Leonardo 2026

Welcome to the digital Leonardo 2026 gallery! Audio recordings, Leonardo Longform, digital only, and multimedia submissions are found here. Honorable mentions can be found on this page.

Leonardo Longform

Groupies: Born To The Music With Glitter in Their Hair

By Ashlynn Trujillo

Groupies…take a moment to think about that concept…what do you think of? A textbook definition of a groupie is as follows: a person, especially a young woman, who regularly follows a pop music group or other celebrity in the hope of meeting or getting to know them. This sounds fairly youthful and innocent, yes? Although, I’m sure when you think of a groupie, you think of everything but innocence; that is if you know anything about groupies.

The word “groupie” first began being used circa 1965 to describe these women who devoted their lives to music and the maestros of rock and roll. The groupie community has had a long history with sexual assault, abuse, and being sexually exploited. Journalist Rae Alexander describes this in her article, “The Groupie Myth: how teens are exploited both on the road and online.” To quote Rae Alexander, “Romanticized depictions of groupies in TV and movies (Showtime’s Roadies was a recent offender) continue to perpetuate the idea that groupies are beloved and essential; that women can get in on the excitement of being on the road, if only they’ll give it up. In reality, groupies are often mocked by the band the second they’ve been ushered off the bus” (Alexander 2017). I am neither disputing the fact that it is a rather dangerous and promiscuous industry, nor am I glorifying it. I am, however, shedding light on the subject and attaining the testimonies of groupies young and old.

The superstars, with their ever-recognizable names in the groupie world include Pamela Des Barres (b.1948 age 74), Lori Maddox (b.1958 age64), Cherry Vanilla (b.1943 age,79), Cynthia “plaster caster” (b.1947, d. 2022 RIP), and many other names. All these women were coming of age in the 1960s and 70s when rock and roll was at a peak. Most of them were under-aged when beginning their careers as groupies. You may recognize some of these names not only as famed groupies but as members of the band ‘the GTO’s,’ founded and produced by Frank Zappa. All members of the girl group were groupies before, during, and after the GTO’s and still identify as groupies today. Most of them have written books detailing their adventures in the music world, highlighting the highs and lows, the good and bad, detailing their experiences with names like Jimmy Page, Iggy Pop, Mick Jagger, Jim Morrison, David Bowie, and Andy Warhol, some of the biggest names in the music and art world. When speaking with these women, listening to them, and reading their stories, you hear heartache, heartbreak, love, laughter, fun, and the music of their lives.

I have had a rare opportunity to interview and email back and forth with one of the women who is often considered one of the world’s most famous groupies, Cherry Vanilla, musician, author, and groupie.

Interview with Cherry Vanilla:

Me: In your own words, what is a groupie?

CV: A groupie, at best, is a muse, one who inspires creativity in an artist, one who feeds the artist’s ego, one who rewards the artist with recognition, appreciation, ideas, friendship and affection. At worst, a groupie is just a competitor in the sport of scoring yet another notch on their sexual victory belt. The best rock & roll groupies are those who have been captivated by the music to such a degree that they find themselves compelled to use their mental, physical, and spiritual attributes to get evermore close to the source of it, the soul of it, to demystify it, while also remaining enchanted by it and being under its spell. Sex is often the most efficient way to get there, but not always. Putting oneself in a position helpful to the artist often results in a groupie/artist personal and/or business relationship, i.e. getting a job in the music industry or something closely related. Pink Floyd’s Roger Waters wound up marrying his limo chauffeur. Not saying she was a groupie, but she had a trusted position in close proximity to many rock stars. Mr. Waters just happened to be the one who recognized her for all that she was over and above being his driver.

Me: In what ways do you feel your experiences in the music world have shaped your outlook on life?

CV: On the negative side, some experiences have made me a bit cynical about the hype, manipulation, cheating, greed, the hunger for power, and controlling factors that exist. But on the bright side, I seem to have been able to hold on to my overriding love for and belief in the magic of the music itself, while also acknowledging the dark underbelly of the music biz. Ingenuity and hard work reap rewards in all fields of endeavor. But fate and luck also play a very big part. The fact that I made a mark in the music, art, and entertainment worlds, working alongside of such illustrious artists as Andy Warhol, David Bowie, Chet Baker, Sting, Tim Burton, etc. is due in large part, I know, to my own ingenuity and the work ethic imparted on me by my parents. Knowing this makes me recognize the fairness and the karma of life. But recognizing how often I have just been in the right place at the right time makes me know how lucky I am. So, I think my acknowledgment of these factors has given me quite a balanced outlook on life. And I’m a Libra, so balance is always something I am trying to achieve

Me: What is your opinion on the typical stereotypes of groupies being “weak,” “needy,” or “fame seekers,” as well as the other negative stereotypes given by society, that negatively paints someone who identifies as a groupie?

CV: Weak? For anyone to be able to get up-close and personal with a mega-famous

artist, whom so many others in the world would also love to get close to, takes fortitude and great strength of character, so I would never associate the term groupie with weakness. As for other negative terms, I think they just come from jealousy. My opinion is that people who subscribe to them are probably not fulfilling their personal goals, dreams, and desires. I feel sorry for them that they feel the need to tear down the accomplishments of those who succeed in fulfilling their own.

Me: Again, thank you so much! This means the world to me!

CV: You are most welcome.

Today’s modern groupies are not just waiting outside tour buses and dancing on the side stages clutching their backstage all access passes. Now, modern technology plays a larger role. Now it is so much easier to get closer to the band members via social media. Groupies aren’t just sliding into dressing rooms but sliding into DM’s. These days, most music lovers can be described as groupie in the way that we are all able now to track our favorite artists’ every move on social media and talk to them on live streams. You no longer need a backstage pass or an “in” with the band’s security team to get the personal details of an artist’s life. You need only download an app, make a search, and click the right buttons. So now I ask, are you a groupie?

I interviewed one modern day groupie just before she hopped into a minivan full of about thirteen girls on their way out from the Stevie Nicks and Billy Joel concert in Inglewood, California. She gave short answers as they were in a rush to get to their next concert in Phoenix for a smaller band. Then, they were going to travel with that band until May 20th where they were going to go see the highly popular band Iron and Wine in Brooklyn, NY.

Interview with a modern, anonymous groupie:

ME: How would you define a groupie?

Anonymous: I would say a groupie is someone prepared to dedicate their life to music and artists. We love music so much that we hear songs in every situation in our lives. We quote rock stars in every situation. Music speaks to us in a way nothing else can. It’s not that we want to be famous, but we want to understand the world, and music is the best way to.

Me: Do you feel that you have drawn inspiration from past generations of groupies?

Anonymous: I definitely feel that we look up to groupies of the past, especially Pamela Des Barres. To us, they are as big as the stars they followed. From the way we dance to the way we dress, we take inspiration from them. They were the pioneers of the lifestyle we live.

Me: What is being a groupie all about? What are the pros and cons?

Anonymous: Of course, when you tell people you’re a groupie, they almost immediately think you have sex with rockstars just to be near someone famous, but that’s not the case. You know as far as cons go, I think the cons are the misconceptions people have about us. They say, “You know, they’re just wild and promiscuous.” I’m not going to lie and say that we don’t use our bodies to get too close to famous people, but that’s not always the case. It’s more that we build relationships with these people. We trust them, and yeah, bad things happen, but bad things happen every day in every aspect of life, but you can’t let that take away from the good. It’s incredible to be able to say I’ve traveled all over the country with big bands. I mean, yeah it sucks sometimes being on a bus for a week with 5 guys who haven’t showered in 3 days, but it’s also incredible. You know, standing on the side of the stage and dancing is what we live for. Plus, we get to wear really cool clothes.

Me: Do you think you will go on in life being a groupie or will you find a more stable career?

Anonymous:

You know, I think about that a lot. Of course, this isn’t the sort of job that you get a retirement plan with. I wouldn’t even really call this a job. You know, most of us are constantly on the road. We have houses and apartments and parents of course. We go home sometimes, and then we are gone again just as fast as we came. It’s not the kind of life you can or want to stay away from. But, I mean I will eventually. I’d like to settle down and get married just like everyone else. You know…eventually.

Me: Is there still a large groupie community?

Anonymous: Yes, there is. I think people tend to think groupies have faded out because everyone these days you know wants to be a “girl boss,” and there’s nothing wrong with that, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the way we live too. But we all stick together and evolve with the times. I consider most of the girls to be my family really, just a really big family scattered across the country, ha ha.

Me: Ok, that’s all I’ve got. Thank you for your time.

Anonymous: Of course! Thank you as well. This was real fun!

There is no doubt that groupies have had a large link with pop culture from tv shows and movies. The most memorable portrayal of groupies is likely the movie ‘Almost Famous,’ written and directed by Cameron Crowe. The film is inspired by true events from the early writing career of journalist and director, Cameron Crowe. He got the idea for the plot and events from a time he traveled with bands such as The Eagles, writing articles on them for a small magazine in the 70s. With a few name changes and some slight exaggeration, he brought us the film Almost Famous in the year 2000. In the film, a young prodigy journalist travels with the band StillWater (fictional) and their hoard of groupies, including but not excluded to Penny Lane, played by Kate Hudson and Sapphire played by Fairuza Balk, the young journalist Will travels across the country with the musical circus that is StillWater and becomes close with a particular groupie, Penny Lane. Kate Hudson’s character, Penny Lane, is loosely based on real life groupie Pamela Des Barres, as well as other non-fictional groupies. I reached out to Cameron Crowe, journalist and director of the film ‘Almost Famous,’ who respectfully replied, “no comment.”

Another topic groupies have had an enormous impact on is fashion. Since the 60s, groupies have developed a unique sense of style. They have shared clothes with rockstars and made their own clothes on long tour bus rides. They opened the door to gender fluid fashion by sharing clothes with famous rock stars. They influenced some of the biggest rockstar fashion icons in history. Today, they still are. Megan, the owner and designer of Thunderstomp Threadz, a unique fashion design company, continues this through her work. Thunderstomp Threadz brings together the modern and past fashion trends and highlights the “rock glam” fashion category. They are also dressing and designing for the up-and-coming artists of today. Even today, the “I’m with the band” style of dressing is rapidly growing amongst young women, who are drawing influence from the women backstage of rock and roll history.

Interview with Megan, the entrepreneurial Band-aid:

Me: In your own words, what is a groupie?

Megan: A groupie is someone who loves the music of a particular band so much that they follow them around to multiple shows, often spanning the country or even the world. It’s a person who is dedicated to the impact of the music being played on them and others around them. Oftentimes, people associate the term “groupie” with a person who pimps themself out to a band just so they can be around/with famous people. Many times in history, groupies have been known to have sex with the band members. Being that the groupies and the band members are together all the time, I don’t see it as being odd or as a sole directive of wanting to be famous. Any other humans would likely get closer connections with one another if they were together all the time. You also have to take into account what the morals and beliefs are of each individual groupie or each individual band member.

Me: You have referenced the term “Band-aid” to describe yourself. Would you use the two terms “Band-aid” and “groupie” synonymously or do they mean something different? If so, what?

Megan: Unfortunately, society does place a negative connotation on the term “groupie,” and most people recognize it in that light. I prefer to use the term “band-aid,” which is the same thing as a groupie, in my opinion, but without the societally-assumed promiscuity. The thing that is misconstrued in society or to anyone outside the music scene is that the purpose of all these terms are just to tell other people what you’re passionate about. The definition of a band-aid is the same definition that I gave for a groupie, which is someone who loves the music of a particular band so much that they follow them around to multiple shows, often spanning the country or even the world. It’s a person who is dedicated to the impact that the music being played has on them and others around them.

Me: As a creator of these incredible garments, do you believe this particular style of dressing will live on for another 50 years because of such designers like yourself who preserve the fashion of the past and modernize it so perfectly?

Megan: I think that a fashion expression this impactful, one that has defined generations of people, will continue to live on. I think that as our world advances and becomes a more complex place, there will be many more times in history when the individual will want to rebel against societal norms or show themselves as thinking separately from a government-organized groupthink. I think the 60s and 70s styles will still be alive and loved, even 50 years from now, by those who truly embrace its history. When I make my items, I always have inspiration from these eventful decades to help further my expression behind my apparel creations.

Me: In your opinion, do you believe that the groupies of the 60’s and 70’s created a new category of fashion?

Megan: In the 60s and 70s, there were so many unique fashion styles that were born! Most of this creative explosion came from the desire of people to want to break free from the conformity around them at the time. I think the whole fashion movement of that time is the greatest fashion era of all time. Expectations and rules of what one “should” wear were shattered, and people felt free to express themselves through their wardrobe, as with any other outlet. I think that it was more of a societal shift and enlightenment of available freedom that created the 60s and 70s fashion change, but the groupies of the time influenced and pushed the bounds of the styles even further. I think that many bands took wardrobe inspiration from their close groupie friends who tended to dress as uniquely as they pleased!

Along with interviewing these influential women, I have also reached out to male artists and musicians for a quote. These are their interviews:

Nikki Sixx (Motley Crue): “No comment”

Billy Idol: “No comment”

Johnny Depp: “No comment”

Although this could be pure coincidence that these gentlemen had no comment, or it could just be that they were busy as they are extremely successful and famous, it could also be that they might be ashamed of their views on these women. I was also able to speak with Pamela Des Barres who initially agreed to an interview and was very kind and supported this research; however, our conflicting schedules prevented this because she is on a writing deadline of her own at the moment. I also had the extraordinary privilege of meeting and corresponding with both musician and rock and roll trailblazer Cherrie Currie and actress and musician Fairuza Bulk. While both supported this research and did speak with me regarding this topic, they asked respectfully not to be quoted in this essay for various reasons.

I suppose you could say that through the process of researching and getting to know these women, I have become a groupie of the groupies. I am now able to define a groupie in my own way. A groupie to me is as follows: A woman so mesmerized by the music that shapes our world both on and off stage, she is willing to do anything to be a part of it. A woman with such an incredible inner light, stars and people can’t help but want to be around them. They are the women who let the sounds of the Beatles and David Bowie lead their lives. They are born to the music with glitter in their hair.

I would like to thank world famous groupies, artists, and authors Cherry Vanilla, Pamela Des Barres, entrepreneur Megan with Thunderstomp Threadz, and my modern day groupie and friend for all of their help with this project and allowing me the privilege of interviewing them. I would also like to thank the following for acknowledging my interview requests and responding respectfully, Nikki Sixx (Motley Crue), Billy Idol, Johnny Depp, and Cameron Crowe. Below, you can find the links to Cherry Vanilla and Pamela Des Barres’ books, as well as the article “The Groupie Myth: How Teens Are Exploited Both On The Road And Online” by Rae Alexandra and Thunderstomp Threadz shops.

Check this out! https://a.co/d/gBOTubd

Check this out! https://a.co/d/14yWzmr

https://thunderstompthreadz.com/

https://www.kqed.org/pop/61190/the-groupie-myth-how-teens-are-exploited-both-on-the-road-and-online

The Night Kyle Died

By MJ Mata

I: The Death

I sat in my car down the street from Kyle’s apartment. The time was 10:45 pm. He was the closing cook at his job tonight, Pizza Pizza. The restaurant closed at 10. Usually takes him about 30 minutes or so to close up and about 20 minutes to get home. He should be arriving at any moment.

I pulled out my phone and checked for any messages from him. There were none. Kyle was upset with me. So, to avoid any further conflict, he usually distances himself. Oh, Kyle. I knew you too well. And that was the dangerous part: When you know everything about a person, you can predict their movements, reactions, feelings, and even feel their pain.

I knew Kyle would get home, do a quick workout in his living room, shower, turn on the TV for background noise, write in his journal, and then go to sleep. Sadly, tomorrow he won’t wake up and repeat his daily routine. In fact, when he closes his eyes tonight, they won’t open again.

I knew better than to cry right now. Though I felt a dry lump in my throat, I took deep breaths to keep the tears from coming. I had planned everything out. There was no room for failure. The only way I would fail is if I gave in to my emotions and stopped myself from doing any of this. No. That wasn’t an option.

As far as the world was concerned, Kyle would commit suicide tonight. From the way I planned everything, that’s exactly what they’ll believe. I pulled my knife out and inspected it. It was a buck knife. Buck 120 to be exact. You know, the kind the killer uses from the movie Scream. I only wished this were a movie. Then maybe there would be a happy ending for everyone. We could all go about our lives doing awesome, life-changing things. Sadly, that’s not reality. Kyle had no happy ending. And I wasn’t talking about killing him, I was talking about the life he’s forced to live. I couldn’t go another day seeing him suffer that way.

I put my finger on the tip of the knife and twirled it. I closed my eyes as flashbacks from the day I first met Kyle began rushing in. The mystery. The innocence. The beauty. It was all so alluring. It was hard to not fall in love with him. I tried. I tried not caring and being the most supportive person by his side. But the way Kyle viewed life with such hate, resentment, and bitterness… It killed me inside. His pain became my pain.

I go back to the night where I originally got this madness of an idea. Kyle was a big horror movie buff. We had movie marathons ranging from the classics like Scream, Friday the 13^th, Nightmare on Elm Street, Hellraiser, and so on. He loved to geek out and point out his favorite kills, favorite characters, and even movie trivia. I was never as big of a fan of horror movies the way he was. But the way Kyle got lost in talking about them: the motives, creativity, overall messages—it was all so fascinating. And I loved spending every minute of it with him.

That night, we were watching a movie called Sorority Row, which is about a group of sorority sisters that accidentally cause the death of one of their own. They cover it up, move on, and get targeted by a killer one year later. The killer turned out to be one of the sorority sister’s boyfriend that wanted to kill everyone who knew the secret so that she can finally live in peace. “He should’ve killed Cassidy too,” said Kyle.

“What?” I snapped. “No, he loved her. He did all that so she could finally live happy.”

Kyle chuckled. Even when he wasn’t trying to be attractive, I couldn’t help but stare at him. That little dimple that appeared on only his left cheek, and how his lips would curl in slightly as he smiled. “No, no. See, Cassidy wasn’t living with the fear of the secret. She was living with the guilt of killing their sister. Even after the events of the movie, do you really think she would have lived a happy life knowing all the damage was done because of something she took part in?”

He had a point. But I wasn’t giving up. “So, you’re saying the killer should have killed Cassidy, and by doing so, he would have put a stop to her suffering of living in guilt?”

“Bingo. Now that’s true love right there. He would’ve really put a stop to her suffering.”

“Is that what you would’ve done?”

His smile slowly faded. “I don’t think I would’ve made it as far as she did. If I was living in misery the way Cassidy was, I think I might have taken my own life way before her boyfriend started killing.”

I thought for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”

He turned to me with an eyebrow raised. “You know you can just ask, right? No need to ask a question just to ask another question.”

Obviously. But it wasn’t an easy question. “Have you ever thought of… killing yourself? You know, with everything you’ve been through?”

He made a face and took a deep breath. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t. Honestly, I carve my arms open more often than I should. Except, I’m too chicken to do it somewhere where I know I can actually end it.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant. As if he knew I was confused, he lifted the sleeve of his shirt, exposing his left upper arm. There I saw scars of several slits in different directions. “You did this to yourself?” Rhetorical question, though it was more of a statement.

He didn’t meet my eyes, just looked straight ahead. “I have. Life gets a little too hard that sometimes I wish I had the balls to just end it. But then I find myself finding reasons to go on. So, I do.”

While twirling the knife, I somehow managed to cut the tip of my finger. The burning sensation of the blade slicing my skin was adrenaline-inducing. I was really going through with this. I’ve never killed anyone. Never needed to. I knew I wasn’t some cold-blooded monster. Deep down, I knew I was doing the right thing. I was going to end Kyle’s suffering. I was going to make sure he stopped looking for reasons to continue living this way. Because, as he said it himself, “He would’ve really put a stop to her suffering.”

I held up my finger in front of me and watched the blood slowly trickle down to my palm. The flashbacks kept coming: The first date I took Kyle on, our first kiss, the day he opened up to me about his felony charges, the first time I slept with him. I will cherish every single moment I got to be in Kyle’s presence. I hope once he’s gone and he looks down on me from above, he’ll understand why I did it. And hopefully, he can forgive me.

Why was everyone always so obsessed with your background? Your past? Why do they care? Colleges and universities care. They care about your grades, what high school you attended, what activities you were involved in, if you were a delinquent. They care. Jobs care. They look up what experience you may or may not have, how you present yourself, how you talk, your criminal record—some jobs even look up your social media pages to see what kind of person you really are. Nowadays, your life is all online. And once something is online, it’s there forever. That picture you uploaded, the article you wrote, a post that mentions you. All of it. And do you want to know the scary part? It doesn’t go away. Even scarier, anyone and everyone can access it. They don’t need permission.

Don’t get me wrong, I know I am doing him a favor. Kyle is not happy. This way, he no longer suffers. Not physically, but worse—emotionally. I saw Kyle for what he really was: a sweetheart. The kindest soul with goals and ambitions that were all ripped away from him because of one idiotic mistake. Wait, what? A mistake? Humans don’t make those. Humans are supposed to be perfect. We follow all rules and laws and fully abide by our standard demands of a civilized society. Ha! I know—it’s all bullshit.

Well, thanks to me, Kyle no longer had to go through any of that. Kyle will be free. Sure, the price of that freedom was death. The guilt of me killing him will probably be very present in my conscious mind so long as I am alive. But believe it or not, I know I will sleep good knowing I put an end to Kyle’s suffering. I will miss him, though. I will miss him each and every time I close my eyes.

Imagine this: you see a dog on the side of the road that was screaming out in pain from the aftermath of being hit by a car. Not just a little hit, we’re talking disgusting, messy roadkill. But somehow this dog was still holding on to life even though there was nothing to live for. Wouldn’t you put it out of its misery, too?

I got lost in my thoughts for a moment, and I didn’t realize I had put my bloody finger in my mouth. The metallic taste of blood had always been disgusting. Eating a bloody steak one night was the reason I went vegan. Though the blood tasted gross, I sucked on my finger for a bit more to get the blood to stop flowing. Didn’t want to leave my DNA anywhere.

I saw headlights coming up the street. Kyle. I looked at the clock, which read 10:51 pm. My heart began racing. It was loud. I could somehow hear it in my ears. I rolled down the window and let the outside breeze hit my face. Didn’t need to get sick, which tends to happen when I get really nervous. I watched as Kyle’s car pulled in and parked in its usual spot. I watched him get down and head towards his apartment.

I took a deep breath and pulled out a white mask from my bag. Not an original design or anything. I had seen a mask like this on the news a few nights ago. I had even put duct tape over the mouth area like that one had. If I saw someone coming at me wearing this mask, I’d probably shit myself. Hopefully, Kyle doesn’t. Hopefully, he doesn’t fight back either. I had muscle, but Kyle was twice my size.

I allowed time to pass. The clock now read 11:25 pm. He should be done with his workout by now. I got out of my car and pulled out my phone. I just needed to have one more conversation with Kyle. I called him, but he didn’t answer. I called again, but still no answer. Voicemail it was.

“Hey, Kyle. It’s me, Ricky. I just wanted to check in. I know you’re still probably upset at me over our heated discussion. I didn’t mean to make you feel any kind of way or anything, I was just trying to be there for you. I just care, you know? I know you’re hurting. I’m hurting too. But…” I had to stop and take a deep breath. I didn’t want to start crying. Not now. I couldn’t keep talking. “… I love you.” And I ended the call. I slipped the mask on and pulled my hood over. It was time. I made my way over to his apartment. I doubt anyone was awake at this hour. The outside lights were extremely dim. It was dark. It was quiet. The only sound I heard was my heavy breathing and the dirt crunching underneath my shoes.

I arrived outside his bedroom window, which had the lights on and blinds open. I slowed my breathing to listen. He was listening to my voicemail on speaker. After it ended, everything went quiet. I felt a soft vibration coming from my phone. I looked at it and saw I had a new text from Kyle: I love you too.

I tried not to cry, but a tear managed to escape and roll down my cheek. I turned my phone off and proceeded with my plan. I crouched low underneath his window and flicked a small rock at it. I waited a few moments before flicking another. I heard the window slide open. I looked up and saw Kyle flashing a light out the window with his phone. Not that the light made much of a difference. Kyle didn’t have a smartphone. He wasn’t allowed to. He used a flip phone that hardly illuminated anything at all.

“Hello?” he called out. Now was my chance. I grabbed his arm with one hand and quickly sliced open his wrist with my knife on the other. He dropped his phone and screamed out in pain. Holding his arm above my face caused his blood to drip and run down my mask. I let go of him and quickly grabbed his phone. I stood up in front of the open window and saw Kyle looking back at me.

His beautiful brown eyes opened wide with fear as he held his bleeding wrist closely to his side. I held up his flip phone in front of me and folded it backwards, breaking it in half. Kyle stumbled backwards, left his room, and shut the door. I saw the door move with sudden thuds. He must’ve been putting furniture or something against the door to keep me from going in. Silly, Kyle. I don’t need to break in when I have a copy of the key to your front door. A key you gave me.

I picked up his broken phone before looking around. The night outside felt still. All I could hear was my heavy breathing and the wind rustling the leaves in the trees. No one around had their porch light on either, so that made for an even more unsettling feeling. I was the one literally about to kill Kyle, yet I felt like someone else was about to come out and attack me. My paranoia was taking over, I know. I had to focus.

I made my way to the front door and paused to listen. From the other side, I could hear running water. I quietly inserted my key into the lock and turned it. The latch unlocked, and I was good to go in. I slowly opened the door, careful not to make any extra noise. When inside, I quietly closed the door behind me. I stayed close to the wall and walked past the living room. Once I reached the hall, I tilted my head to see the bathroom door open and Kyle washing his wrist. He was whimpering. I felt guilt, sadness, hate. Several mixed emotions danced in my mind. I wanted to stop this. I wanted nothing more than to take off my mask, go to his side, hold him, and reassure him that everything was going to be okay. But I knew better. Things were not okay, and they were never going to be.

Kyle’s death had to be set up to look like a suicide. I couldn’t do much more damage to him. I wasn’t sure how deep my first cut was. Maybe it wasn’t enough for him to bleed out. I had to either stall for time or slice open his other wrist. I looked around for some kind of diversion, a distraction to keep him from tending to his wound. I quietly walked over to his stereo. It was already on, just paused. I turned up the volume and hit PLAY.

Music blasts through the speakers. Some hip-hop song played that I didn’t recognize. I made my way into the kitchen, which was opposite of the bathroom Kyle was in. I crouched behind the counter and waited. I peeked my head out slowly. After a few beats, I saw Kyle slowly make his way into the living room. He looked around, still holding onto his bleeding wrist. Blood was dripping onto the carpet. Looking at Kyle’s pale face, I saw fear. My heart broke even more. I wondered what was running through his mind. Part of me wondered if he knew it was me. He had no way of knowing unless he took my mask off, but I still wondered.

Suddenly, Kyle was on the move. He turned up the volume to its max setting and ran out the front door. From the look on his face, I was sure he was ready to collapse. But no. Kyle still had some fight left in him. Though his life was miserable, I knew he didn’t want to die. I could stop this. I could escape from his apartment somehow. Burn the clothes I was wearing. Arrive just in time to take him to the hospital so his wrist could be stitched, and he could live to see another day. But another day of what? Sadness? Repeating the same day over and over, knowing his situation wouldn’t get better, isn’t a life worth living.

I looked at the pool of blood he had left on the carpet as I made my way to the front door. I heard Kyle screaming out for help and making some banging noises. He was trying to wake up his neighbors. That’s why he turned the music up. However, it wouldn’t do him any good. In this neighborhood, these apartments specifically, were where many felons on probation lived. Like Kyle, they had curfews and couldn’t leave or allow anyone in their homes after 9. Some even after 6. It was my assumption that none of his neighbors wanted to get involved either. If a felon calls 911 for any reason, they have to then immediately call their probation officer as to why they did so, file a report, and a lot of pointless shenanigans that I was almost positive none of them wanted to get involved in. I saw Kyle banging on the front door of an apartment across the patio. The light above the front door turned on, and someone opened their blinds from the other side.

“Help me!” pleaded Kyle as he then began pounding on the window, leaving bloody prints with each stroke. I slowly walked up to him. The neighbor behind the window saw me approaching and immediately closed his blinds again. Then, the lights went off again. “No!” shouted Kyle. “You have to help me! Please let me in!”

I knew they wouldn’t. None of his neighbors would. They wouldn’t risk violating their rules of probation for another probationer. Kyle began sobbing loudly as he turned to me. “What do you want!?”

I didn’t answer. I simply kept getting closer. Through the darkness, I could see Kyle was moments away from passing out. Being as scared as he was, losing the amount of blood he has—it was only a matter of time before he overwhelmed himself. He looked down at his ankle bracelet, and he began running towards the street. His run quickly turned into a crawl as he collapsed on the gravel. I heard him whisper something through his sobs. It didn’t matter what it was. I couldn’t stop now. There was no going back.

“Ricky…” he cried. I instantly froze. Did he know it was me? How? Did he recognize my car parked out in the distance? It took every ounce of restraint I had to stop myself from crying. From going to him, to hold him, to caress him. To save him. But I couldn’t. That was no longer an option.

Suddenly, Kyle’s ankle bracelet began flashing red. He was trying to get the police’s attention. His GPS monitor sent a signal to the authorities if it was outside of his residence for more than one minute. Smart, I’ll give him that. But it was too late. I grabbed one of his ankles and began dragging him back into his apartment. As I dragged him, I noticed the bloodbath. I had some serious cleaning to do if I wanted to stage this as a suicide.

Kyle was no longer fighting. No more struggle. He was getting weaker. My face was soaked behind the mask from the tears I kept shedding. And sweat. God, was I sweating. I felt myself going numb. Going through the motions without thinking. I knew I would forever live with the guilt of killing the man I loved. But I knew that what I was doing for Kyle was better than him having to live through this hell.

Once inside, I continued pulling Kyle from his ankle. I shut the door behind me and dragged him as I made my way into his bedroom. I shut off the music, and everything went quiet. It felt as if time stood still. I looked down at Kyle and saw his chest still moving. He was barely alive. I passed a blood-covered sink on my way to his room. I nearly collapsed from the overwhelming emotions, but managed to take deep breaths and continue. I moved the few pieces of furniture he had placed in front of his door. I was able to lift Kyle up and lay him down on his bed. His body was limp. I knew he was almost gone. Seeing the endless stream of blood emanating from his slit made me realize just how deep it was.

I pulled out my knife and placed it in his bloody hand. I squeezed his hand and guided it to slit his other wrist. Now his fingerprints were on the knife. I let go of his hand, and he let go of the knife. It fell to the floor, and I had no intentions of retrieving it. Wherever it landed is where the police will find it. I kneeled beside his bed and closed my eyes. I took a few deep breaths before opening my eyes again.

When I opened them, I saw Kyle staring at his ceiling. He was still. He was gone. I took my mask off and began balling. I didn’t care if anyone could hear me. Yes, I planned this out, and I carried out this ordeal to the very end. But I regretted it. Pathetic to every serial killer out there, I know. But I couldn’t help it. I had a heart. I loved Kyle and wish that things were different.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I kissed his bloody hand. I stood up and hugged his lifeless body. I wanted so badly for him to hold me back, and it destroyed me knowing he never would. I kissed his cheek, kissed his forehead. “I’m so sorry.” I combed my fingers through his hair, bringing down his bangs in a way he would usually wear them. I looked at him one last time before closing my eyes. Without thinking, I cried myself to sleep at his side. I had a few things I knew I needed to clean up to leave no evidence behind. But right now, all I wanted to do was be with Kyle. Just one last time.

II: The Past

The first time I saw Kyle, he was breathtaking. I thought to myself, why isn’t he a model? That tan skin, broad shoulders, chiseled hair, endless beauty marks that I wanted to play connect the dots with, and black eyes would have photographers snapping photos from every direction. He would definitely be an opening or closing walker on the runway.

One day, I had gone to eat at Pizza Pizza with a few friends. After we placed our order and sat down at one of the booths, I saw Kyle for the first time. He had entered the restaurant, body covered in sweat, no shirt—just cargo shorts and a backpack. He went straight to the bathroom. My friend Celeste whistled as he walked by. A few minutes later, he walked out of the bathroom wearing a staff shirt for the restaurant. He worked there.

After we paid for our meals, I purposely left my credit card on the counter. It was a perfect excuse to go back to the restaurant. I waited a few hours before returning; I didn’t want to come off as desperate or anything. I remember entering the restaurant later that night and seeing Kyle speaking to two officers. After an exchange of a few words, the two officers left the restaurant, but Kyle stayed where he was. He looked down at the floor with a bitter look on his face. He hadn’t noticed me standing close by until he turned and saw me leaning by the counter.

He opened his mouth and then closed it. Whatever he was going to say, he took it back. “Have you been helped yet?”

“Not yet,” I said coolly. “I saw you were busy. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Kyle pursed his lips together. “Thanks. They’re not supposed to do that inside the building.”

“Do what?”

Kyle’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, how can I help you?”

I was clearly overstepping. I didn’t know him, and he didn’t know me. He had no reason to talk to me about anything. “I was actually here earlier with some friends, and I think I left my card here.”

“Oh.” He walked past me over to the register. “Name?”

“Ricardo Garcia. But you can call me Ricky.”

Kyle looked through some stuff inside the register before pulling out my card. He handed it to me and shut the register. “Anything else?”

Your number, I thought to myself. But I knew I was already coming off too strong. Didn’t want to scare him away. Maybe some small talk? “You ever think of modeling?”

My question took him by surprise. “Excuse me?”

“You know, modeling? Posing for photographers, walking runways?”

He chuckled, “I know what modeling is. I just don’t get why you would ask me that.”

I smiled. “Because I work in the industry. Me and the folks I came with earlier. Just thought you would be a good fit. You definitely have the look.”

“Thanks…” he trailed off. “But no thanks. I have to get back to work.”

I looked around. “Do you? I’m literally the only customer in here.”

He stared at me for a few seconds. “I’m sorry, and I don’t mean to be rude, but what do you want exactly?”

“To be completely honest, I would like to get to know you.”

Kyle paused. “Why?”

“Because…” He was making this difficult. People do this all day online; they send a random message, and they start engaging from there. The conversations happen naturally. It was a completely different ball game doing it in person. It felt like if this was an online interaction, he would’ve left my message on READ and never reply. “… Know what? It’s cool. I get it. Thank you for my card.”

I turned towards the exit when he stopped me. “Wait.”

My heart skipped a beat. I turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “Waiting.”

He breathed a smile. “Sorry, I’m not sure if you were flirting with me or not. To be honest, I don’t really get many interactions like this anymore. So, now that it’s happening… it actually scares me a bit.”

Now I was intrigued. “And what about it scares you?”

He stared into my eyes, and I stared into his. “You really want to know?”

Of course, I did! But I didn’t want to come off as a creep or anything. I had to play it off a little cool, right? Be a little mysterious. “Tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine.”

We exchanged numbers and agreed to meet the next day at some food shop on the outskirts of town. Which was good for me because the less people there were, the better. The Salt Shack was a small family-owned food hall. There were several cafés inside that sold drinks and snacks. We sat in one of the sections farthest from the shops—you know, a little privacy.

Time flew by with Kyle. Talking to him was way too easy. It was fascinating to hear the life of someone completely different than mine. Kyle was 24 years old and moved to New Mexico when he was 9. His favorite color was platinum—a little weird, but I didn’t question it. He did cheerleading most of his life, starting off in high school and moving up to all-star cheerleading for college. Works at Pizza Pizza full-time, drives a Honda Civic, loves horror movies, Nintendo games… basically, Kyle was everything I wished I was. His lifestyle was so carefree and relaxed. He didn’t commit himself to the high-standard obligations of the modern society like I did. Truth be told: I was jealous.

But throughout the entire conversation, there was one thing he hadn’t brought up, and the curiosity was eating at me. “So,” I began awkwardly. How was I supposed to bring it up? Oh, hey. I saw a probation officer speaking to you yesterday. What was all that about? If only it were that easy. I was barely getting to know him; I doubt that he would want to share that part about his life this early.

He sipped a long drink of the chocolate-swirled shake he had ordered and eyed me suspiciously. “So…?”

I chuckled awkwardly. “Umm, not my business whatsoever. But what was up with that probation officer you were speaking to yesterday?”

“Oh.” His tone changed. I knew he probably didn’t want to talk about that. But could you blame me? I wanted to know. He swirled the straw in his drink with an expression that I took as contemplating what to say in response to my awkward question.

“I completely understand if you wish not to talk about it. Don’t want to make this night weird or anything.”

He threw me a soft smile. “That’s sweet of you, Ricky. And honestly, I am happy that you actually asked me about it instead of looking it up online. Google can tell you some pretty shitty stuff about someone if you know where to look.” I didn’t answer, I just stared down at his drink. There was an awkward silence that made me feel guilty for asking. But before long, he kept talking. “I’ll tell you everything. I have nothing to hide. Not that I could hide it if I tried.” He scoffed sarcastically and shook his head.

“I’m not one to judge,” I reassured him.

He breathed a little heavier than necessary and twisted his jaw from side to side. “It was four years ago. I was working for New Mexico Athletics and got a job coaching cheerleading at Arid Vista. Well, to make a long story short, I got involved with one of my girls. I knew it was wrong, and I definitely should’ve known better. Her name was Molly. It was innocent at first, but we started to get intimate. Looking back at it, I should have listened to the warnings my friends and colleagues gave me. But I didn’t. I thought to myself, I’m not hurting her, you know? I’m not making her do anything she didn’t want to. I’m not taking advantage. Shit, I even met her parents. They loved me. Well, her dad did. He knew I wasn’t going to hurt their daughter. There was an age gap, yes. I was 20 and she was 15.

“Things were going okay for a bit, but then the police got involved. Detectives went to Arid Vista and talked to her. I heard the recording that my lawyer had shown me; she had nothing bad to say. They kept asking her if we had done anything sexual. She didn’t want to answer their questions, but they finally got it out of her. Coerced her. I could hear it in her voice. She was so scared and kept asking what was going to happen to me. When they took me into questioning, I had no idea of what they knew or what she had told them. I denied everything at first. I made the stupid choice of talking to them without a lawyer present. Worst mistake of my life. But I was so… naive. I thought I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Then they came at me with very descriptive details about our first kiss, and I knew I was in some deep shit.” He looked up at me and laughed shakily. “I’m sorry, I said this was going to be short.”

“No, no,” I assured him. “You’re fine.”

He smiled but didn’t make eye contact. “Well, at that moment, I knew there was no point in trying to hide anything. I believed that saying, ‘The Truth Will Set You Free.’ Which, by the way, is complete bullshit because that’s the reason I got arrested and charged. They had no other evidence about it, and it was my own word that gave them enough to cuff me. During the court hearing, Molly’s dad even spoke up to the judge and said the cash bond for me was too excessive and asked for it to be reduced. He knew I wasn’t a monster.

“The news spread like wildfire. Needless to say, I was fired from coaching. My face was all over the news. I was all people were talking about. You know what the shittiest part of it all was?” It was all shitty to me. But I think that was a rhetorical question on his part. “All of my so-called friends abandoned me. They stopped talking to me, even though they knew the whole time that Molly and I were together. It wasn’t a big deal for them back then, but suddenly being arrested changed their opinions about me. Didn’t return my calls or texts. I had no one. I had my mom, sure, but I broke her heart. Seeing her little boy go to jail was just devastating.

“Flash forward to present day, four years later, and I enter probation. The rules and restrictions are beyond extreme. I don’t wish this on my worst enemy. Let’s see… no smartphone, no social media, no pornography, no R-rated movies that involve nudity, must be home by 9 unless I’m at work, no alcohol or drugs, random drug testing, random home visits, random work visits. Can’t go to a park, the mall, public school, community centers, theaters, nor can I leave the county. Oh, and I have to wear an ankle monitor. Like that’s not embarrassing.”

I took in every word he said. Sure, he should’ve known better than to get involved with someone younger, but I didn’t believe that it was something that should destroy his life. Sure, he could’ve gotten a warning or something, but all this seemed too extreme. Especially when Molly’s dad was on his side. “What did your lawyer say?”

He scoffed sarcastically. “My lawyer was awesome. Did so much. He conducted so many interviews and even got the district attorney to see what this really was. Everyone was on my side, and they didn’t want to see my life thrown away for one mistake. But the judge thought otherwise. She wanted to see me go to prison. Made it seem like I was the worst thing that ever happened. Honestly, Ricky, the system is so messed up when it comes to sexual charges. It’s easy for the media to target sex offenders or people with sexual charges without knowing the full story. People think of sex offenders and automatically think of some perv hiding in the bushes preying on little kids. It’s ridiculous.

“There was one reporter, Tasha Stone, that kept bringing up my story every chance she could. Did live reports outside my house, harassed my family asking nasty questions about me that weren’t even true. Slander at its finest. Fun Fact: If I would’ve killed someone, the sentencing would’ve been less harsh. That’s how fucked the system is. Murderers don’t have a registry. In some states, they have to put a sign in their front lawn that reads ‘a Sex Offender Lives Here.’ Apparently, society thinks that living next door to drug dealers, murderers, thieves, and all the other evils is safer than someone who committed a sex crime.”

Things went silent after that. I knew that I couldn’t offer any type of resolution to his troubles except to just be there for him. To see him for what he was, not for what he’s done. And he was right: Society does like to target people like him. The whole situation was sad. I tried making eye contact with him, but he kept his eyes down. I hesitantly reached for his hand and squeezed it. He squeezed back.

“Hey,” I tried. He looked up. He was trying his best to hold back tears, but they managed to escape, running down his cheeks. “I am so sorry you have to go through this. I know me saying sorry doesn’t fix anything. But if it’s any consolation, I don’t care. Our pasts don’t define us. They shape us, sure. But it’s not who we are.”

He smiled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for our first date to get emotional like this.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” We changed the subject and began talking about everything else. I loved hearing his stories. In comparison, my upbringing was dull. Kyle was full of experiences. He got to travel all around the states for cheerleading, got to be an extra for some TV show, managed to be a background dancer in a music video—he’s lived. What have I done? Sure, I model. But that was it.

Time had escaped from us faster than we would have liked. Kyle had curfew and had to be in his residence by nine o’clock. He walked me to my car and gave me an awkward fist bump as a goodbye. Explained that it wasn’t personal; he just wasn’t an affectionate person, so hugs and close contact were out of the question. Said things like that made him uncomfortable, especially in public settings. But before I could turn away, he leaned in, and we engaged in a quick kiss. “No homo,” he joked. “But I have been wanting to do that all night.”

III: The Fight

For modeling shows, we sometimes don’t have enough models to walk the show. When that happens, we get literally anyone to jump in and help out. Kyle was at the show that night. And I asked him if he would want to walk. He had agreed and was so excited to do so. I unknowingly set off the worst sequence of events.

Kyle walked the fashion show. The designer and management team loved his look instantly. I knew they would. He fit in perfectly with everyone else. He walked down that runway as if he had been modeling his entire life. As I saw him walk from backstage, the look on his face was fierce and confident. Even when he reached the end of the runway and posed for the photographer, he gave it his all. Fearless. Strong.

The shit-show started after the fashion show had ended. I was in the back with Kyle and the other models. We were conversing about the show and other small talk. Everything was fine. Or so I thought. I heard commotion coming from a few feet away. I turned and saw some lady yelling at Tom, our creative director. Wouldn’t be the first time I saw someone yelling at Tom. But what had me nervous was that she was pointing in our direction.

Before long, the lady stormed towards us and began yelling at Kyle. “You have some nerve being here!”

I looked over at Kyle and he looked terrified. He didn’t say anything back, just looked around at us and then back at the lady.

“No one wants to see some pervert up on that stage, nor do they want to see you walking the streets after what you did!” It was at that moment I knew what she was talking about. But why? Why was this being brought up here?

At a distance, I saw a girl with auburn hair covering her face with both her hands. I didn’t need to see her face to know who she was. Molly. His Molly. “Mom!” she cried out. “Stop it! Let’s just go!”

Tom made his way towards us. He was sweating. Looked anxious. “Look, there’s no easy way to ask this. Um, Kyle?” Kyle looked at him but didn’t respond.

“Were you… arrested before? Something about being involved with some underage girl. Are you like a felon or something?”

I wanted to die of embarrassment for Kyle. I wanted to believe that this wasn’t really happening. That I was dreaming. About to wake up like one of those falling dreams when you wake up with a jolt. But no. Poor Kyle.

“I…” tried Kyle. “I can explain that.”

“Oh, just Google him!” chimed in the lady. “You’ll see his mugshot.”

Tom looked like he was getting angry, but not with the lady. At Kyle. “I’ll make this easy. Kyle, this is your first and last show here. You understand?”

“What!?” I snapped. “Why? What does any of that have to do with the show tonight?”

Tom ignored me. “I’m going to need you to leave the premises.” I couldn’t believe it. Why was this happening? Kyle’s charges happened years ago, and they didn’t have anything to do with tonight’s show. I wanted to help Kyle. To let him know that everything was going to be okay, not to let this situation get to him. But I glanced at Kyle and saw a look. A look on his face that can only be described as broken. The Kyle that walked the show a few minutes ago was gone. The fire I had seen in his eyes was gone. Kyle said nothing to anyone as he walked towards the exit.

Molly’s mom continued. “You’re supposed to take the trash out, not bring it back in!” I wanted to backhand her so badly. Make her feel the same type of hurt that she made Kyle feel. No, even worse. I had never wanted someone dead so badly until that moment. This woman had no intention other than to make Kyle feel like shit. If she had that much of an issue, she could’ve handled it properly—like an adult.

I had to do something. “Tom, what the hell?”

“Ricky, don’t,” he warned. “We have an angry client that is threatening to pull their contract because of him. The face of Avant-Garde doesn’t look too good when we have a felon walking in their show. They are embarrassed. Now, unless you want your contract terminated with Avant-Garde, I suggest you back off.”

I did my best to swallow the dry lump that was caught in my throat. I wanted to cry. I felt myself shaking from the anger. Tom turned away and headed backstage. I didn’t even want to face my friends. I hadn’t told any of them about Kyle’s background. Nothing else I could do to fix the sudden mess Molly’s mother made. I had to find Kyle. I walked outside to look for him. I scanned the crowd of people and saw him walking a distance away. “Kyle!” I shouted. Not sure if he heard me or not, but he kept walking at the same fast pace. I started to run after him.

“Kyle!” I tried again. I caught up to him eventually and grabbed his arm. “Kyle, stop. Please. Talk to me.”

Kyle yanked his arm away and turned to me. His cheeks were covered in tears, eyes red, and bottom lip trembling. I waited for him to speak because I honestly didn’t know what to say. What could I say? Sorry? Not to listen to that bitch? Nothing I would say would change what just happened. I couldn’t help but feel responsible for tonight’s events. Had I not invited Kyle to the show, that woman would have never lashed out and caused a scene. Kyle wouldn’t be feeling this way. I couldn’t fix things, but I had to try.

Kyle shook his head and began turning away. I grabbed his arm again, and he yanked it away with a bit more force. “What, Ricky? What?!”

“I…” I tried. “Please don’t go.”

“Go?” he replied with a sarcastic tone. “So, I should just stay, right? Put myself out there only to be humiliated by people like that. Yeah, Ricky. That sounds like an awesome idea.”

I tried to keep my tone calm. Maybe it would level Kyle out, and we could talk about this calmly. “Don’t think like that. You’re better than that. Better than her. Look, I know what it feels like to—”

“No!” he interrupted. “No! You don’t get to say that! You don’t know what it feels like! You haven’t the slightest idea what it feels like to go through this!”

Stay calm, I thought. I was trying to de-escalate the situation, not make it worse. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t have any idea what you must be feeling. And I know that I can’t do anything to change what’s happened, but I…” I trailed off.

Kyle shut his eyes and pressed his fingers to his temples on the side of his head. He was getting angrier. “Shut up, please. Shut up. Shut up! SHUT UP!” He was scaring me. I had never seen Kyle this angry. I knew he was broken because of everything he’s been through, but I convinced myself that I was going to be the one to fix him. To put his life back together. Seems like I just did the opposite. I did as he said, I shut my mouth. I waited for him to continue.

“I can’t do this, Ricky. I’m sorry, I tried. There will always be people like that woman out there waiting for me to show my face so they can bring me down. So they can remind me of what happened. So they can continue to make me feel like I’m some kind of monster when all I’m trying to do is move on with my life.

“But that’s the thing—I can’t! They won’t let me! They need to be reminded of it again, and again, and again, and again! There will always be people like her out there! This is my life now, Ricky! You don’t know how embarrassing that was for me! You have no idea what it feels like to have people treat you this way! You have no idea the shame I feel having to explain my charges to people I meet, places I apply at, places I intend to go—It never ends!”

People around us had stopped walking to listen to the argument. I didn’t break my gaze from Kyle. He was right, I would never truly understand. But he must know that I care for him enough to see past all that, right? Why else would we continue to see each other? I took a deep breath and tried my best to not upset him further. “You’re not a monster.”

“You’re right! You’re fucking right! You know who the real monsters are? The ones without labels. With the clean background on paper. The ones people are supposed to feel safe around. The ones people are made to believe are the good guys. But those, those are the real monsters. But not that the public will ever see! Who are they going to believe, a felon or anyone else? People will always believe that just because I’m a felon, I’m always going to be the bad guy.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but he continued. “Eric Garcia, 28, dated one of Molly’s friends who was also 15 at the time. Literally almost twice her age. But he denied everything, and he walked away a free man. No label. As far as the world is concerned, he’s a saint. Still coaching the dance team at Arid Vista High. Mikey Cortez, 27, assaulted an underage girl after cheer practice. Poor girl ran out screaming and crying, and what did the coach do? Tells her to keep quiet and not make a big deal. Defends Mikey. Same as Eric—a saint all the same. Why do those predators get to walk free when they’re way older than me and are actually preying on the youth, while I’m forced to suffer the power of the court? Have the whole world look at me like I’m the bad guy?”

I didn’t say anything. I could think of a million responses to give that would somehow make him feel better. But I bit my tongue and listened. Kyle wasn’t in a position to be reasoned with. Seemed like he just needed to vent, to be heard. And I was listening. I felt tears roll down my cheeks, but was too stunned to wipe them away.

“Don’t waste your time,” he continued. “Your perfect life is better off without me. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. And believe it or not, I care too much for you to let this ruin your life. Because when you associate with people like me, people talk. People love to talk about other people and pretend that their lives are superior. And you know, maybe they are. But I’m done.”

He turned and walked away. I called out his name a few times, but he didn’t turn around. Kyle had entered my life and exited all in the blink of an eye. I understood the toll that his charges had taken on his life, and I actually believed that I could change it. That I could change Kyle’s mindset, make him see the bigger picture of things. But I was wrong. There is no bigger picture. I couldn’t change what had been done, nor could I change society and how they view others. There was no solution to his problem because he had no control of people. People are the ones that shit on your parade because they can, who think they’re better than you just because they say. Those kinds of people come a dime a dozen.

Then I thought back to the conversation he and I had. About him wanting to end his life from all of this. Was death really the only way to end the pain and suffering? I didn’t want to believe it. I pulled out my phone and typed Kyles name into Google. Countless articles about his case, the charges, news coverage. Then I got curious. I typed in Eric Garcia, who Kyle had mentioned earlier. Pictures of him with his dance team popped up. As did links to his social media accounts. There was a news coverage on him, but it was praising him for winning the dance team nationals last year. Nothing on here about him dating that underage girl. But then again, why would there be? As Kyle said, he denied everything. During Kyle’s questioning, he admitted to everything, thinking the truth would set him free. When in reality, it was his own word that got him locked up.

I typed in Mikey Cortez. Nothing bad either. Just social media pictures of him and his wife. Even a baby. I looked at his picture and felt angry. Why do people like him and Eric get to live out their happy lives when what they did was malicious and worse than what Kyle did? But then again, that’s the thing about the internet. If you’re in control, people will see what you want them to see. If you’re not in control, your dirty laundry is out for everyone to see. Quite sad. You think people should have some say in what gets posted online about them. But that’s the world we live in.

I looked up suicide. Endless pages and links flooded the screen, talking about rising cases, asking for help, causes, and prevention. I clicked a few links, and they shared the same causes: suicide victims having no one to turn to about the countless struggles that come with life. Thinking about it, other than me, Kyle doesn’t have anyone else that he could talk to. But Kyle was too strong to commit suicide. He wasn’t raised to give up. That also meant he probably didn’t know when to give up either. What I saw at the fashion show was just a glimpse of what was unavoidable in Kyle’s future. He would have to face countless people over and over, all the while not being able to defend himself. Well, he could try, but he knew it was pointless to argue.

I loved having Kyle in my life. He was different. He asked what others didn’t and said what others wouldn’t. I was falling more and more in love, but it came at the cost of seeing Kyle suffer. But after thinking about it over and over, I knew that I was the only one that could really help Kyle. I could help him end all of this. He didn’t deserve to have to wake up only to repeat the same day again. He also didn’t deserve to die. But in his own way, he was already dead.