Outside of partying, dressing fabulously, and doing drugs, I never was entirely sure what Leo and Andre did beyond believing they were in the industry. But somehow they were both incredibly, unapologetically themselves. Even though I was living in constant fear of Damon’s episodes, I was happier now that I was living with Leo and Andre.
But then I got a call from my parents.
“Laura . . . Honey . . . Grandma’s sick. You need to come home to say good-bye to her.”
I told Damon through tears that my grandma was dying and that I had to leave. Even though he hated letting me out of his sight, he let me go. I mean, what could he do?
I flew home immediately and burst through the front door of my house.
“Where’s Grandma? Is she okay? And what’s fatally progressive death syndrome?”
My mom sat me down on the couch. “Laura . . .”
“What? What is it? Is she dead? Did she die already?? Oh my God, I never said good-bye!”
“Grandma’s fine.”
I looked at my mom, stunned. “She . . . pulled through? Even though it’s called death syndrome?”
“Sweetie, I made up death syndrome. We just . . . we heard you were in trouble, sweetie. We heard you needed a way out from Damon.”
I stood up. “Excuse me? Why did you lie to me? And I don’t need a way out from anything. I’m FINE.”
“Sweetie, we didn’t know how else to help! Your friend Lavan called us in such a panic, we were worried—”
“You don’t have to worry about me! I’m an adult, fully capable of making my own decisions.” Then I stomped off to my childhood bedroom and slammed the door.
How dare they try to control my life right now! I was happy with Damon. He had changed; he was better now. We had a ton of fun when he wasn’t being crazy and I wasn’t completely terrified of him.
By “had a ton of fun” I of course mean “did a ton of drugs.”
Here’s how my parents found out about the whole situation: Remember my photographer friend Lavan? Me neither, apparently! As you might recall, I had called Lavan to basically save me from Damon’s clutches when we were in New York . . . and then I never showed up. I didn’t have a phone at the time to let him know I was okay, and when I got a new one, I didn’t have his number.
Well, it turns out that was very alarming for him. He had no idea what happened to me and he knew the full scope of how scary and dangerous Damon was. He had no way of contacting me, but he had my parents’ phone number. I’d often call them on his phone when we would shoot, because of Damon’s issue with me having contact with the outside world.
He called my parents and let them know I was in danger, that I needed a way out of an abusive relationship. My parents tried to figure out the most delicate way possible for me to come home. They knew Damon wouldn’t let me leave any other way. They were scared he would overhear and hurt me. So they came up with this brilliant, very shitty plan. And as soon as I called them from my new number in Los Angeles, they put their plan into action.
I just felt manipulated and betrayed. It didn’t help that I was in this rebellious phase of my life where whatever they wanted me to do, I would do the opposite. I pushed them away and flew straight back to LA.
But first I went to visit my grandma, just to make sure she was okay. She had just finished running a 5K. . . . Just kidding. . . . But she def wasn’t dead.
I’m telling you guys, my eighteen-year-old brain was not fully formed at all. Going back to Damon was not a rational choice! But between my lack of understanding at what a healthy relationship looked like and his manipulation and control over me, I went back without question.
I resumed my life in LA at Leo and Andre’s house. There, I received two very important things:
1. A slight amount of distance from Damon.
2. The longest amount of time so far that Damon let me have a cell phone without breaking it.
Either I was getting better at living in the complete isolation that he found acceptable, or he had forgotten that I had a phone he could smash. Judging by the fact that he was still screaming at me pretty often, I think he had totally forgotten that I had a phone.
Since I had some alone time, living away from Damon, I could sometimes make calls without worrying about him hearing me. Which meant . . .
Rinnnng rinnnng . . .
Colleen: Hello?
Me: Hey dude. Damon’s being fucking crazy again today.
Colleen: Shit. What’s he doing?
Me: He just lost it and was screaming at me because I didn’t let him into the apartment immediately after he knocked. I was in the shower! Like, what the fuck?
Colleen: Wow. Sounds like that was really your fault, though. Did you have to shower?
Me: Ha-ha, dude! I don’t know what to do. I’m scared.
Colleen: Okay, well . . . Do you feel like the side character in the horror movie or the lead? Because the side character dies really early, but the lead usually at least makes it to the end.
Me: Hmmmm. I think I’m still the lead.
Only Colleen could make me laugh about shit this fucked up. We started to talk every day. She’d listen without judging me, or preaching to me, or telling me what to do. So I felt comfortable enough to tell her everything.
I told her about how Damon would lose his mind if I said the wrong thing or talked to anyone on the street. I told her about how he would grab me so hard that I would bruise. About how he thought he owned me. Only she knew the full extent of Damon’s bullshit.
One time, Damon was pissed off at me, so he stole my phone. Hey, at least he didn’t smash it! He just erased all my contacts and changed the name on my voice mail recording. To Satan.
Everyone who called me heard this: “You have reached the voice mailbox of SATAN.”
Colleen and I had a pretty good laugh at that one.
Don’t get me wrong, she really was scared for me. She really wanted to get me out of this relationship, and she saw how dangerous Damon was. By this time, I think I was the only person who didn’t want me to leave Damon. But Colleen was fucking smart and understood me better than anyone. She knew that if she told me to get the fuck away from that horrible person, then I would probably ice her out or rebel by getting closer to Damon. I wasn’t taking anyone’s advice.
So my sweet, sweet sister just fucking listened.
I started to get a little bolder with my phone calls. I’d call Colleen to talk while Damon was passed out in the other room. I mean, when Damon passed out, this was not a light nap. This was “Is he dead? I can’t tell, but let’s wait another hour before calling an ambulance.” I could scream into his ear without him waking up, so it was fine.
One time Damon was sleeping in the living room. I was making lunch in the kitchen area while talking to Colleen.
“I don’t know, I really think he’s losing it. He doesn’t seem sane anymore. I feel like he’s going to murder me.”
Damon’s eyes popped open. He turned to me. He had heard everything.
“Oh shit.”
His face contorted into a rageful, icy, inhumane glare. His eyes were bulging from their sockets. A vein I never saw before looked like it was about to burst from his neck. In one swift movement, he grabbed a size 11 high-heel boot that Leo had worn out last night and CHUCKED IT AT MY HEAD WITH ALL HIS MIGHT.
What is it about being absolutely insane that makes a person’s aim impeccable?