TO HAVE AND HAVE NOT

18

Olivia

I walked into Tommy's small apartment in downtown LA, an unassuming refuge that felt like a sanctuary amidst the chaos of my life. He had handed me the keys when he first secured the place, a gesture that had always felt oddly prophetic as if he knew—deep down—that there would come a day when I would need to seek solace within those four walls. Today was that day, heavy and fraught with anxiety.

As I stepped inside, the familiar scent of his cologne and the lingering aroma of takeout filled the air, but the apartment was still silent at first. I felt a fleeting sense of relief wash over me, thinking perhaps I was alone with my thoughts, able to process the storm of emotions churning inside me. But then he appeared at the end of the hallway, his eyes widening in horror as they fell upon me, and the moment he rushed towards me, wrapping his arms around me in an instinctual embrace, I felt the warmth of concern radiating from him.

I collapsed onto the couch, my messy hair a testament to the night before, one eye swollen shut, and my lip bruised and cracked; even worse was the sinister handprint encircling my throat, a stark reminder of the violence that had invaded my life. "Oh my God, what the fuck happened, Olivia?" he exclaimed, his voice a mixture of fear and anger as he pulled back to assess the damage, his eyes darting over my broken form.

At that moment, desperation fueled my response as I stammered out a feeble excuse, "I fell down the stairs. I got completely wasted and fell," the words barely breaking free between sobs, tears cascading down my cheeks, both of us well aware of the truth hidden behind my lies.

His gaze hardened as disbelief flickered across his face, and he pressed on, demanding, "Did he do this to you?"

The urgency in his tone pulled at my heart, and as he enveloped me once more in a protective hug, I felt safe yet terrified of the implications of my truth. "No. Just help me, Tommy. I'm supposed to be on set this morning," I cried, desperation optimistically creeping into my plea, clinging to him as if he were my lifeline in a world turned upside down.

But his voice cut through my despair, sharp and unwavering: "If you fell down the stairs, you wouldn't have a handprint around your neck. I'm calling the police, Olivia!"

The urgency of his words felt like ice in my veins, compelling him to back away to grab his phone, and panic surged within me. "No!" I shouted, lunging forward to grasp his hand, my grip a mix of fear and pleading. "Please... please, Tommy, I'm begging you. Help me... please," I cried, my voice cracking as the reality of my situation pressed down upon me, imploring him to understand the delicate balance I was trying to navigate.

The conflict was palpable in his eyes, the anguish of a friend torn between loyalty to me and a sense of moral obligation, but ultimately, he placed the phone back down, frustration mixed with resignation flaring in his expression as he turned back to help me cover up the lies that would keep my fragile world from crumbling entirely.

In that suffocating moment, the world around us dissolved into chaos, echoing the tumult of our fractured relationship. "You're a whore!" Leo shouted, his voice booming off the lavish walls of the mansion we once thought was a symbol of our aspirations, now merely a prison for our hearts.

He paced like a predator, anger radiating from him in palpable waves, and I felt my heart race, not just from fear but from the raw truth that clung to the air like smoke—he had discovered the secrets I tried so desperately to bury. "Did you think I wouldn't find out that you sold your soul to the devil to get here?!"

My pulse quickened, and I could hardly stand the weight of his accusations. All I wanted was for this nightmare to stop, to unearth the love that had once ignited a spark between us instead of this consuming fire of rage.

"Please stop it," I begged, my voice trembling as memories flickered in my mind like a broken film reel, each frame a painful reminder of the sacrifices I made and the darkness I waded through just to feel the intoxicating allure of Hollywood.

But I could see it in his eyes—the betrayal, the disbelief. He chuckled, shaking his head dismissively. "You fucked your way into that party so that you could attach yourself to me?"

His words pierced through the air, each syllable a dagger aimed at my heart. "It wasn't like that," I cried, desperation clawing at my throat, my heart aching. "I love you, Leo!" I shouted, hoping, praying that somehow he could hear the sincerity in my voice, that he would see past the façade and recognize the truth beneath.

But when he sneered, "Save that bullshit. You don't know what love is," his words reverberated in my mind, filling me with a profound sense of despair.

"Yes, I do!" I insisted, fighting back tears, but before I could formulate another thought, he was right there, invading my personal space, a storm of fury and confusion.

One rough hand tugged my hair, the other constricted around my throat, and in that horrifying instant, instinct kicked in; I lifted my knee in a desperate attempt for freedom.

Yet just as suddenly as he released me, it was only to regain his power, tackling me to the ground with an overwhelming force that rendered me helpless.

Straddling me on the living room floor, his anger turned into an assault—vicious, overwhelming—leaving me gasping for air, struggling against the very man who claimed to love me just moments before.