Lost Angeles Devotee

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She should have known from the start. Everything in the beginning was reason for alarm. Every single little thing. Towards the collapse of it all, at the end, he said “Don’t you think there’s a reason that I flew across the country...

She should have known from the start. Everything in the beginning was reason for alarm. Every single little thing.

Towards the collapse of it all, at the end, he said “Don’t you think there’s a reason that I flew across the country, left all of my family, left all of my friends, started a new career, refused to keep in touch with anyone? Don’t you think there was a reason I did that? Put the fucking pieces together. I knew you were stupid but this takes the cake.”

Avery really hadn’t thought of it that way. I guess she was blind, and young. Very, very young. Disillusioned with ideas of grandeur and that damn naïveté.

She had just finished up at Brown when she met them. Back then she was still so in love with the gilded idea of Hollywood. That was before her thoughts began to scrape away at the façade and she realized that it was really just a piece of coal, a city based on fallacy. But she was very young then.

It all began when she picked a friend up for a party. This was someone she had met a year prior who had primarily befriended her because he wanted very badly to fuck her. Once he realized that regardless of how many Vanity Fair parties he took her to and how much cocaine he would give her, she still wouldn’t sleep with him, he thought he might tell people he had anyway. When that didn’t go over he thought he may as well appease the situation by introducing her to another man – a man who she should have known from the beginning not to trust. But again she was young then.

So anyway, she picked them up on her way to a party. “Young Hollywood” was what it was called. How saccharine. That was back when she was still entertained by those frivolous things. So they went. There was a DJ. The two men had taken molly and Avery thought she may as well try it too.

What a big red flag it was, meeting someone while under the influence. Falling in love with someone through the veil of a drug that creates love where love is not. But she fell for him. It didn’t matter to her.

In the beginning he would do anything that she asked. He was so enraptured by her. She thought that it would stay that way.

Things changed. As things inevitably do. They darkened very, very much so.

At the time, it worked for her. Staying up all night. Drinking into oblivion. Doing piles and piles of cocaine and staying up until 5AM every Saturday. It worked for her.

But something changed though. The pangs of domesticity began to claw at her insides.

He told her he would marry her. He told her he wanted a life with her and she believed him.

That’s the thing about young women. A handsome man who’s a smooth talker waltzes in, perhaps shows promise, and we’re putty. Putty in their hands ready to be molded as they see fit.

And she let him mold her. Mold her until she was an inanimate rock statuette. Grey inside, cold, hard. Her life revolved around him. She chose him over all. Over everyone. She made excuses for him. Reasons why he did what he did. If only, if only, everyone could see him the way she saw him then they might understand how beautiful he really was.

My how disillusioned she was, the beautiful fool. This wasn’t love. No no. I’m not sure that the man knew how to love at all. It saddens me to this day. It really does. To think of the life that he’ll lead. How empty it must be. It really had nothing to do with her. I’m sure it still doesn’t but who can be sure anymore. I’m not.

At the end he was just another misguided devotee of Lost Angeles.

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