Idiot Page 7

  “If you go, then I’m not letting you back in!!”

  I should mention that he had never let me have a key to the apartment. I had been in New York for two months by then, and that whole time he had to be home to let me in if I went out. And if he was out, I couldn’t leave, because I had no way to lock the door behind me. Isn’t that soooo cute and relationship-y and not psychotic or frightening at all?

  “Fine! Don’t let me in! I don’t give a fuck. Your apartment’s disgusting anyway!”

  I made it to the bottom of the stairs, and Lavan was there, waiting to meet me. We were gonna walk around the neighborhood this time, finding some cool walls to shoot against. We might have done really well if Instagram had been around at this time.

  Damon barreled over to Lavan. “Stay away from my girl! Stay the fuck away!”

  Lavan put his hands up. “Dude. We’re just friends. I’d never even touch her.”

  Okay, rude.

  As per usual, Damon wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable. Or sane. “Just stay away, bro!”

  I crossed my arms. “Can you stop being a fucking asshole, Damon? Like, what the fuck!”

  Damon looked at me full of rage, grabbed the cell phone out of my hand, and SMASHED it on the concrete.

  Great. You know what? I didn’t need a phone anyway. Especially not one that he bought for me. I wasn’t putting up with this tonight. I started walking away. “Let’s go shoot, Lavan. I didn’t put on all this makeup for nothing.”

  Lavan followed and Damon just paced around a bit and fumed like a fucking child. He eventually went back inside.

  Lavan and I stayed out late after shooting. I don’t think he wanted me to go back; he was really worried. Frankly, I didn’t want to go back. I called my parents on his phone, to say hi and hear their voices. I spoke to Colleen for a bit, too, just to see if she was still an aviation-loving asshole.

  But I’m telling you, I was so committed to Damon. I knew he was batshit crazy and I was terrified of him, but it was like I was brainwashed. Leaving him didn’t feel like an option.

  I finally got back to the apartment at around two a.m., climbed up the stairs, and knocked on the door. No answer.

  I felt around in my pockets for my phone. Then I remembered Damon had smashed it. FUCK.

  No answer, no keys, no phone. Shit.

  He must be sleeping. I knocked louder. “Damon!” I yelled, trying to wake him up. “Hello?! Damon?! OPEN THE DOOR, Damon!” Wow, I sounded crazy. I wondered what the neighbors thought, hearing girls scream at Damon’s door so frequently in the middle of the night.

  Finally, the door opened. Only it wasn’t Damon.

  It was a slender woman with dark brown hair and a menacing smile. Or maybe it was just a normal smile. That green light really made things look evil.

  She glared at me, gripping the door like her nails might puncture the wood. Yep, she was menacing.

  “It’s not so funny now, is it?”

  Apparently she remembered me laughing at her. Under different circumstances, this would be an adorable meet-cute.

  “You’re Natalie? Damon’s ex?” I gasped. I was horrified. What was she doing here? Where was Damon? My second question was quickly answered when Natalie opened the door wider to reveal a half-naked Damon, passed out on the mattress with an empty bottle of vodka next to him.

  The blood drained from my face. I felt shaky and numb and every emotion at the same time. He cheated on me with her? He said, he PROMISED, she meant nothing to him.

  I muttered, “Just let me pack my things and I’ll leave.”

  “Make it quick,” she said in a vengeful tone without skipping a beat. She let me in.

  I started to grab my things. She sat down on the mattress next to Damon, cuddled him close and started petting his messy hair while glaring at me, like an evil Bond villain petting his cat. Damon gurgled in his sleep. Ah yes, there’s the prize we were battling over.

  I finished packing my clothes. Then I took one of the naked paintings of me off the wall and stuffed it in my bag as a memory of these wonderful, wonderful two months. I got it most of the way in, but not completely. My crudely rendered tits were hanging out of the top of my suitcase.

  I took a breath. My mind was racing as I tried to figure out where I was going to go next.

  “Can I just use Damon’s phone? I need to find a place to stay.”

  She just kept glaring at me. I took that as a yes, so I grabbed Damon’s phone, stepped into the hallway, and called Lavan in a panic.

  “Lavan, I’m in trouble and I need a place to go—can I stay with you? I’m really scared.”

  “Yes, of course! Are you okay?”

  Natalie yelled from the other room, “HURRY THE FUCK UP!”

  I lowered my voice. “No, not really. I’m not safe here anymore. I’ll see you soon.” I hung up.

  I went back inside the apartment and handed her the phone. She threw it aside. She was still petting Damon’s hair. Everything about this situation was so fucked up. I couldn’t handle it. I had to do something, anything, to make it less fucked up—and to hopefully make this deranged, controlling, and dangerous woman not kill me. That would be ideal.

  I looked up at her. “I’m sorry I laughed the other night.” I really did feel sorry. “I wasn’t laughing at you, I just laugh at uncomfortable things. Damon was telling me to shut up, so . . .” I trailed off. I didn’t need to ramble at my mortal enemy right now.

  She stared at me for a minute, surprised. Her crazy rage softened a bit. She looked down at Damon.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I know how Damon gets.”

  We were supposed to be enemies, but I think my apology eased the tension just a bit. I was even a bit relieved that I was finally getting off this rickety roller coaster of a relationship without, like, dying. The craziness was finally over. I was out of Damon’s clutches. I felt a weight lifted.

  I smiled a bit. “Yeah, he can get crazy, huh?”

  She laughed. “Tell me about it!”

  Yup, Damon’s ex and I were bonding over what a psycho he was as he lay passed out, half-naked between us.

  She jumped into a story about him almost jumping off a bridge when she had to go on a trip to see her parents. How sweet and normal! I told her about him lying in the middle of the road, yelling at any friend I made, and smashing my phone earlier today. Oh, Damon! What a goofball.

  Our laughter got more and more raucous. So much so that it woke him up.

  His eyes popped open and he turned his head slowly from right to left, gradually realizing the severity of his situation. A terrifying, angry, psychotic look washed over his face. He shot up, grabbed Natalie, and started pushing her toward the door. I recognized that grip on her arms—that was going to bruise later. “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! GO!” he yelled.

  I quickly stood up and grabbed my suitcase. “DON’T PUSH HER AROUND! I’M LEAVING! NOT HER! ME!”

  He shoved me out of the way, then physically pushed Natalie out of the studio apartment. She screamed and resisted as much as she could. “Damon, please! I love you! Please!” But he was stronger, and he wanted her out. He locked the door. I was petrified. She pleaded from behind the door, once again. I wasn’t laughing this time.

  I was appalled, thinking, HOW? How could she love someone so cruel?!

  Yet here I was, in the same situation as her.

  I grabbed my bag and attempted to leave. He looked at me with such rage in his eyes. It’s hard to describe, even, but it made me sick to my stomach. He looked like all the humanity inside him had drained out. He was only anger and adrenaline now. I thought he was going to kill me.

  He grabbed me and threw me on the mattress with all his might. I was frozen with fear. He put his hands around my neck and he started crying. He gripped my throat, hard.

  “Don’t you ever leave me. I love you. I love you,” he said while choking me. I didn’t move a muscle. I focused on breathing. On staying alive. I knew if I fought back, he would win.<
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  “Okay. I won’t. I promise I won’t,” I said through tears and dwindling breaths. But even with my promises, he didn’t let me get up. He didn’t let me get up, and then went on to force himself on me. He didn’t let me move.

  So I didn’t move. I didn’t want to die. I was afraid that if I resisted in any way, he would end up killing me. It would only be tightening his grip on my neck. I told myself I would get out tomorrow. I would get out tomorrow.

  When tomorrow rolled around, he apologized to me. “I’m sorry I invited Natalie over last night. Things got out of hand.”

  Not the apology I was looking for and . . . excuse me . . . HE invited HER over???

  “If you hadn’t gone off with Lavan, I wouldn’t have invited her over, though. Just don’t do that again,” he warned.

  So . . . it was my fault. What the fuck?

  That night, I drank a lot before bed. And as the days passed on, I convinced myself it was a one-time thing. I’m sorry to report that it took me much longer than one day to leave him. The beautiful chorus of angels singing “Yiiiiiiiiiikkkkeeessssss! Get out of there, Lauraaaa!” was getting quieter and quieter in the back of my mind.

  Remember how I had called Lavan that night, saying I was in danger and begging for a place to stay? Well of course I never showed up after Damon pushed Natalie out of the apartment. And I didn’t have a phone to safely contact him again. Sometimes I laugh, thinking about how worried he must have been. Not because I think it’s funny, but because—well you guys know how I deal with uncomfortable situations. While I was off in my own world with Damon again, Lavan was worrying. But we’ll come back to that.

  Remember how Damon paid for everything in cash? #notsuspiciousatall. Well—and this was an exciting development for me too!—this included apartments. He did not have his name on the lease for the apartment.

  The apartment was in Natalie’s name.

  He obviously didn’t want me running into Natalie, who obviously knew where he lived. We’d often stay out for hours and hours, and looking back I wonder if he was just trying to keep up the separation of his two girlfriends that would inevitably collapse.

  At this point, Damon hadn’t told me outright that Natalie had ownership over the lease. I found out the good ol’ hard way.

  There was a hard knock at the door. Damon opened the door to see a hulking six-foot-six man standing there, fists clenched. He looked intimidating, like it was his job. Turns out, it was his job! He worked for the landlord.

  “You’re being evicted.”

  “We can be quieter!” I exclaimed, thinking it was for sure because of our dramatic AF late-night fights.

  The man glared at us. “You are trespassing in Natalie Reeder’s apartment. You must leave at once or else face consequences.”

  I could have sworn I heard his knuckles crack at this point.

  Turns out, Damon had convinced this poor girl to put the apartment under her name when they moved in together. And then he kicked her out and moved me in. He was paying the rent, but still. How shitty.

  It was in her name, so she kicked us the fuck out. I was scared and frustrated, but part of me was definitely like, You go, Natalie. Kick us the fuck out of your place!

  I don’t blame her at all. I’m surprised she let us live there for HALF a day after the horrific way he treated her. Needless to say, we were now out on the street with three suitcases and nowhere to go.

  Damon had a plan, though. We went straight to the airport and took the next flight out to LA, where Damon was from.

  Wow, I was finally heading back to LA! Exactly what I wanted! The universe works in mysterious ways. Ultra-mysterious. So mysterious, it possibly makes no fucking sense at all! During the flight over, my acting dreams knocked quietly on the back window of my mind. But unfortunately, it was going to be a bit of time before I started acting again.

  From the airport, we went straight to Damon’s parents’ house in Orange County.

  It was a very modest, single-story home in a suburban neighborhood that looked like it hadn’t changed since the seventies.

  Damon knocked on the front door. I thought it was weird he didn’t just . . . enter. I mean, he grew up here. It was his home. Right?

  But he looked strange. Smaller. He was shaking a little, and not just like an addict who needed a hit of something. I take that back, actually he did look like he could use a hit of something.

  His mother answered the door, smoking a cigarette and brushing her huge blond hair out of her face. She seemed to be clenching on to her youth for dear life with her long pink nails. The first thing she did when she saw Damon was frown as best she could through her Botox. “Oh. So you failed in New York?”

  Damon cleared his throat, ignoring this. “This is my girlfriend, Laura.”

  She smiled this wide, veneer smile. “Pretty.”

  She leaned in to press her very hard fake boobs against me in a hug. I swear to God I wasn’t staring at them, it’s just . . . When we hugged, I still felt like I was three feet away from her.

  She led us inside.

  Damon’s dad and little brother were sitting in the living room. His dad looked greasy and mad. And greasy. And did I say mad? I would honestly use more adjectives if I could. When he saw Damon walk in, he only looked angrier.

  “I thought you were in New York making money. What happened with that?”

  I found out that Damon wasn’t an independent rebellious artist-slash–drug dealer. His father had been putting major pressure on him to make money.

  His dad stood up and started toward Damon aggressively. I took a step back, but Damon pulled me in between the two of them.

  Thanks, dude.

  “This is Laura, my girlfriend.”

  Damon’s dad took one look at me and then looked back at Damon. “Bedroom. Now.”

  Damon glanced at me. It was a look I had never seen from him before. Apologetic? Worried? I couldn’t tell at the time. But looking back, I think it was fear.

  “Lauren! Come sit.” His mother patted the floral couch she was sitting on. She picked up a nail file and started on her pinky.

  “It’s Laura.”

  I sat on the couch next to Damon’s brother, who was staring into his Nintendo DS, glasses on, knees pulled up to his chest. His body language screamed, Why am I in this family?

  “Lauren, tell me something.”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  Damon’s mother’s face contorted in disgust. “Why are you with him? He’s no good.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I heard the voices in the other room get louder. Damon and his dad were fighting now. Then I heard a WHAP. Repeatedly. Damon was quiet now.

  I was so uncomfortable, way past laughter. I stood up and took a lap around the house. On the wall there were some pictures of Damon as a kid, decked out in snowboarding gear. (Which I’m surprised stayed on the wall at all, seeing how much his mother seemed to loathe him.) When he was a kid, maybe twelve years old, he was a snowboarding prodigy, competing across the country. He was a sweet-looking little kid. It was hard to be mad, looking at him like that.

  Damon was not a good person. But in a way, I could finally see why he was the way he was. Why he would be physically and verbally abusive. It all made sense. It didn’t make it right or make it okay, but it made sense.

  We stayed with his parents for a week. A week of his dad hurting him, his mother asking me in front of him why I would ever be with him, and his little brother trying his hardest to disappear. After a week, we headed to the Beverly Hills apartment that Damon owned. Wait. Excuse me? Why did we stay with his horrible family for AN ENTIRE WEEK if he had an apartment in Beverly Hills??

  CHAPTER 5

  The Damon Inside

  The point of this book is to articulate that people have the capacity to change. As you’ve seen from my stories, I’ve been dangerously impulsive, selfish, and erractic. You might be wondering when you were going to see the “change” part happen. The answer is: not yet!r />
  Damon and I had one good week in his tiny, trashy, Beverly Hills apartment. I thought that living in Beverly Hills guaranteed that your apartment wouldn’t be a dump, but it turns out that horrible apartments are inevitable when you’re with an unsuccessful drug dealer. I didn’t mind, though. I was so happy to be back in LA. LA was like freedom to me, and nothing was going to mess that up. I also didn’t understand why we ever stayed in that trash dump, tiny New York studio when freaking Beverly Hills was an option! Like, are you kidding me?

  Also, I know I promised myself that I would leave him after that night in New York. But I didn’t know how. I didn’t realize how horrible my situation was, or what a healthy relationship looked like. To me, Damon and I had a great relationship on the days that he wasn’t screaming at me. My perception of happiness and love was so warped by now.

  We were enabling each other more than ever these days. He would steadily supply my increasing drug habits. Smoking a lot of weed and a bit of cocaine quickly turned into a lot of cocaine and a . . . lot of weed, as well. We’d go out almost every night and meet the most interesting people. Hey! I was networking again. I bypassed the agents and managers with cocaine problems this time, though, and instead met Leo and Andre, two fabulously femme gay partygoers in West Hollywood. They did something or other in entertainment, at least I thought they did. We exchanged numbers. That counts as networking, right?

  Life was finally peaceful—UNTIL IT WASN’T.

  It was the end of our first week staying at Damon’s Beverly Hills apartment. We had smoked a bunch of weed that morning, and lain out to nap on the couch a few hours later. (Weed for breakfast! A great way to start the day.) See? Super peaceful. Until I heard the front door slam open. Hard.

  Someone outside had unlocked every lock, but had only gotten the door open three inches because of the chain lock that Damon had “randomly” remembered to put on. How convenient! It’s like he almost knew this was going to happen.