It was too easy and too beautiful to resist.
I didn’t think any further. I didn’t think about any consequences. I didn’t consider how important it might be for me to find my own place to live, create a home, and experience the rite of passage into adulthood. I didn’t consider that I might benefit from being by myself, where I could sit, meditate, think, listen to my heartbeat, and heal.
Believing Robert and I were in love provided a convincing argument. He was gentle with me and looked upon me so lovingly, and that felt wonderful. I was used to being called names and treated like a toy. Robert never pushed any of those things upon me. We had great sex, something I knew how to do. I’d been trained to provide pleasure to others.
But Robert was caring, passionate, loving—the opposite of Tyler. Never malicious, damaging, or disrespectful. Yet old feelings were hard for me to shed. Over the years, something strange started to happen to me during sex. As soon as I climaxed, I burst into tears and kept crying after sex. It was intense and guttural. The sobs came from the depths of my soul, the place where I had been most damaged, only I had no idea why it was happening. Most times I tried to hide it. Sometimes I couldn’t, almost as if I needed to be heard, needed to allow myself to be comforted.
Robert didn’t know about the things that I had gone through with Tyler, but I did have to tell him that I had herpes. When I did, I felt a piece of me fall away. It was incredibly embarrassing to bring up. And how to say it?
I have this problem…
I am damaged…
I am damaged beyond repair…
Please understand it’s not my fault…
I hadn’t ever wanted to be this person, or imagined it—something damaged or used.
Robert was accepting and loving and put my fears to rest. But I had other fears. I didn’t know how to be intimate. I knew how to fuck and have sex and pleasure Robert, but I didn’t know how to love him. Only years later did I realize that the crying I did after sex was for me; it was the breaking open of my heart to heal. The little girl who’d had her virginity stolen needed to finally be heard.
After two months together, I began to feel at ease. Robert doted on me daily. The heaviness of my life from before was replaced by a sense of potential. He was my date on the red carpet at the premiere of American Beauty. Afterward, the press harped on our age difference. Reporters didn’t believe me when I said age wasn’t a factor and I only cared about the way Robert treated me. No one dared imagine the situation I was in before.
I felt similarly about being at the American Beauty premiere itself. For the event at the Egyptian Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard, my agent got me a stylist who helped glam me up in a gorgeous red designer dress with sheer paneling all the way down each side of my body. I accessorized with a small velvet bag topped by roses that I had found in a vintage store in Minneapolis. I loved getting dressed up but adding my own funky flair, and that little bag did the trick.
With Robert accompanying me in his best suit, we sailed into the glitzy press event on the wave of excitement. Red carpet. Spotlight. Press. Studio executives. Reuniting with cast mates I hadn’t seen for months. It was a lot. Probably too much for me to take in. My agent and lawyer met up with us. Afterward, I was showered with congratulations, as was everyone involved in the movie. The Oscar buzz started before the party ended. I couldn’t comprehend it; I had never even watched the Academy Awards.
When people told me that I was lucky, I nodded. Only I was thinking about the hell hole I’d escaped, not American Beauty and my newfound success.