by Kyle Rutkin
Most nights, I withdrew to her favorite room, the study. I laid on the couch staring at the painting. I pitied the chained beauty. Despised the monster. Envied the hero in the sky with his determined eyes and sharp bronze spear in hand.
Why did she choose me?
I looked down at my own hands, gripping a bottle of booze. This wasn’t a hero’s weapon. I poured the remains out onto the carpet. Jez came into the room, disheveled and sweaty. She could barely stand. Her pupils the size of quarters.
“Your presence is requested,” she slurred. “Kelly awaits you in her tower.”
Wind rolled through the window, rustling the curtains. The room was dark and cold. You could feel the shadows lingering in the air. Kelly’s phone was on the bed, unlocked. Bait taken. I clicked on a red notification in the upper right-hand side. A conversation with @LizzyAnnMichaels.
@KellyTrozzo: Please call me.
@KellyTrozzo: I need to explain.
@LizzyAnnMichaels: There’s nothing to explain.
I clicked on Lizzy’s profile. Singer. Songwriter. Actress. I scrolled through her feed. Most of her photos were pictures of herself or posting with other famous people. She was pretty, but the photos were all alike. Perfect makeup, fancy clothes, selfies in the mirror. All her fan comments were identical. Gorgeous. Beautiful. Stunning. She had a fraction of the followers that Kelly had. I clicked on a picture she posted with Barry Monroe at her movie premiere. Happy birthday to this legend. Thank you for giving me my start.
I clicked back to Kelly’s inbox. Another conversation with a user named @NoahTash.
@NoahTash: We need to talk.
@NoahTash: Now.
I clicked on Noah’s profile. Music producer. Promoter. Los Angeles. He had a leather jacket. Shaved head. Tattoos on his neck. I scrolled through the thumbnail images. Some of Kelly’s friends were in his pictures. The same kids that partied at her mansion. But he wasn’t a regular. I tapped a close-up of him. I had seen him before. That scar…
“What the fuck are you doing?” Kelly stood in her bathroom doorway, swaying. She was naked, only the sparrow necklace dangling from her neck.
I dropped the phone.
“I’m glad you’re here.” She stumbled toward me, her eyes wavering. “Get your book.” She grabbed my hand, leading me toward the bed. I fetched a worn copy of Pay Me, Alice from her nightstand. She took it and flipped through the pages, pacing the room.
“Here it is,” Kelly beamed. She pointed to a page, squealing with excitement, “It’s just, this is so good…right here.” She took a deep breath. Blood pooled in the corners of her nose.
“AJ stares at his phone resting on the coffee table,” she read. “He hears the vibrations of the incoming messages, but he can’t look. He can’t do it anymore.” Kelly pumped her fist like she was acting out a movie script. “He just can’t!” She screamed. “His bags are packed, and there is nothing left in this abandoned home but pain. Goodbye, St. Charles, Missouri. Goodbye forever.”
She sat on the bed, cross-legged, concentrating on the page.
“He has a job interview lined up in New York. It could be a fresh start. He could leave this shithole of a town. His days have been squandered—no job, and no purpose, other than waiting for her to call or text.” She flipped to the next page. “No more. Because no matter what he said or did, no matter how long the affair lasted, she always returned to her husband. AJ is helpless, and that’s what hurts the most. It isn’t his problem anymore. Alice made her choice. Now he must make his.” Kelly paused, her face scrunched in pain. Another trickle of blood flowed from her nostril. She dabbed her finger to the trail.
“Kelly…” I interjected. “Please…”
“Wait, here’s the best part.” She pointed to the page. “Another text message comes through. He looks. Old habits die hard. Let’s just see what she wants, he thinks to himself. Of course, he already knows.”
“Kelly…”
She held up her hand in protest. “Alice wants him, needs him, and his stomach moves and shifts with each text. Because he can picture her face, bruised, bloodied by that coward.” Kelly’s lip curled. She sucks in air, struggling to get through the words.
“But if he stays,” she whimpers. “These moments would never end. She made her choice. She made her fucking choice,” she yelled. “She chose his fist. His rage. There is nothing left here. He must start over. Stop living off hope. Stop avoiding reality. But reality is her tears, her bruises—she needs him, and it breaks his fucking heart. He must be stronger. Why can he not be stronger? He is trapped. Whether it is love, or infatuation, or just insanity at this point, he doesn’t know. But when she needs him, he is helpless to her pleas. Helpless to her pain. Helpless altogether.”
Kelly smiled at me like she was gazing at the real hero.
I wasn’t who she thought I was.
She slammed the book shut. “This is…this is just so brilliant, Kaleb. It’s brilliant. How you capture that magnetic pull, that insane, impossible, emotional fucking attraction that forces you to come back…Ugghh.” She let the book fall and then kissed me on the mouth. “It’s so fucking good.”
She fell back on the pillow and turned to me, her bright blue eyes flashing. Her true self beneath the madness. A tear trickled down her cheek. “You know, I…” She stopped midsentence, biting the inside of her lip. She stared at me like she was staring at someone important, someone she admired. She was beaming with pride.
She was going to reveal something. I put my hand on hers. I touched her scar. What do you want from me? Why did you find me? She closed her eyes at my touch, letting the tears run. I didn’t flinch. Her tears didn’t scare me. I was stronger with her. She believed in me. She opened her eyes. Her blue pupils were gone. Overrun by swirling darkness.
“Ughhh. So fucking good.” She fell flat on the bed, her body shutting down. “So good,” she mumbled, closing her eyes, my book nestled into her chest.
The Real Kelly Trozzo
TheInsideJuice.com Interview 2019
INSIDEJUICE: Did anyone know about your plan to topple the empire you helped build?
TROZZO: My ex did, Noah Tash.
INSIDEJUICE: When did he come back into the picture?
TROZZO: We reconnected this past year. Noah was working as a server at an investment dinner, a week after I returned. I hardly recognized him. The pretty boy look was long gone, replaced with a shaved head and fifteen pounds of new muscle. Even more noticeable was a scar beneath his eye. He looked like hell. Truthfully, I thought Barry had hired him as a welcome back present. Like, look where your ex is now—serving us shrimp cocktails. I was wrong.
Noah lost everything after he got fired from the show, everything. Even his confidence and good looks. Toward the end of the night, I summoned him to the balcony, and he confessed that he came to the party to find me. He wanted to apologize and tell me that the feelings were real, despite everything that happened. Two years ago, I might have eaten that shit up.
But all I saw was anger in his fierce, hazelnut eyes. He hated Barry for what he took from him. He told me he would do anything to make it up to me. I had to smile. Anything?
Lizzy: I was overjoyed they reconnected. It gave me hope. Maybe someone could talk some sense into her—pull her back to the real world.
Jez: I’ve known Noah for a long time. He was my brother’s drug dealer. I think he used to have a thing for me. He used to come in my room and stare at all my posters of Kelly, bragging that he used to work with her. It was annoying, really. I never forgot what the tabloids said about him. He broke Kelly’s heart. But then one day he waltzes into my room and says he was going to a party at Kelly’s mansion and asks me if I want to come. Noah was the one who handed me the invitation to my fairy tale.
Lizzy: Kelly claimed that Noah was a different person now—a determined person. That he had fallen from grace and had been redeemed, purified. How did she put it? Atoned. She believed he could develop into “a worthy soldier.” Classic Ke
lly talk. But it might have been the one thing we agreed upon. Noah had changed. He wanted to do right by her.
Jez: Trust me, Noah is no solider. I tried to warn Kelly. Noah looks out for Noah.
Lizzy: Did you know how Noah got that scar under his eye? A group of college kids were gossiping about Kelly at a club. One of the guys called her a slut and Noah lost his temper. He ended up taking a bottle across the head and getting thirty-six stitches. He would do anything for her.
Jez: Are you kidding? Noah got that scar at my brother’s house. He got high and fell through a glass table.
The Real Alice
New Mexico, 2015
Ten days sober. The poison had left my body. I woke up stronger, more lucid. Sara’s husband’s routine was consistent. In his scratched up pickup truck by 7:00, at Buster’s Donuts & Bagels by 7:15. Coffee and a bear claw, back on the road by 7:30. On the construction site before 8:00. He wore the same thing every day, blue jeans and a hooded Carhartt sweatshirt. A greasy baseball cap. A giant wad of tobacco stuffed in his left cheek. He packed up at 4:00 every day, shooting down the gravel road.
He always made the same stop on his way home. The woman from the bookstore. She lived in a rundown one-story house with knee-high weeds that swayed over the cement walkway. Sometimes, she would come out and watch him leave, hovering at the door in tiny blue shorts and an oversized V-neck. She held a cigarette to her mouth, taking long drags as she watched him pull out of the driveway. I never saw bruises. This was a different kind of abuse.
He always returned to the construction site before going home to Sara. That was the part I didn’t understand. He wasn’t there to work. His entire team had already packed up. Instead, he walked to the edge of the cliff and gazed out across the valley. I wondered what he thought about. Perhaps he imagined the view from the dining room of the future house being built there. Maybe he had dreams and hopes. Maybe he had regrets. Maybe he didn’t like the horrible man he had become. I didn’t care. Those were the thoughts of a weak man. Sara needed me to be strong. He smoked one cigarette and watched the sun fade from the New Mexico sky. Then he returned home to the woman I loved.
Each day, I ended the night in front of their house. I parked the car, turned the headlights off. Binoculars in hand. Detox was painful. But she gave me the strength to fight. I wasn’t using at all. Not a single beer to ease the withdrawals. She gave me purpose. That was my plan. Continue watching, waiting. Maintain the routine. Stay sober and wait till she needed me.
I lingered until midnight before turning the engine on again. I had just put the car in drive when I heard a scream from upstairs. Something crashed into the wall. I imagined the worst. Her beautiful body tossed against the plaster. Knocking down hanging photos. My ears perked up like a dog. My heartbeat had never thrashed so hard in my chest. There was shouting. If there was a chance to protect her, this was it.
No. No. No. I couldn’t just barge in. It would make things worse. He would punish her. I looked over to the passenger seat. Where was Bob? I needed him.
Sara ran through the front door in a panic. I exhaled five minutes’ worth of anxious breath. She got in her car and whizzed out of the driveway, tires screeching.
I followed at a safe distance. My heart wouldn’t stop pounding.
I couldn’t help but smile when she veered off to the diner next to my motel.
From the front seat of my car, I watched her through the diner window. She ordered coffee, but she didn’t touch it. The steam stopped rising. She was biting her lip, tapping her fingers against the porcelain. There was a reason she chose this place. There must be. It was time to cross over. To be her true strength. To be her everything. Why else did I come? Why else was I sober?
I walked into the diner a new man, a determined man. This time, I was sober and healthy. I was strong and brave. I was a protector. We locked eyes. I pretended to be surprised to see her. She did the same. Her nails stopped tapping.
A tiny smile moved across her mouth.
The Blog of Kaleb Reed
July 24, 2019
Rain has begun to fall. First light, then heavy. It’s perfect. I open the blinds. Imagine the scene. It’s almost exhilarating now. The sirens. The helicopters. The bloodsuckers outside with their vans and cameras. Yes, it will be our masterpiece. This is what you wanted, Kelly. It’s what your fans deserve. It’s what you deserve. I look over to the chair in the corner of the room. Bob isn’t here yet. I suspect he’ll come once he discovers my intentions. He’ll want a front-row view.
But that’s neither here nor there.
Rituals must be performed. I pull out the photo of Nathan and me at my first book signing. He isn’t smiling. It looks like I held him at gunpoint to be there. But he was proud in his own way. He witnessed a glimmer of my potential.
I hold the flame to the photo and watch it burn. The flames move up Nathan’s body and then dim at his weathered face. The flames are scared to touch him. I don’t blame them. He’s terrifying. I blow and blow until the fire overtakes him, consuming the photo.
My fate is sealed.
What’s next?
I thumb through my copy of Pay Me, Alice. Often, I dream about a life that could have been. I recall the day I pulled the advance copy out of the box. That was a good feeling, rubbing my fingers along the cover, feeling the skull and crossbones embossed on the smooth matte finish. I’m proud of this book. It was the first thing I ever finished. Trust me, I wanted to turn back. But every day, I faced that blank page. Every day, I heard Nathan’s voice ringing in my head. Face this. Face this shit. I did. And I didn’t stop till it was done. Till I bled and poured it all out. Till there was nothing left inside me.
I want people to know that version of myself. I wrote AJ to be the type of person who stood and fought for what he believed in. Who fought for the people he loved. My best self. Strong. Steadfast. Sober. AJ didn’t run when things got hard.
The last picture I have left is hidden on page 345. It’s Kelly’s favorite scene in the book. I call it AJ’s true motive. In the picture, Kelly is wearing an oversized T-shirt, nothing else. Her long blonde hair matted and uncombed. Her eyes are puffy and red. She looks so beautiful. At her worst. At her best. Our backs are pressed against the bathroom wall. It wasn’t an appropriate time for a picture. Then again, it was Kelly. Document it all. Share the parts you want. I imagined this picture would be on the cover of our book. At the very least, it would go in the middle section, the glossy pages that readers flip to first. It would be captioned The Night We Fell in Love.
She went missing the night we took this picture.
That morning, Jez was frantic, pacing the mansion—leaving voicemails on Lizzy’s phone. Kelly had a show that night and they needed her at rehearsals. I stayed in her bedroom, staring at my book, flipping through the pages. I was thinking about AJ. What made him special? He was a persistent man. I was thinking about the scenes that Kelly loved so much. What did she see in those pages? What did she really want from me?
Jez ran up the stairs in tears, screaming, “Where is she, Kaleb? Do you know where she is?”
I shook my head.
But I did know.
She had ventured into the shadows. We were all accessories. We watched her tread along the edge of the black hole. Pushing and pushing until she lost her footing and plummeted into darkness. If she survived the fall, she would return. When she was ready. Then she would need someone to help her climb out.
As usual, Kelly’s show was sold out. Twenty thousand-plus fans would fill the Staples Center in Los Angeles. The final stop of her Reborn Tour. The arena would host all of Hollywood’s elite. Celebrities. Actors. Influencers.
She missed sound check that afternoon. Her phone remained off as the hours ticked away and the sun descended on Tinsel Town. The stadium lights beamed. Fans began to funnel in with their signs and their costumes.
Backstage, I couldn’t take my eyes off of Barry Monroe. I wanted him to say something to me. I wanted him to add
ress my presence. But he never gave me the satisfaction. He was wearing a black suit, white shirt, no tie. A gold chain glued to his thick, hairy chest. I stared at his fat fists. I wondered if those hands ever hit Kelly…Maybe he didn’t need to. Psychological warfare was just as powerful. I watched promoters and assistants tiptoe around him. None of them would meet his gaze. They were terrified. I never understood Kelly’s loyalty to him. It was one secret she had left to play. Only a matter of time.
The screams of the sold-out arena hummed backstage. The openers went on. Thirty minutes until showtime. Ten minutes. Kelly’s backup dancers paced in their tiny, colorful outfits. Her entourage drank and smoked in silence. The roars got louder and louder in anticipation of their leader’s presence.
“KTROOPS.”
“KTROOPS.”
“KTROOPS.”
First, there were murmurs, then whispers. A slow applause followed. Kelly was being escorted backstage by two security guards. My body recoiled at the sight of her. Her face was bright red, her hair a mangled nest. Sunglasses covered her eyes. She could barely stand. She had on pajama bottoms and Ugg boots with an oversized Zoe Loves sweatshirt. The team turned to Barry for instructions. He tapped on his phone, then looked up, nonchalantly. “What are we waiting for? Clean her the fuck up.”
Stylists swarmed her dazed body, combing out her knotted hair, plastering makeup around her puffy, glassy eyes. They draped Kelly’s boxing-style robe over her. They handed her an energy drink and a solo cup filled with the worst kind of poison. The elixir of life. Barry Monroe oversaw the assembly line, watching his product shined for the big stage. My blood boiled beneath the surface. He shut the door when he saw me staring.
