all his dopamine and was worried it'd never come back. I did too, if I’m honest, but Jordan, Damon, and I kept going. Mark and Dylan warned us, we were already hyped enough, we didn’t need drugs, and made us promise we wouldn’t go further. We never wanted to be that band.
I knew I was partying too much, and I knew Mark didn’t want that life. All he ever wanted was to stay in, be normal when we could. He loved the music, loved the job, but he didn’t want it to consume everything. He’d seen where that road led and wasn’t willing to go there - or let me go there either.
Jordan, on the other hand, wanted to live it up like I did. The two of us together was always a bad idea. We were twenty-seven, we were old enough to know better, but drunk, we never did.
When Mark came out with us, I was grateful because he’d keep us in check. He always warned me to be careful with drinking and going out. I was good at projecting confidence, but it wasn’t who I really was - it took effort. Alcohol or drugs could strip away my insecurities instantly, and I loved that. They made it so much easier to be who people expected me to be.
Mark loved to party too, but he always knew his limits. I never understood how he stayed so in control. He knew when to stop. I didn’t. I always went too far, drinking myself stupid, feeling sad for no real reason, overwhelmed by the fact that I was this huge star with no control over my own life. In a way, I relied on him to say, “That’s enough, let’s go home,” and I always listened, because I knew he was right. He just wanted us to spend more time together, properly.
I knew I couldn’t keep living like that. I was cracking up. I wasn’t sleeping well, hadn’t gone to bed sober in weeks, and real exhaustion was setting in. My voice was starting to suffer, which was terrifying with an album to record. I was burnt out.
The only time I felt okay was when Mark and I were alone - but that almost never happened. He’d say something like ‘whose fault is that?” and he was right, I was avoiding him. I didn’t want him to see me weak. I was supposed to be the stronger one, right? So, I told myself I didn’t need help. I wasn’t an alcoholic. I wasn’t crazy. I was just having fun. But I was losing control.
Mark hadn’t made a big issue of my partying at first. He just focused more on the album and the tour, and we still found moments alone together during the day, honestly, moments to be intimate. As long as we still had that physical connection, I wasn’t worried. But maybe I just didn’t want to admit that he’d had enough.
Tom, our manager, warned me constantly, "watch yourself," or "don't go out too much," but I ignored him. I did everything people tell you not to do in this industry, fully aware of it. Part of me hoped that if I pushed far enough, if I finally broke - then everything would be forced to stop.
I wish I’d known how to make it work, how to be happy, more positive, how to enjoy what we were doing with the band the way I once had. But I couldn’t. I spiralled into dark moments, surrounded by too many toxic people who dragged me down. I cared far too much about social media and about everything people had to say, whether it was praise or criticism.
I knew I should have shut it all out and focused on the people I loved, on writing songs, on doing what we did best, which was turning our lives, our feelings, and the world around us into music. I wish I’d known the key to happiness in this industry. But we were young, and maybe going through hard times was unavoidable.
Things really started to unravel during a week we spent in Amsterdam. We were there for promotion and a festival, headlining as usual, treated like we were untouchable. It felt incredible - but it got out of hand.
Most of the artists were staying at the same hotel, and a couple of private parties were thrown at a nearby club. The night we played was followed by one of those parties, and it was unreal, easily the wildest I’d ever been to.
And again, the drugs were everywhere. Weed, ecstasy, GHB, crystal meth, coke, everything was on offer, and everyone was high.
Jordan and I didn’t hesitate. Damon joined in too, though he stuck to ecstasy, joking that he still cared about staying alive. Jordan and I were less careful. We’d crossed that line before, and that night we crossed it again, doing a couple of lines of coke without much thought.
I don’t remember feeling dramatically different that night - just lighter, more positive. I felt complete, like I was operating at the peak of my potential. I was more talkative, more confident, overstimulated, fearless. No anxiety at all. Mark was high too, but only on softer stuff. We had sex at some point, and then he left with Dylan. He’d had enough, as usual. Jordan, Damon and I stayed behind, determined to keep going as long as we could.
I didn’t think it was a big deal. This time, though, for Mark, it was the last straw. The next day, he made that very clear.
Jordan and I had crashed in some girl’s hotel room after leaving the party at dawn. By the time I woke up, it was already afternoon. My phone was buzzing nonstop - missed calls from Mark. The number of them made it clear he wasn’t just angry, he was scared.
“Jesus, finally,” he said when I answered. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been looking everywhere.”
“Uh… no idea,” I muttered, looking around. “A hotel room.”
A pause. “Are you okay? Is Jord with you?”
“Yeah. We're just sleeping,” I said quietly, trying to sound casual, so he wouldn't be worried.
There was another pause.
Then, “well, wake the fuck up! And come back to our room. Like, right now!”
I breathed. “Babe, you’re screaming.”
“Yeah, I am. You scared the shit outta me. I’m so fucking mad at you!”
I sat up, dizzy, numb, overwhelmed - and he wasn’t helping.
“Uh… can it wait until my head stops spinning? I’ve got a furious hangover.”
“About to get worse,” he snapped, and hung up.
Okay, I was in trouble. He never spoke to me like that. The comedown hit hard, I was dehydrated, exhausted, depressed. I remember thinking, Okay, that’s it. I don’t want to do this again. It was just a short high that had left me feeling drained and miserable.
I reluctantly got out of bed and went to the bathroom. A paracetamol sat on the countertop. I swallowed it before brushing my teeth with one of the disposable toothbrushes left there. Then I dragged myself into the shower.
The hot water helped, but only for a moment. I stepped out, still sluggish, and got dressed, heading back into the room.
“Everything okay, man?” Jordan asked, lying on the bed next to mine.
“Fuck, I feel like shit,” I groaned, flopping face-down.
“Yeah, me too. Threw up like an hour ago,” he moaned. “Just like you did last night.”
“I did?” I half-laughed.
“Yeah,” he said, smirking. “Classic you - think you can handle more than anyone else and then crash like a wrecking ball.”
"It wasn't even that good, was it? Dunno, it was kinda disappointing."
"Yeah, not really worth it," he agreed. "It backfired pretty hard on me."
I dozed off for a few minutes, then woke slightly re-energized. I picked up my phone and checked the messages, glancing at Jordan, still awake.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“In her room,” he said, nodding at the girl lying next to him.
I recognized her immediately. Lauren from Fifth Harmony. I chuckled. “Oh my god… you fucked her?”
He shrugged. “Not sure. Might have.”
“What am I doing here? Please tell me you didn’t make me do anything.”
He laughed. “I’d remember that!”
Lauren shifted, barely awake. She turned onto her back, and I caught sight of her naked breast.
“Not really sleeping. And no, neither of you has shown me his dick… yet. Not for lack of trying,” she said.
Jordan raised an eyebrow at me, smirking.
“I’m outta here,” I said, sitting up. “Gotta go back to my room and get yelled at anyway.”
“Oh shit,” Jordan sighed. “He’s gonna kill us. I’d come with you, but I really don’t want to,” he joked.
“Don’t think you’re getting away with it either!” I shot back. “Haven’t you checked your phone?”
“The battery’s dead,” he said.
I got up and started walking out of the room. Lauren giggled. “Byyyye.”
"Enjoy the lecture," Jordan said to me.
"Fuck off!" I answered, shaking my head, as she obviously began to rub Jordan's dick under the covers. At least, one of us was still having fun.
By the time I got back to our room, Mark was waiting. He didn’t hold back.
“What the fuck were you thinking last night?” he said, his voice sharp but also… worried. I could tell he’d been scared I’d gone too far.
I was starting to feel a bit better, but still too numb to respond. I just sat on the bed and let him vent until he ran out of steam.
"Mark, Mark, I’m on your side,” I said dramatically. “Don’t worry. I know I went too far and I know I promised you I wouldn’t do Coke again… but everyone was doing it. We’re in Holland, it’s the country of drugs!”
“So, that’s your excuse? We’re in Holland!” he said dumfounded. “I don’t give a fuck where we are” he yelled.
“Well, it was convincing when Jordan used it. He’s the one who suggested it. Be mad at him.”
“So what if Jordan wanted to get high? Don’t you have any willpower? You could’ve said no… and stopped him!”
“Yeah, yeah, I should’ve,” I admitted.
He tutted and shook his head. “You were completely out of control last night.”
“Why? What’d I do? I don’t even remember how I ended up in her room, but I swear I didn’t fuck that girl from Fifth Harmony with Jord,” I laughed.
“What?” he barked, annoyed.
“Never mind,” I said, lying down. Not the time for jokes.
“You wanted me to do a line too. You were all over me - fuck, you probably would’ve sucked me off in front of everyone if I’d let you. That’s why I did it in the toilet. Maybe you don’t remember that either?”
“No, I remember that part,” I said.
“That’s exactly why I didn’t want you doing coke,” he said. “You’re not in control. You know how this goes. It starts with alcohol, then weed, then E… now coke. Next thing you know,…”
He stopped himself, then he looked at me again, his voice harder.
“And last night proves it. You didn’t learn from the last time. How many more promises are you going to break before it really hits you?”
“I wasn’t thinking, okay? It wasn’t a big deal, I swear, don’t overreact,” I said, trying to calm him.
“Am I overreacting? Really? I know you. Now tell me - next time someone offers you coke, what are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know,” I said, annoyed. “I won’t do it… maybe I’ll try heroin instead.”
“You think this is funny?” he snapped. Shit, I’d forgotten it wasn’t the time for jokes.
“Look, I get it. I’m not stupid,” I sighed.
“Aren’t you? 'cause what you did last night was pretty damn stupid.”
He glared at me, clearly trying to win the argument as much as make a point.
“Fuck. I hate this," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed, next to me. "We have easy access to all sorts of drugs. Once you start, you know you'll only want more. And Jordan too! Fuck, what were you thinking?”
I moved closer, resting my chin on his shoulder. “Babe, it’s fine. We know it was stupid. Don’t worry,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m only addicted to you.”
He turned slightly, and I kissed him properly. “Let’s just stay in bed until we have to leave tomorrow,” I suggested.
He frowned. “Are you still high? I don’t want to lie in bed all day. Fuck you.”
“Jeez, get over it,” I groaned, letting myself flop back onto the bed. “Why are you making such a big deal? It was nothing. I was just having fun.”
He was silent a moment, then stood, venting again. “Great! Enjoy yourself and fuck up everything we’ve worked for. But maybe you’ll end up having fun all by yourself.”
“Why are you saying that?” I asked, sitting up. “What does that even mean?”
“You know what it means. If all you care about is doing what you did last night, over and over, I’m out.”
I stayed quiet, studying him. “Don’t say that. You don’t even mean it.”
“Watch me.”
Suddenly, it hit me. This wasn’t just a lecture. He was serious. He wasn't letting it go this time. He wasn't just mad at me for doing Coke, he was mad for everything else too - especially for letting him carry the pressure of releasing a good enough record on his shoulders.
He grabbed his jacket and suitcase. “What are you doing?” I asked, realizing he meant it.
“What does it look like? I’m leaving.”
“Our flight’s tomorrow,” I said.
“Mine’s today,” he replied flatly.
“Are you going home?” I asked, hopeful.
“No. I’m not. You know, you’re not the only one who needs a break. I’ve had enough of your bullshit. You need to get your shit together, and you can’t do it with me around. You and Jordan think it’s all fun and games, but something’s wrong. Last night proves it, you crossed a line you promised you wouldn’t, and I just know you’ll do it again.”
“No, Mark… I won’t,” I said, trying to sound resolute. “I’m sorry. I just… I don’t know. I got carried away,” I muttered, guilt and exhaustion weighing me down.
He shook his head. “Carried away? Rob, this isn’t just one night. It’s a pattern! You promised. And you broke it. Do you even realize how worried I was?”
“I do, I’m sorry. It was…," I started, trying to justify myself, though I knew nothing I said would help.
He was just too exasperated with me.
"It was what? No big deal? Just cocaine?" he casually asked.
"No, but…" I muttered.
He walked closer to me and looked at me straight in the eye,
"You wanna do that, you do it without me. Cause I'm not gonna do it with you," he headed for the door again.
“Where’re you going?” I asked, panic rising.
“You don’t need to know.”
Shock rooted me to the spot. Was he actually leaving?
“Mark, come on, don’t do this. Don’t leave. I know I went too far last night,” I said, desperate.
“But…”
“But what?” he challenged, turning to face me.
“I’m not stupid. I don’t want this to become a thing,” I whispered.
“Keep going like this and it will. And you’ll only realize it when it’s too late. You need a fucking wake-up call. You know, we’ve got a record to release, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“I know, please… don’t, I need you, ” I begged, reaching for his arm.
He shrugged off my hand, snapping, “You don’t fucking need anyone. And right now, I don’t need you either. You’re not yourself. There’s nothing I can do because you won’t let me. Maybe me leaving for a while will knock some sense into you.”
Reality hit. He was really leaving. I felt raw, emotional, nearly breaking down from the comedown.
I thought about what I could say or do to make him stay, but there was no point. I knew him. He had made a decision to leave and he was not going back on it.
"Don't you dare cry while I'm gone. You have to stop lying to yourself. I'm tired of watching you piss away your life and pretend everything's fine. Everything's not fine. You wouldn't be acting like this if it were."
He walked out and closed the door. My head spun. I couldn’t let him go. I caught up before he reached the elevator. He didn’t resist; he must’ve expected this.
“Stay. Please, just stay,” I said, clutching his hand. The comedown made me raw, nearly sobbing. I could tell he was holding back too - he’d cave if he saw me break.
“Whatever you want me to do, I will. Just don’t leave. Where - where do you want to go? We have to be in Madrid on Monday!”
He hesitated, avoiding my gaze. I knew he didn’t really want to leave, but he was furious - angry at my behaviour and the pressure of the record.
"Mark, I swear, it won’t happen again. I know we’re behind schedule, and I have to take things seriously. I will…"
He finally looked at me. "Rob, I’d love to believe that, but we both know you won’t keep any promises for long."
"No, but I will. I promise. I swear, I’ve got it under control."
He sighed and shook his head. "Do you? God… I know you don’t want to admit that you’re sick of it. Who are we to complain, right? We’re living the dream!" he exclaimed.
I just stared at him. He could see right through me - maybe better than I saw myself.
"But you’re not enjoying it anymore. You haven’t for a while. You struggle with it. You’re lying to yourself if you think you’ve got it under control. You’re not yourself, and we don’t know what to do anymore. You think we’re just busting your balls for no reason. Like everyone’s after you. Even I am, right? You can’t catch a break. Do you really think we don’t see what you’re going through?"
"It’s not…" I started, but there was no real argument to make. He was right. "I just need some time off. To have a normal life for a while," I admitted.
"Well, you can’t have a normal life right now. You’re too famous. What you need is to learn how to handle it better. You’re not happy. You’re becoming self-destructive. How are we supposed to finish the album and tour if you feel like this? You can’t do it, it’ll only get worse. You need people who know how to help you."
"I don’t need help, Mark. I’ll be fine. I can handle it. I’m not a ticking time bomb."
"High on drugs? Yeah… you can probably do that. But at what cost? I swear, I don’t know how to help you enjoy it again without you feeling like you have to get high. And you know what? I’m too close to you. None of us can give you the help you need."
I didn’t want to talk anymore. Hesitantly, I tried to hug him. He didn’t resist this time. I felt him relax. Maybe he wouldn’t leave.
"Rob," he sighed as our hands met at each other’s backs.
I pulled back just enough to press my lips against his cheek.
"I just need you," I whispered.
"No. You only think that," he said, voice cracking. "I’m not the one who can help you. And frankly… I wouldn’t know how."
"Yes, you are," I said.
"No. I can't just stand by and watch you struggle," he replied.
I didn’t want to talk about my problems anymore. I just wanted to feel him close, to hold onto the intimacy we’d always shared, afraid it might slip away. Slowly, I reached for him, bringing his face closer to mine. Our foreheads pressed together, and for a moment, the world outside disappeared.
He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let himself be close, his hands finding mine, and I could feel the tension in him melt. Although I prayed that the reason behind his change of behaviour wasn't that he knew it was the last time we'd be together in a while.
I used my hand to bring his mouth closer to mine. I began to kiss him. His lips were so warm to the touch, and he began to use his tongue in response to the way I was kissing him. I could immediately feel that he had given up on thinking. At that moment, I knew he wanted to stay with me and I felt like he was done trying to fight it.
I knew I was trying to use sex in lieu of talking, but my mind was too numb from the over-thinking. I couldn’t face a deep conversation about my issues right then. All I could feel was the fear of losing him, the ache of knowing I had hurt him, and the desperate need to show him how much he mattered to me.
"Let’s go back inside, alright?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "Please," I added, my tone almost begging, afraid he might say no.
He hesitantly agreed and we slowly walked back into the room and he closed the door.
I pushed him gently against it and I kissed him with some urgency, as if I knew we were going to be away from each other soon. My hips pressed up against his. I reached down with my hand and rubbed his penis through the thin fabric of his khakis.
"You smell so good," I said, smelling his neck and licking it down toward the hollow of his throat.
As we slowly stepped closer and closer to the bed, he pulled back for a second only to pull my t-shirt over my head. I could see his eyes take in every part of my chest and it made me feel a bit more confident that he wouldn't leave. There was still the same fire in his eyes. Then he leaned down and attacked it with his mouth and we fell onto the bed, him on top of me.
He pushed my jeans down and rubbed my cock to a full erection through my underwear. Then he pulled them down to my ankles as well and seemed to stare at my hard on for a moment before he devoured it, easily taking it down to its base.
"Oh God," I moaned.
He worked my cock with his mouth like a seasoned professional. His hands roamed back and forth from my chest to my thighs. I raised myself up a little and started rocking up and down, slowly fucking his face. He was moaning and slurping all over my cock. I watched his hands undo his belt and withdraw his gorgeous penis.
Replacing his mouth with his hand for a moment, he looked up at me and I looked down at his beautiful face. I grasped it and pulled him up. He took off his khakis completely, then his t-shirt. He pulled it off and tossed it to the edge of the bed before he lay on top of me. The feeling of the full body contact was amazing.
He wrapped his arms tight around and underneath me. I held onto him for dear life, wishing I could consume him and he looked into my eyes. They were full of warmth and love, and I knew mine were begging him not to leave me. He raised himself up a little and my hand traveled to his abs, which were hard as rocks and I danced my fingers on them. I felt like I couldn't imagine not being able to feel his body against mine anymore. I loved him so much. I could only see him as perfection. He was gorgeous and I could never get tired of making love to him.
Then he pushed his chest against mine again and nuzzled his face into my neck. We began to slowly slide our bodies against each other, dry-humping if you will, enjoying the feel of one another.
I quickly let my hand slip to his lower back and run down the crack of his ass. My finger circled his smooth hole, feeling it expand and contract and I pushed it inside him. He whimpered and moaned as I slid it in and out. His hole relaxed and allowed me to push another finger inside. I massaged his hole and he just enjoyed the feeling as he quietly pressed his lips harder against my neck. He kept moaning and I knew what I wanted more than anything at that moment.
"Babe, Can I…?" no need to be a rocket scientist to figure out what I was asking him, considering I had my fingers inside him.
"Yeah..," he just sighed and raised himself up.
My hand left his ass, rubbed his cock and played with his balls,
"I want to suck you off first," I moaned.
He smiled at me and began sliding toward me, his cock leaving a sticky trail all the way up my body until it tried to find its way into my mouth.
"Oh yeah," he moaned, hovering above me as his cock slid along my tongue.
"Play with my ass, Rob," he pleaded.
I willingly complied and brought my fingers to my mouth to get them wet. I guided his cock back into my mouth before bringing my hand to his hole. I started pressing two fingers inside him while his cock slipped up and down my throat. He was in total ecstasy, his head thrown back, enjoying it on both sides. I was in quite a comfortable position and could probably have kept going for a long time, but his urgency was quickly becoming apparent.
"Rob," he asked with great need. "Where's the lube?"
"I don't know," I said, trying to guide his cock back into my mouth. He twisted around to look at my cock, hard as a rock against my stomach. Arriving at some sort of a quick decision he flipped around and attacked my cock with his mouth, moaning and licking around it, jacking it with his hand, forcing more and more precum out of it. His ass bounced up and down in front of my face and I continued to play with it as he soaked my pole. After my cock was well lubed with my own precum, he spun back around, straddled me and pressed my cock against his hole. Hearing him giving out a loud grunt, I felt the head of my cock pop into him, and then he began sliding down on it until he was seated on my pelvis. He was as tight as ever, and he began to slowly ride me, quickening his pace more and more.
"Oh babe," I cried, my cock responding to his pace.
His hands grabbed at my pecs and pinched at my nipples. My right hand wrapped around his cock and jerked him hard.
"Oh yeah, oh yeah," he moaned as I started to move my hips up and down and my cock slipped in and out of him fast.
It was becoming clear to me that he wanted to fuck one last time, but I didn't want that. I wanted to make love to him and make him stay.
I raised myself up and stopped him. I brought my lips to his and wrapped my arms around him. My cock slipped out of his ass and I lay him down gently on his back and just looked into his eyes for a moment. He understood and I smiled as I lay down next to him and hooked a hand under his knee, raising his leg. I gently entered him again, feeling his softness and warmth, my cock sliding across his insides.
Then, I pushed my face closer against his neck. I groaned as I pulled my cock out again and started to pump into him, deliciously. I nibbled at his neck and grabbed his cock. "You're so hard," I whispered, I loved the fact that he'd never lose his erection when I fucked him.
I raised his leg higher and penetrated him as much as I could, quickening my pace and fucking him a little harder. I rubbed his tight stomach and hard pecs a lot as I thrust inside him and jabbed at his prostate, trying to feel places in him I had never felt. Trying to make new memories. 'He won't leave me,' I tried to convince myself. 'He wouldn't.'
We made out as I pushed into him harder. We settled into this position for a while, Mark moaning with each thrust. I watched him, trying to memorize every inch of his body even though I knew it so well. I grasped his cock with my hand, sliding it up and down, causing him to cry out in pleasure and dribble precum all over my hand. Feeling him rock hard in my hand, I instantly felt the urge to have his cock inside me. If this was going to be the last time, I wanted to feel him in me as well. I withdrew from his ass and proceeded to lubricate his pole with my saliva and his pre-cum. Then, I straddled him and lowered my ass onto his cock. I kissed him passionately and held the back of his neck as he pushed himself into me, moving his hips upward. I moaned hard as I felt his cock slide into me.
I couldn't quite explain why I loved bottoming for him so much, but I did. If I thought of myself as being a top before we began having sex together, he turned me into a bottom, or a vers bottom. I just loved the way his penis opened me up, I loved how it made me feel and I couldn't get enough of it. Most of all, I loved giving him what he wanted, letting him service me in any way he wanted, hearing his moans of pleasure when he was fucking me and cumming inside me; there was no better feeling.
We moaned as I began to ride him. My pace started to quicken again and I could feel he was getting close. My cock was still rock hard, my balls drawn tightly against my body. He moaned my name and I felt the familiar urge building inside me,
"I'm close."
"Me too," he sighed.
My hand was moving quickly up and down my shaft,
"Babe, look at me," I said.
He did and we locked eyes, I knew from the way he looked at me that there was nothing but love and passion in my own,
"I love you," I said.
He stared at me,
"I love you," he said in a whisper as he began sliding his cock in and out of my ass fast again until he pulled out.
He jerked himself fast and pumped his load all over himself, causing me to shoot my load over his chest as well. I came hard and I kept moaning as cum continued to drip out of my cock. I moved down his body and wiped him off with a towel that been on the bed before going back up to kiss him.
Long after our orgasms had ended, we were still making out. I gripped him a little tighter than usual, afraid he might leave again at any moment. Eventually, I curled against his chest, lacing my fingers through his.
After a moment, he gently removed his hand and eased my arm off his chest. He rose from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. When he returned, he picked up his clothes from the floor and began dressing. I shook my head slightly and let out a soft sigh. The ache of knowing he was going to leave washed over me, heavy and unrelenting.
"Mark, babe… don’t…" I begged, sitting up on the bed.
He didn’t answer. I could tell he was done talking, and I knew there was nothing more I could say to make him stay this time.
Grabbing his suitcase by the door, he looked at me and said,
"There’s this place in LA called 'Promises.' I think you need to go there. Tom and Dylan will talk to you about it."
My eyebrows furrowed,
"You want me to go to rehab?" I asked, somewhat perplexed and immediately a bit on the defensive.
"Look, I'm not saying that you're an addict. You don't need rehab exactly. But this place, it'll be good for you. It's just a place where you can get the help you need, learn how to better deal with fame… just rest and focus on yourself for a while. Not on the band, not on me, just on yourself."
I stared at him and sighed, the weight of his words sinking in.
"And you know what? I think I need some time by myself too," he added quietly. "There are things I need to do, and I need to do them alone."
I knew what he meant, meeting his biological father, maybe even going back to Dublin to talk to his mother. A pang of hurt hit me. He didn’t want me there.
"Please go to LA," he said insistently. "'Cause I'm not coming back until you do."
I watched him open the door and close it behind him. I didn't even move to chase after him this time. I knew he was right and I agreed with what he had said to me earlier but I didn't know where to begin. I felt sick to my stomach, knowing that I was hurting him and I had promised myself that I would never hurt him. I looked around the empty quiet room and suddenly felt alone and overwhelmed with sadness again as I began to feel tears form in my eyes.
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