He was the cheesiest kind of cheese. But she was very into him in the beginning, when her view of his bleached tips was blinded by her view of his abs. They were good abs. She started spending the night at his house some nights, leaving me alone in the room.
I said goodnight to Leo and Andre—or rather, I yelled goodnight to them over the Lady Gaga they were pumping, and they incorporated a goodnight wave into their dancing. With the room to myself, I drifted off to sleep. Finally the Lady Gaga had quieted down and Leo and Andre had gone to bed in the other room.
I’m having this great dream. And then all of a sudden I can’t breathe. I open my eyes. I’m awake now, but I still can’t breathe. I feel this enormous pressure on my body. There’s something on my mouth. It’s Damon. His hand is over my mouth. He’s looming over me. I can’t scream. I can’t move.
But I’m not asleep.
“Shhhhhhhh.”
I tried to move my arms, they were clamped down by Damon’s legs. I stared up at him, shaking. He was staring at me with an animal rage. Like he could kill me without a second thought. Like I deserved it. I tried to push him off with my legs and his grip just got tighter. I took short breaths. Just trying to stay alive.
His voice came out in a rageful, shaking whisper. “Why did you leave me? Why did you leave me? Why did you leave me?”
I couldn’t speak because his hand was over my mouth. Tears streamed down my face. Don’t move. Don’t move. Just breathe.
You know what? He asked me a question. I was going to answer. I said my answer through my shaking and sobbing even though it was completely muffled by his hand.
Maybe he was curious about what I said. He moved his hand slightly to hear me. Once he did, I screamed at the top of my lungs.
“HELP ME HELP ME HELP!!!!!”
Damon became enraged again. He quickly covered my mouth.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? GET THE FUCK OFF HER!!!”
Leo and Andre ran in. Andre was full-on wielding a broom for protection. They pulled Damon off me.
Damon scrambled to his feet. It was three against one now. I tried to stand up, still catching my breath.
Leo kept screaming, “GET THE FUCK OUT OF OUR HOUSE! GET THE FUCK OUT!”
Damon tried to take on Leo, but Andre stepped in front of him with the broom and yelled, “I’M CALLING THE POLICE!” Andre pulled out his phone.
That was Damon’s kryptonite. I had suspicions that he had been evading the police for years. God knows they had more than enough reasons to lock him up. He backed away, looking angry yet nervous. His face reddened, he was breathing heavily. An animal backed into a corner. He shot one last glare at me as if to say this wasn’t over. My blood ran cold.
And then he ran.
I was shaking on the floor. I pulled my knees up to my chest. Shivering.
Leo and Andre asked if I was okay, if I needed anything, if I wanted to sleep in their room, if I . . . if I . . .
I couldn’t hear any of it. I couldn’t respond. I was reeling.
It happened the one night my sister wasn’t there. It’s like he knew. It’s like he was watching and waiting for the night that she wouldn’t be home. I was starting to feel paranoid. There was no trace of him for a while after that, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching me. I felt unsafe everywhere.
But even then, I felt way safer than I did when we were together. Colleen wasn’t going to spend the night anywhere else for a while, unless I was coming with her and sleeping in between her and her cheesy boyfriend. Together, we found ways to protect ourselves. I started sleeping with a knife next to me like I used to as a teen. But this time, the knife was not for me, bitches!
If we went out at night, we would leave little traps so that if Damon broke in while we were gone, we would know that he was in the house.
One night, Colleen decided that I needed to blow off some steam. Leo and Andre were out of town, so we were trying to just watch movies in the living room . . . but Colleen was getting cabin fever.
“Let’s go out.”
“No.” Not in a million years, dude!
“I’ll buy you two drinks.”
“Okay let’s go.”
We set a new plan in motion. We strategically placed our trash can directly inside of our front door. This way, if he did break in, we would see the trash can moved out of the way and we’d be able to call the police. Genius!
We went out to a club, stayed out way way way too late and got back to the apartment at about four a.m. We both searched for our keys in our purses. She pulled hers out as I pulled out a glass from the bar.
“What the fuck?” she said.
I had drunkenly put one of the glasses at the bar into my purse and carried it home.
Colleen gave me a look. “I thought you don’t steal anymore?”
“I’m gonna return it!” I said. “Just open the door!”
“You open it! I’m scared,” she replied.
“You’ve lived more years than me; I’m not ready to die.” I pushed her in front of the door.
Colleen sighed and put her key in the door, turned it, and pushed the door open. IT DIDN’T HIT THE TRASH CAN.
“Someone moved it! Someone’s been inside,” she whispered.
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” I yelled into the pitch-black apartment, “IF YOU’RE IN THERE, DAMON, WE’RE CALLING THE COPS.”
Then Colleen flipped the light on.
“Oh . . . my . . . God,” she breathed.
I dropped my stolen glass.
The apartment was trashed. Paintings torn off the wall. Plates smashed on the floor. The TV was thrown off its stand.
We stood for a moment, mouths agape. Colleen patted me on the shoulder. “Well, I guess we didn’t need to do the trash can thing, huh?”
I started laughing. “Guess not.”
In our bedroom, the suitcases had been completely torn through, our clothing had been torn up. Looking around the room, I could feel his rage. I didn’t want to think about what would have happened if we had been home. We needed some goddamn new locks, like five of them. What the fuck.
And then we went into the bathroom . . . and found the creepiest part.
Before she moved out to LA, when my phone availability was a bit sporadic, Colleen had written me this long letter saying how worried about me she was, that she wanted to help. It was long and sweet and I kept it throughout all my moves.
Well apparently Damon had found it in my suitcase. He put it in the toilet.
And he pissed on it.
We looked down into the toilet bowl. Just kind of . . . disappointed.
“Aw, man. He pissed on the note.”
“Dang.”
“At least he put it in the toilet to piss on it. And not in your suitcase.”
“Right. That’s right. Thanks, Damon.”
Sometimes you have to laugh through the most horrendous moments you experience. Or at least, we did. My psychotic ex-boyfriend with major rage issues was stalking me and breaking into my apartment, and now my sister was involved. He knew where we lived. He had easily broken in twice now. I felt like the light at the end of the tunnel was being pulled farther and farther away. If we didn’t laugh at how twisted the whole thing was, we wouldn’t have made it through.
A few days later I got a phone call. It was an automated voice.