'I flew to Hollywood to meet a stranger. Five days in, I realised it was a catastrophic mistake.'

This post discusses sexual assault and could be triggering for some readers. 

I was 28 and single. I spent a few months finding myself after a failed relationship with my ex of half a decade. He had been my first love. We had eventually grown up and apart... I was revisiting sleeping in a double bed alone, dancing around the apartment in my underwear and eating cereal by hand out of the box for dinner while watching Girls. 

Being single this time also meant I was also staying awake until two in the morning, swiping - mostly left - on Tinder.

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After my ex, I searched for a mate who was prime relationship potential, but was supremely unfulfilled by app dating. I spent the dates with those I met online, perched on a bar stool bored, drunk, veering towards an existential crisis and frequently visiting the toilet to text my friends about the date. 

Once I became completely disenchanted with dating, I settled for myself.

All that aside, I was pleasantly surprised to look down at my phone on night in 2017, to see an old friend calling. I had known him for a decade, but we had never met in person. We had mutual friends who knew us both in person.

I didn’t expect to be boarding a plane to meet him a couple of months later.

That call started as a friendly, casual conversation. I was flopped down on the couch in my underwear, drinking a glass of water. It was a hot Australian February night. It got to a point where he stopped and hesitated before telling me he had feelings for me. He apologised, even asked if he was coming on too strong.

I remember sitting up at that point, putting on a Neil Young record and then moving to the rug on my lounge room floor - where I laid down and focused on the ceiling - as I tried to make sense of what he was saying to me. I thought he was engaged to a fiancée, who had befriended me over Facebook and seemed like a wonderful person. We had a lot of similarities.

“Aren’t you engaged?” I asked. 

"Yeah, well, no. I broke it off. I have told her I can’t do it." 

I responded with prolonged silence. 

“You there?” he asked. 

“I’m here… I just don’t understand why you’re interested in me. Cold feet? You’re having a freak out?”. 

He didn’t hesitate, “No, I think I might be in love with you. I can’t stop thinking about you and I can’t marry her. I need to explore this connection we have.”

I found the exploration of our connection, to be highly unlikely. As I hung up the phone in the early blue hours of the morning. I went over the call in my head. I didn’t believe what he was saying about his feelings towards me to be true or about not loving his fiancée. I decided he was confused, and he just needed a friend.

I quickly turned into the friend he would call at 3am. The one he would consult with about work decisions. The friend that he sent an enormous bouquet of pink lilies to on Valentine’s Day, with a card that simply said, “Be my druidess.”, in reference to a Type O Negative song we both loved.

I then became the friend who was scheduling phone calls with him around times we weren’t at work and importantly, times when he was away from his ex-fiancée. 

I went from being confident in my singlehood, to feeling empty when I wasn’t talking to him or texting him. Staring down at my phone, waiting for his name to appear.

Image: Supplied. 

One night in March I got a text from him which said, “I need to see you…” 

I responded to the text with a phone call, my heart pounding.

He told me: “I will pay your airfare, I will pay for the accommodation. I don’t care. I just need to see you.”. 

I said yes.

I told my manager I need a week or two off work. I packed my bags and flew to LA, where I met him in Hollywood.

As I stood before him, in the archway of the hedge fencing in front of our Airbnb, seeking shade from the burning Californian sun, I noticed the faint smattering of freckles on his nose and how light his brown eyes were in person. We couldn’t keep our hands off one another. It was instant. The spark had been sustained in person.

That night, as I sat beside him, our knees touching, his face lit up by the soft pink lighting on the patio, I decided that I found love just when I had stopped looking. Further, he had been there the whole time, just not available to me. I relished in the mysterious order of the universe and irony of the situation.  

We spent days eating sushi, walking along Venice beach, drinking beer. He taught me how to play the stock market as we listened to our favorite B-sides. It felt right. We felt right.  

One night we were at the Rainbow Bar & Grill, staring into each other’s eyes, his hand rubbing my thigh underneath the table. Then his phone rang. He left me sitting alone in the booth for half an hour. The waiter came over and slid an enormous pizza on the table in front of me and two rounds of vodka.

By the time he returned, sliding up against me in the booth, the ice in his drink had melted significantly. He apologised but gave no further explanation. The energy had shifted. I wanted to ask him what the actual story was. But I didn’t, because I kind of already knew, but at that point I had slipped. I had fallen.

The next day we were driving through Beverly Hills when his phone rang. He pulled over and answered, then disconnected it from the car audio - just after I heard her greet him. She sounded happy, light. He stepped out of the truck. I watched him - pace on the phone - until it hurt me to watch. 

As I gazed up at the palm trees, I understood completely how LA was a place people came to in order to fulfill their dreams and how many ended up suffering heartbreak, failure and displacement.

The following night we had dinner, in deafening silence. Then we returned to the bungalow and had a couple of beers outside on the patio. I went to the bathroom and came back out to find him standing in front of me, demanding I strip. At first, I thought he wasn’t being serious. 

It was when he stood in the doorway, from the kitchen to the living space blocking my path, that I realised he was being serious. I looked him in the eyes and told him I wouldn’t be doing that, and he needed to stop, my stomach in knots. He dropped his arms and went out to the patio. After I composed myself, I went outside too.

Sirens filled the night. He stared down at his boots. I found myself missing the very casual and boring Tinder dates of previous months.

I should have packed my bags and left. But the truth is, I had very little money. I didn’t have a credit card.

That night I laid there waiting until he fell asleep before I let myself doze off. The person who I was talking about building a future with was dangerous. Eventually, I fell asleep.

When I woke the next morning, I found him packing his clothes. I sat up in the bed. “I’m leaving” he said. I asked him why. “I almost raped you last night!” he said. I nodded. I told him if he wanted to talk about it, we could. My hands shook beneath the blanket.

Hungover, overwhelmed, heartbroken. I slid my sunglasses down over my eyes and lit a cigarette on the patio. I asked him if he was okay. He cried and apologised for his behaviour from the night before and then said he missed her. 

I shook my head at the ridiculousness of it all.

Once we had finished our coffee, we went back inside and as I watched him pack up the last of his belongings. I started crying. I had fallen into the idea of love, and so quickly it had dissipated. I was an idealist at heart who had allowed myself this fantasy and it turned out so much worse than I expected. 

He and I had planned to move on to an Airbnb in Topanga. To the place whose name means where the mountain meets the sea. We were going to elope there.

But now he was standing in front of me, as I cried on a chair in the corner of the room, my legs tucked up against my chest, fingering a sopping wet tissue. He told me he cancelled the Airbnb in Topanga and he was ready to book a return flight home for me. I just wanted him to leave.

I told him I wasn’t going anywhere. He offered to contact the owner of the Airbnb to extend my stay there. They agreed. 

Just before he left, he told me I was beautiful, and that I was a good person. I told him he should speak to a psychotherapist. He agreed and then asked me if I was going to tell her. I let the question hang. I couldn’t decide on something so important, when I was still trying to process what had just happened. 

I caught up with a friend who was an Aussie expat living in Echo Park. Then I spent the remaining days in LA meeting new people, going to parties, taking myself to the museums and shopping with the little cash I had. 

He texted me a few times over the next months. I didn’t always respond and when I did, I did so with little interest.

Later, I found out they had never actually broken up or discussed cancelling the wedding or engagement.

A year later, I was out with a mutual friend of ours one night. She took a selfie of us and sent it to him. I left the bar before he could respond.

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In 2019, he and his fiancée got married. The wedding photos surfaced on my laptop screen. The bride looked beautiful, a face full of elation and grace. Happiest day of her life. I didn’t study his face.

In 2020, I moved in with the love of my life. The person who speaks with honesty, even if it’s hard for me to hear. He treats me like an equal. We have a beautiful life together and there is great ease and freedom in the relationship. 

I don’t regret boarding that plane. But that was the last time I was foolish in love. I left my naïve approach to love in Hollywood, and it can stay there. It can melt into the hot pavement along with the broken dreams of everyone who has gone there to make it and found their dreams shattered.  

If this post brings up any issues for you, or if you just feel like you need to speak to someone, please call 1800 RESPECT (1800 737 732) – the national sexual assault, domestic and family violence counselling service. It doesn’t matter where you live, they will take your call and, if need be, refer you to a service closer to home. 

You can also call safe steps 24/7 Family Violence Response Line on 1800 015 188 or visit www.safesteps.org.au for further information.

Feature Image: Supplied.