As I walked home from the agency, I got a call from Damon. He probably wanted to hear about how it went!
“Laura, the agency called me.” He was mad.
“That was fast! Do they want me to come back in for a meeting?”
“Why the fuck did you show up with bruises on your arms and a stain on your shirt?”
I was stunned.
Apparently the agency had called him right after I left, appalled by my appearance, bruises up and down my arms and, yes, a stain on my shirt. (Was this karma for stealing Colleen’s shirt??) Wine is hard to get out! I thought that it was normal for meetings to be that short. But really they had just wanted this crazy chick to get the fuck out of their offices without causing a disturbance.
“You gave me the bruises, you fucking asshole!”
“Well you should have chosen a different shirt!”
He hung up. What the FUCK. I was so humiliated. I felt so gross. I walked down Park Avenue, my head hanging low. Then a cracked-out homeless lady sitting on the corner of the street pointed at me and yelled, “You think you’re pretty! YOU’RE AN UGLY BITCH!” I mean, her timing was arguably impressive.
I was completely defeated. I crawled back inside Damon’s world. I mean, it kind of makes sense, doesn’t it? I had nothing. I felt like nothing because he had taken everything away from me. ALSO I LOVED HIM. Completely unrelated, have you heard of Stockholm syndrome? But no matter how much our spirits are crushed, we keep fighting and longing for more even if it’s subconscious. It’s human nature. I kept meeting with Lavan, my only friend in the city, to have moments of normalcy, however fleeting.
There was one night that Damon was painting a shitty nude portrait of me as we guzzled wine. We did this a lot, actually. Our tiny studio apartment was covered in weird, off-putting paintings of me. It looked like the den of a serial killer who was plotting to kill me specifically. The green light did not help!
We heard a knock at the door of his dingy fourth-floor apartment. Followed by SOBBING.
“Damon?!” a crying woman yelled out. “Damon, I love you! Open the door! You told me you loved me!” She kept banging on the door while sobbing hysterically. “This is MY apartment too!”
I looked at him wide-eyed and he put his pointer finger over his mouth and mimed for me to be quiet. “SHHHH!!”
Wait a second. He was my boyfriend, and this random woman that I had never heard about just said that . . . this was her apartment? What the fuck was going on? Also, I WAS STILL NAKED.
So I did the most obvious thing to do in that situation. Laughed my ass off!
Not because I found this funny, but because I WAS UNCOMFORTABLE. Also, did I mention that I don’t like emotions? Somehow this discomfort was permeating my drunken numbness, which is impressive seeing how my teeth were VERY purple from wine at this point.
The woman outside heard me laugh. She went quiet. I covered my mouth. It was eerie.
Then she started BANGING ON THE DOOR WITH ALL HER MIGHT.
“Damon, I need you! YOU SAID YOU LOVED ME!! DAMONNNN!!!”
Eventually it became silent. Meanwhile, I had put on some goddamn clothes. She had given up and left. When it finally seemed safe to talk again, I asked Damon, “Who the FUCK was that??”
Damon sighed, “My ex-girlfriend, Natalie. She’s fucking crazy. She doesn’t matter, I swear. I only love you.”
Okay, that wasn’t what I asked, but okay. Good to know he loves me. I let it go.
Unfortunately, Natalie did not.
Another night came that I had plans to shoot with Lavan. Damon and I got into this huge fight before I left, which was typical, but Damon tried to step it up this time. I was trekking down the four flights of stairs, gown in hand, and he was following me, yelling—
“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.”