The following story is entirely a work of fiction. The characters are not based on any particular celebrity but the story is about fictional characters, who are celebrities in the story. The music used in this story is music by the band Coldplay and in this chapter, there are actual celebrities mentioned but what is written does not imply anything about the actions of the persons depicted.
-----------------
Robbie's point of view
"Claire will go with you," Tom said as he sat in my living room and typed emails on his laptop, most likely about me, I had called him in the morning to tell him that I had decided to leave.
"Your flight's tomorrow evening, that will give you time to pack," he added as I mindlessly played a melody I had come up with on one of our bass guitars, comfortably slumped in an armchair, while Dylan, who had been hanging out with me all afternoon, just scrolled through something on his phone.
"Tom, I don't need a frigging babysitter," I said.
"Claire's coming with you," he repeated in a tone that left no room for discussion, "and Michael of course. I just want to make sure you go where you're supposed to go. She's not gonna be at your beck and call but I want someone to be in L.A as long as you are, and she's more than happy to go with you."
I raised my eyebrows at him,
"Fine," I said, noticing his insistence.
I knew neither of them would be on my back all the time anyway. I needed Michael. He was one of our bodyguards and I felt a lot safer when he was with me, even though I wasn't recognized as much in the States. I knew he wouldn't follow me around like a puppy dog either, but just go places with me if I asked him to. Claire was one of our publicists and knowing her she had probably agreed to Tom's request just because she would get to see all of her acquaintances in L.A and just enjoy herself while getting paid.
"You know you can call me whenever, day or night," he said.
"Why would he need to call you?" Dylan asked.
"I don't know, I'm just saying... he can."
"Well, considering the time difference.... yeah, call Tom, dude!" he said with a laugh.
Tom let out a chuckle, closed his laptop and said,
"Alright, chaps! Have a nice evening. Claire should be here tomorrow after lunch. Please, be ready when she gets here. And don't go out tonight," he entreated me.
"Like he's gonna let me," I retorted, pointing at Dylan.
"Just dinner and a movie," Dylan said to me with a chuckle.
"I'm an amazing third wheel," I grinned.
----
After Tom had left, Dylan suggested that we played some 2K18 at his place before his girlfriend, Alicia, got back. Since I didn't feel like packing yet, I agreed.
As we were heading out, he asked,
"What was that melody you were playing?"
" Do you like it?"
"Yeah, sounded good. I'm glad you're getting creative again," he winked at me.
I smiled,
"Yeah, it might become a song. It sticks in my head but I'm not sure what to do with it yet."
"Have you written it down?"
"No, I kinda change it every time I play it."
"Do you wanna do that now?"
I hesitated.
"Come on, let's go into the studio and record it quickly," he insisted as he placed his hands on my shoulders and made me turn around, "just so you don't forget it. If you can't turn it into a song, I'm sure Mark will."
I shrugged and we headed to the studio instead.
They all seemed to think that everything was fine between Mark and I... Dylan kept telling me that he was just mad at me for neglecting the band, for doing coke, that he had only gone to New York to finish editing the album and that he only wanted me to go to L.A while he was there to get some stuff off my chest...
I wanted to believe him, but I knew there was more to it than that. He wasn't just away for work ... he wasn't just away on vacation. I couldn't take comfort in the thought that he would be back soon and that everything was fine between us. I was very conscious that the strength of our relationship was being tested because of the way I had acted in the past few months.
He wasn't coming back because he wanted to spend time away from me ... and he wanted to spend time away from me because after nine years of being with me, he had started questioning the strength of my feelings for him...and probably of his own feelings as well.
He loved me, I had no doubts whatsoever about that, but he didn't love who I had started to become. I couldn't blame him, I didn't love that side of myself either. By going out too much without him, by not giving him enough of my time and attention, by not doing all the things that we had always loved doing together, by not showing him often enough how much he mattered to me, I had hurt him. And he wasn't having it. He probably felt like he was losing me a little and I now had to admit to myself that I didn't know where we stood, which I found scary and frustrating.
Because of his parents, he had trust issues. Being loved was not something he had ever been able to take for granted. The very people who were supposed to love him unconditionally never really had. So he liked the fact that I loved him no matter what and that he didn't have to question it... that I'd always take care of him, be there for him whenever he needed me, adore him, even worship him... 'cause I did. I loved making him feel wanted and desired.
I also loved letting him take control, because I needed him to, and not just sexually. I knew it was something I'd better not fuck up in our relationship.
The first week without him was awful. I was sad, I was worried and I was bored shitless and missing him like crazy. I wasn't used to being alone...like, really alone, in our apartment --because when I was home, he was too. We could never ever get bored. There was always something or someone to talk about, to laugh about, to joke about. There was always something to do, and whatever it was it'd often lead to sex.
I'd hoped that me apologizing would be enough and that I'd convince him to come home, but he was stubborn. Plus, he had the advantage! In New York, he was keeping himself busy. Working on the songs we had recorded could take a lot of his time and he could easily make me suffer for over a month. Even much longer if he decided to go to France.
When we got back to London, Dylan decided to be on my back every day. He and Alicia wanted to hang out with me all the time. It was slightly annoying me but I knew why they were doing it, so I let them. Then my parents showed up and there was some more talking and explaining to do, not to mention crying on my mum's shoulder. They stayed for a week, made me promise to go to L.A, and left.
And then, I had nothing to do.
Jordan and Damon weren't coming back and Dylan had decided to act like his-60-year-old dad to make me want to leave.
For a few days, the only thing I could think of doing was to meet up with a few close friends to avoid utter boredom. The LGBT community was great in London and we had a few really good friends I could hang out with or go to private parties with. London really felt like home now. I couldn't imagine living anywhere else. Although Mark and I had talked about buying a place in the Turks and Caicos Islands to have a getaway and I contemplated the idea of going there to recharge now that I had no more responsibility towards the band. Although, if I was honest with myself, the only place I should have considered going to was L.A -- but going there meant talking to therapists and all that shit! I just found it a bit daunting and I still didn't want to admit to myself that I needed to do this.
-----
After spending the evening with Dylan and Alicia, I went back to my apartment to pack. As I stepped into the walk-in closet, I couldn't not think of Mark. Everything in our apartment reminded me of him. I couldn't really tell his clothes from mine. It didn't matter; most of the clothes were ours. Some he liked better than I did, some that fitted him better than they fitted me and vice versa. Honestly, we could pull off any kind of look, but we had now given the band a distinct fashion style. The only thing we didn't share was shoes because we didn't have the same taste in terms of footwear, nor the same size.
As much as I loved to travel, I hated to pack just as much. We were living out of a suitcase so regularly that packing and unpacking was a real drag. Mark was much better at this than I was. He was a lot more organized. That was just how his brain worked, in everything that he did.
We owned so many clothes that it was actually hard to choose the ones I wanted or needed to take with me so I just gathered a few of them and thought to myself that I'd just have to buy new clothes in L.A if necessary.
I finished packing, pulled off my shirt and jeans and pulled down my bed covers. Before getting into bed, I went and stood in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of the bedroom and had a good look at myself. I hadn't taken very good care of my body in the past few months. It was like all I had done was to physically abuse myself. I hadn't spent much time exercising but I hadn't gained any weight. Actually, I had lost some, and mostly muscle mass. I still had well-defined muscles but I was a bit more slender. I had let my chest hair grow a little and it was perfectly distributed, light and manly, which I liked, and I knew Mark would too.
While I did think I had strong singing and performing abilities, I certainly wasn't foolish enough to think that my face and body had nothing to do with my popularity. My nose was straight and well structured, and my lips were full. My jaw line was strong and yet fragile. I had what had often been described to me as "piercing green eyes" which I knew were part of my appeal. I liked my looks and apparently most other people did as well. It seemed like I radiated something that people were attracted to but it was hard for me to notice that about myself. I definitely wasn't insecure about my body, I had no reasons to be... but there were times when I was definitely insecure about my ability to be the person people expected me to be, on stage and in the media.
I began thinking about the fame again. I felt like I had hit a wall that had stopped me from moving forward. How did it get there? I had no idea... because I knew how amazing it was and how lucky I was. I didn't want to complain or moan about my life. I was very much aware that there were so many people who'd give their right arm to be as successful and loved as I was, especially as an openly gay man.
Being in the position I was in as the frontman of the band, I figured that if I only took the positive things people had to say about me seriously, I could easily become an uncontrollable narcissist. Similarly, if I only took the negative seriously, like the homophobic abuse on social media, which I had been doing a bit too much lately, I could become an uncontrollable depressive. So, basically, I figured I had to find a way to be myself and try to walk the line between the middle of them.
But it was a lot harder to do than it sounded.
For a moment, I asked myself what it was I wanted, but I honestly didn't know the answer to that question anymore. All I knew was that I didn't want to lose what I already had. As much as I could struggle with it sometimes, I did love my job, and I was taking the risk of losing it -- And I loved Mark more than anyone else in the world -- but I was taking the risk of losing him -- for what? Partying? Alcohol? Drugs? Things that I knew were just a gateway to overthinking problems that didn't even exist and being in a bad place mentally, having negative thoughts that could dictate my choices and my life. I had to look after myself and try to enjoy what I had.
So I had decided to leave and break that damn wall!
----
Twenty four hours later, Claire came to sit next to me a few minutes after the private jet we were on had taken off.
"Rob, how would you like to do the James Corden carpool karaoke while you're Los Angeles?" she suggested cautiously. "Maybe once you're done with the program? I could arrange it, you've always said you'd love to do it and he's requested you several times."
"Yeah, that sounded really fun... but honestly Claire, right now, singing in a car with James Corden is the last thing on my mind."
