Page 71 of Backstage

“Damian, can you come to the dressing room, please?” Thomas’ voice brings us back to reality, and his tone makes my blood run cold in my veins.

“Is there a problem?” Damian is worried and confirms my fears when he opens the door and we see Thomas’ face.

He looks embarrassed and uncomfortable. Like he doesn’t want to say anything in front of me. “Evan came here to talk to you.” He tries to make Damian understand without me prying.

“I’m going to the bus; the others are waiting for me,” I say quickly, trying to save them the awkwardness, even though I’m worried sick. If Evan’s here, it means it’s something urgent, something that can’t be said over the phone. We have a tour manager to clean up all the messes related to our life on the road; Evan being here means it’s about him, personally, and my heart is pounding in my chest.

“No, come with me.” Damian’s voice is calm, but I can tell by his face that he’s not relaxed at all.

I don’t know what to do; on the one hand, I’d like to be near him, on the other hand, it scares the hell out of me to see him so afraid.

“Damian, Evan would like to talk to us alone. I think it’s important.” Thomas tries to be as gentle as he can, but his voice almost shakes.

“No, if this is something that required Evan getting on a plane on a Friday night and showing up here after a show, I need her with me.” He’s crushing my hand like he’s afraid I’m gonna go somewhere.

Thomas seems to think about it, studies me carefully, then nods and signals us to follow him out the door. The few steps that separate us from the next room seem miles long, and my heart almost explodes in my chest.

When we enter the room, I notice that only Simon, Michael, Evan, and Dave are present and they’re wearing funeral faces. My stomach twitches in a death grip that almost hurts. When the door closes behind me, Evan becomes aware of my presence and looks at me with a kind of desperation.

“Lilly, this is a delicate matter. Could you wait for us on the bus?” he asks gently but with a grave expression.

“I’m the one who asked her to stay because if you came all this way tonight, it means I’m gonna need all the support I can get.” This is the first time I’ve ever heard Damian’s voice shaking, and it scares me.

Evan nods and signals us to the two empty chairs around the table. “You better sit down, then.”

I don’t even register the automatic gesture of bending my knees and putting my rear on the cold plastic. All I can do is try to breathe, which is getting harder and harder.

“Do you know someone named Eva Bail?” Evan asks Damian in a somber tone.

“Should I?”

Evan pulls out an eight-by-ten photo. It shows Damian asleep on a bed with his shirt up almost around his neck and a blonde girl naked from the waist up, smiling, her head resting on his chest. Her hair is a mess, and her cheeks are red, like someone who’s just had sex. I feel like gagging, and I can hardly hold it in. Damian’s forehead wrinkles as he looks closely at the picture. He doesn’t seem to understand what’s going on.

“No, I have no idea who this is or when she took it. I can’t remember.” He’s sincerely surprised about it.

“Are you sure she’s not one of the girls you slept with, but you were too drunk to remember?” Evan urges.

“No, I remember the girls I sleep with, even if I’m drunk,” Damian insists, getting more and more worked up. “You gonna tell me what the hell is going on? Why are you asking me these questions?”

Evan pulls out another picture of the same size; this one shows just the girl against a white background, her face swollen with purple bruises. I’m holding my breath, and I’m sure Damian is doing the same thing.

“This girl has accused you of rape. She said that when she refused to sleep with you, you beat her and raped her.” Evan’s blunt words are like a knife stabbing my chest. Tears start streaming down my cheeks. I can’t hold them back.

Damian’s looking at him like he’s gone crazy. No one breathes, no one says anything. We’re all just looking at that picture and don’t know what the hell to say.

“No, that’s not true, that’s not possible,” whispers Damian in disbelief.

“I know you would never do something like that, but these are the photos I managed to get through our lawyer. Apparently, it happened in L.A. before the contest. Are you sure you don’t remember it?”

Damian shakes his head but says nothing. He looks terrified. “Do you remember seeing her?” he asks the others.

“No, maybe she caught up with him that night when he came home drunk in a cab,” Thomas dares to suggest, and it seems to be the only thing that makes any sense.

“It wasn’t me. I didn’t even touch her.” He looks up at his friend, and only now do I see tears streaming down his eyes. In all the time I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him so vulnerable

“I know, man, but there are pictures of her lying naked on top of you, so somehow you had contact, and we need to figure out what happened,” Thomas says.

I can see that Damian is desperate, destroyed, completely lost and vulnerable here. The Damian I know is sweet and protective, the one who tries to keep me safe in dangerous situations and could never do something like this. And yet, these pictures of Damian lying on a bed with a naked woman who, in the next photo, has a face swollen with bruises, a torn lip, and makeup running with tears, tell a different story. I’m reminded of how he pushed aside the photographers to save me, how he shoved Martin down when he put his hands on me, how he’s afraid to become like his father, and how he did time in prison. Nausea invades my stomach and throat and is almost unbearable.

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