Before I begin my recollection of the past events, I want to make one thing clear. This is not a badly plotted, badly narrated and sexual tension ridden piece of teen-created literary spew. This is my truth, my life, and the lives of those close to me. My name is Aki Hakala, and this is the story of my best friend.

It all really started when I joined Rasmus. Properly joined, I mean, not while I was selling merchandise. Their drummer, Janne, left the band on the grounds that he thought they would never become globally famous. Because the remaining members got along well with me, and I already knew how to play most of their songs, I became the replacement drummer. At first, I was nothing more to the guys; just the replacement. But, slowly, I became one of the team. The three lifelong friends started to see me as one of them. One member, the singer, I got along with especially well. He tried to include me in all the old jokes and band traditions and stuff, help me feel more comfortable on stage and in the media. His name was Lauri. Lauri Ylönen.

We were working on the new album, which would turn out to be called 'Into'. The songs so far were less jazzy, more melancholy than the band's previous material; a product of the sadness of losing a close friend and partner. But not mine. I was an outcast still, despite Lauri's kindness, the kindness of the whole band. They had become my closest friends, most of all Lauri, who seemed to have veered away from Eero, the bassist and his best friend since childhood. But soon, my fabricated new reality would fall apart around my new friends and I.

I first knew that something was wrong one night on the way home after a small gig in Sweden. We were having to sleep in the tour bus, caught on a remote hotel-less road in the middle of woodland. On this night, Pauli and Lauri had broken into the liquor and downed most of it with a bunch of roadies before Eero and I had so much as sipped our drinks. I had yet to learn the rock star tolerance for alcohol and Eero was not overly alcohol-obsessed. I missed, or drunkenly forgot, what exactly happened, but the fight – between Lauri and Pauli I believe – resulted in Lauri becoming so furious that he ran off. Into the forest. At almost midnight. As you can imagine, Eero, the roadies and I searched for him in vain for an hour or so, but Pauli refused to help and we decided, heavily due to alcohol consumption, that the spikey-haired singer would return by morning. We were wrong.

Lauri didn't return until noon the day after. I would have merely blamed that on a hangover – hell, I was barely and reluctantly awake myself – but he was a mess. And certainly not in a funny way. He was coated in leaf mould and mud, his hair a bird's nest of tangles and twigs and his clothes were torn. But that wasn't the worst. He was literally coated in blood. The scarlet liquid stained his once-white tank top, plastered his arms and platinum blonde hair. He has staggered barefoot into the small campsite-come-lay-by, clutching his chest with one hand and covering his eyes with the other. We rushed to him, forgetting our hangovers instantly and began fussing about him like worried mothers. But Lauri wouldn't say a word. He kept his eyes covered, squinting them shut if someone managed to prise away his sticky fingers. He refused to talk, to look at us, or to betray any emotion on his face. It was like he was frozen, and he just shook us off as if we were flies and locked himself in the tour bus shower to clean off.

Yes, no doubt about it. That night was the night our lives were destroyed.