Trashley: Forty-Five

Cuffing Season

After I broke up with Ashley, she did not go off gently into the good night. Instead, she became fixated on winning me back, even though I told her our relationship wasn’t salvageable and that no amount of money, gifts, or future faking would get us back together. I told her repeatedly she wasn’t welcome at my place, which she interpreted as an invitation. 

I watched with dread as her Uber got closer.

Nevertheless, she persisted.

It had been a month since our breakup, and I was still processing everything. Shortly after learning Ashley lied about her grandparents dying and leaving her everything, I discovered she had a long history of catfishing women on dating apps by pretending to be a British man named Duncan. I’d barely wrapped my brain around the catfishing when I went through her things and discovered she was deeply in debt to the IRS, and a variety of creditors despite acting wealthy. Forty-five seconds after I learned she was in financial ruin, I found out she had been leading both me and her wife Cecelia on, acting like we would buy a house together in LA while promising Cecelia she’d move back to Minnesota and get an apartment nearby so they could co-parent the kids.

Once I started talking to Cecelia, I realized everything she warned me about the previous summer was true. That Ashley was lying and that her family would cover for her. WILD. She was not a physicist or professor, never went to MIT, never stepped foot in Boston, didn’t grow up in Pasadena, wasn’t beaten to deaf in one ear, never read books, wasn’t allergic to nuts, wasn’t in Mensa, never owned an apartment in San Francisco, didn’t get kidnapped in Colombia, didn’t make an app Mae Whitman stole from her, wasn’t Israeli, and didn’t travel internationally for work, ever.

Ashley had a serious lying problem. She claimed she only lied to impress me, but even that was a lie. She lied for a living, not just to me but to everyone. And if she really wanted to impress me, all she’d need to do is cut a mango properly.

I also learned that Ashley and her mom had snuck off with Cecelia and Ashley’s Subaru, sold it to CarMax, and drained Ashley and Cecelia’s life savings, all so Ashley could buy a used Tesla to keep up her rich lady persona. I was shocked and disgusted to learn about the financial abuse she inflicted on Cecelia and their children while we dated. I had no idea what was happening behind the scenes. Ashley had love-bombed me hard with jewelry, money, and electronics while leaving Cecelia and the kids four thousand dollars to live off for the entire year while simultaneously not paying the mortgage. 

So. Cruel.

Cecelia and I helped each other navigate the chaos Ashley threw at us as if we were captains of different ships sailing through the same storm, except her boat had children on board. I could’ve walked away from everything but didn’t want to leave Cecelia hanging.  The amount of guilt I felt for my part in this affair was profound. Cecelia assured me that if it wasn’t me, it would have been someone else. I knew I could never make up for the pain, hurt, and trauma Cecelia experienced, but if there was anything I could do to help, I would.

Before Ashley got to my apartment, I went through a list of options for handling the situation. Cecelia had told me the best option was not to let Ashley in; she stressed this, and I wish I had listened. But I’ve been cursed to go through life as a Virgo, and being stubborn has been in the stars for me since the day I was born.

If I had locked Ashley out, I could see her screaming, kicking, and pounding away at my front door until I broke down and let her in, and I didn’t want her to cause a scene in front of my neighbors.  I thought about taking out a restraining order. I had enough evidence to prove Ashley was harassing me, but I didn’t want that to be on her record because I wasn’t looking to completely ruin her life. I thought about calling the cops and having them wait for her at the front door to send her away, like she wasn’t on the list. But as someone who blasted “Fuck Tha Police” while driving in BLM protests, I didn’t want to get law enforcement involved unless it was absolutely necessary. 

So, I left the front door unlocked.

“She’s pulling up,” I texted Cecelia. “I’ll send updates.”

I watched the doorknob to my apartment twist open. It felt like I had swallowed Simone Biles and she was doing a floor routine in my stomach.

Ashley entered, dropped her luggage, and slunk to the floor. I sat across the room from her with Perci by my side.

“Ashley, I need you to leave. You are no longer welcome here,” I said.

“I just need to be here right now,” Ashley said through sobs. “I can’t lose you.”

“It’s too late, Ashley. I’m sorry you’re hurting, but you have to listen to me. This is done and you need to go to Bakersfield.”

“I can’t go to Bakersfield. I don’t have my car here.”

Dammit, she was right. She flew out of Bakersfield when she went to Minnesota.

“Then you need to have your family pick you up, or I’ll get you an Uber.”

I had no idea how much an Uber ride from LA to Bakersfield would cost, but I was willing to pay a small fortune.

“I’m not leaving,” Ashley said, shifting her tone. “This is my place too. I practically furnished the whole thing.”

“It was furnished when you got here.” I said, “You chose to buy things I didn’t need. This isn’t your place. You don’t pay rent and you’re not on the lease.”

“I just need to stay here for the night,” she said. “I won’t bother you at all. I’ll sleep on the couch and go to Bakersfield tomorrow.”

“I hate this, Ashley. I need you to understand that.”

“Just one night, please,” she begged.

“Fine,” I said, “But you cannot go outside. I’ve asked all of my neighbors to let me know if they see you around, and I don’t want anyone freaking out. I’ve already changed my locks, and you won’t be getting a key.”

I spent the rest of the afternoon with headphones on, working on my MTV show while Ashley got into pajamas and laid on the couch watching episodes of Big Brother. I had Ashley-proofed my place before she arrived so she wouldn’t get her greedy little hot dogs on my journals or my weapons. I hid all of my jewelry and gold, and I put my woolly mammoth bones and dire wolf skull in a big Tiffany’s box in my closet. I also changed the passwords to my devices, social media, and bank accounts. I didn’t trust her with anything.

“She says she’ll go to Bakersfield tomorrow and just needs to crash here for the night,” I wrote to Cecelia.

“No, she won’t.” Cecelia said, “She will ignore your boundaries and try to convince you to let her stay. She'll run with any opening you give her, no matter how small.”

As the day went on, I ended work, and Perci told me it was time for his late afternoon jaunt. I didn’t want to leave Ashley alone in my apartment, but I also couldn’t take her with me unless she put a bed sheet over her head like ET when he went trick-or-treating.

“I’m going to walk Perci,” I said. “Do not leave here.”

Perci and I met up with Kirsten and Buddy. I didn’t tell Kirsten that Ashley was at my apartment because she would’ve bitch-slapped me back in time, and I deserved that. After our walk, my phone rang.

“She’s baaaaaaaaack,” my neighbor Karen sang into the phone.

“God dammit,” I said, “Where did you see her?”

“She was heading down Griffith Park Blvd towards Sunset,” she said as if Ashley was a loose dog.

I thanked Karen and called Ashley.

“I told you not to leave. Karen just called and told me she saw you walking to Sunset.”

“Yeah, I’m going to the comic book store,” Ashley said. “I’m allowed to do that.”

“Ashley, you are testing me. I already don’t want you here, and now you’re ignoring the one rule I set.”

I saw what Cecelia meant. Ashley did not give half a fuck about my boundaries. It’s like she was an evil doll I kept trying to throw away, and no matter what I did, it would end up back inside my apartment.

Ashley returned an hour later with a stack of comic books.

“Did anyone see you?” I asked.

“No.”

I ordered dinner from The Win-dow, which has the best burgers in Silver Lake, and we sat on opposite ends of the couch to eat.

“You have to let me stay here. I’ll pay rent,” she said.

“Nope, and I’m done discussing this. I don’t even want you here now.”

Ashley stopped looking sad and glared at me before taking an entire hamburger off her plate and forcing it into Perci’s mouth, bun and all.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I said as I shot up off the couch and took the burger from Perci’s mouth. “There’s fucking onions on there, Jesus Christ, he’ll fucking choke on this entire thing.”

Ooh, there she was. This was the real Ashley. It suddenly made sense why she had to pretend to be something she wasn’t. The real Ashley was a bully and vindictive. And she had just fucked with my dog.

“Out,” I said, “You’re done. What the fuck is wrong with you. Get your stuff and go to a hotel. That was so not okay.”

What followed was a forty-minute tirade of screams and stomping around. 

God, I would not miss this. She was so fucking filled with rage.

Again, she refused to leave.

“I’m gonna call the cops,” I told her.

“Go ahead,” she dared me. “You already tried that once before. How’d that work out for you?”

She was evil. She was able to manipulate everyone into thinking she was totally fine and I was a loon for saying otherwise.

“I’m going to bed and leaving my door closed. Do not bother me. You need to leave first thing in the morning.”

As I turned to walk into my bedroom, Ashley barged in and hopped under the covers.

“No,” I said. “You’re sleeping on the couch and leaving in the morning.”

“I’m sleeping in the bed tonight, and it can be like old times,” she said. “I know you want me.”

“No, I don’t. I really don’t.” I said.

“Oh, you wouldn’t be jealous if I was inside someone else?”

Ew.

“No, Ashley, I wouldn’t. I don’t care what you do. If anything, I feel bad for whoever’s next.”

I grabbed a few pillows and went back into the living room.

“Don’t follow me.”

I threw the pillows on the couch and laid there for the rest of the night. Ashley’s intrusion into my life gave me too much anxiety to sleep. I needed her gone.

The next morning, I left Ashley alone and took Perci for a long thinking-girl walk. On the way home I stopped by Kirsten’s house and told her I needed to talk.

“Ashley’s at my place, and she’s refusing to leave,” I said. “I don’t know what to do. The last couple of times I texted her parents, they ignored me. But she needs to go.”

“You need to text her right now that she needs to vacate your apartment immediately.” Kirsten said, “And if she doesn’t, I’ll go over there and make her.”

“No, that would be too chaotic. I can’t have you guys together like that.”

I texted Ashley, telling her to leave. I waited thirty minutes for her to respond, but she didn’t.

Go. Away.

“Alright, I’m going back,” I told Kirsten.

“I’m down the street if you need any help.”

I went home and found Ashley sleeping in my bed. “Did you see my text?” I asked her.

“Huh? No. I took a bunch of Xanax.”

“I don’t care. You need to leave right now. Get up.”

Ashley got up and started screaming. She ran into the kitchen, looking again for the knives. This time, I pulled out my phone and called Cecelia. I put the call on speaker.

“Ashley’s refusing to leave,” I said as Ashley frantically pulled open drawer after drawer. “Can you please talk to her? This is not going to end well.”

“I’m gonna kill myself!” Ashley raged.

I held the phone close to Ashley so she could hear.

“Ashley, please leave Lauren alone. This is not okay. You have children to think about.” Cecelia’s voice was calm and soothing. She was unflappable. “You need to leave. Go to Bakersfield. It’s over.”

Ashley howled. “Stop calling Cecelia! I hate her!”

She hit my phone screen, hanging up on Cecelia.

I called Cecelia back and gave her a live play-by-play, “She couldn’t find a knife. Now she’s going into my bedroom,” I said as I followed Ashley around my apartment.

“Ashley, you have to stop,” Cecelia begged.

“Oop, she’s pulling out a bottle of pills from her bag, and now she’s twisting off the lid.”

“What kind of pills?” Cecelia asked.

I squinted my eyes, trying to read the bottle.

“I’m not sure, but… goddammit, she just threw her head back and shook the entire bottle into her mouth. I gotta go,” I said, “I’m gonna call 911.”

I hung up with Cecelia and called 911.

“Hi, my ex-girlfriend just swallowed a bunch of pills and says she wants to kill herself,” I said.

“Do you know what kind of pills and how many she took?” the operator asked.

“I don’t know what they are, but it looked like a full bottle,” I said.

Ashley then spit out all of the pills onto the floor. They scattered everywhere like a game of Jax. There must’ve been at least thirty.

“She just spit them all out,” I said.

“No no no no no no no… they’re gonna take my kids away, “Ashley pleaded. “You have to hang up.” 

I stood there, looking at her for a moment that felt closer to two moments. I considered Ashley’s pleas, feeling sorry for her. Then Perci came into the bedroom and headed straight for the pills. I got down and picked up every single one before he had a chance to swallow them.

“Ma’am, what’s your address?” the operator asked.

“Please hang up. I’ll go away right now. You won’t see or hear from me ever again,” Ashley said. 

Yeah right.

“Ma’am, I need an address,” pressed the operator.

This had to stop.

“I’m at 4972 Effie Street,” I said.

“The police are on their way.”

Ashley screamed at me while she tossed things into her suitcase. I know how to get out of a welfare check, rang through my head. I hoped her act wouldn’t work on the cops. 

 I kept looking out my window, hoping the officers would step on it. I was worried Ashley would leave before they got there and return after they left.

Then I saw something I never thought I’d be excited to see: a patrol car on my street.

I went downstairs to greet the officers. I gave them a brief summary—that Ashley was my ex-girlfriend even though I don’t look gay, and she refused to leave, and when I tried to get her to go, she threatened to kill herself and then put all these pills in her mouth before spitting them out.

Two cops followed me into the living room, where Ashley was perched on my couch. She looked like a porcelain doll who wouldn’t harm a butterfly, let alone herself.

The cops asked what kind of pills she had, and she told them she didn’t have any pills.

I went into my bedroom and returned with her backpack. I unzipped it and showed the officers the pharmacy inside. They emptied the bag and read each label.

Ashley’s mom called for an update.

“Don’t let them take her anywhere. We are on our way!”

“I won’t,” I said, knowing whether of not they took Ashley was entirely out of my hands.

I was sure the only reason Ashley’s parents were finally helping was because it would look bad on Ashley's custody ruling if she had anything on her record.

I watched Ashley lie to the cops repeatedly, and I almost had to give her props for her incredible performance.

“Are you on drugs?”

“No, but I take a CBD pill usually once a month.”

I looked around my apartment as if there was a film crew I could turn to and ask, “Are you getting this?”

“She told me she took a bunch of Xanax,” I said to the officer. I was raised not to be a narc, but I couldn’t listen to her lies for another second.

“Have you taken any drugs or pills in the last twenty-four hours?”

“No.”

“Did you empty a bottle of pills in your mouth?”

“No, I would never do that.”

Ashley was an incredible liar. She made George Santos look like Honest Abe.

While one cop questioned Ashley, the other asked me to gather all her things.

I went into my bedroom and grabbed everything that belonged to her. I put her backpack and suitcase near the front door.

“Can you stand up for me?” the officer asked Ashley.

She stood up.

“Alright, turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The officer didn’t buy her innocent victim shtick. Maybe men weren’t so stupid after all.

The cop clicked the handcuffs around her wrists, and I texted Ashley’s mom with the update. Stacey had every opportunity leading up to this to help Ashley, but didn’t jump in till the eleventh hour when shit got real. All of this could’ve been avoided, but my hand was forced, and I had to call the police.

“The only thing she can take is her phone,” said the officer.

I handed it to him.

The other cop turned to me and asked for her shoes. I grabbed them off the shoe rack.

“She can’t have anything with laces,” he said, “Can you take the laces out?”

I began to unlace her shoes when I realized I had sandals she could wear. I went to my closet and pulled them out.

“Here,” I said as I placed my lace-less rubber sandals in front of her feet. 

She stepped into them and then kicked her backpack, which was next to my face, as hard as she could. “Don’t go through any of my shit,” she growled as they took her out.

Bye, Felecia.

I watched from my balcony as Ashley walked down the street in handcuffs. She glared up at me as they put her in the backseat and closed the door. It was surreal. I imagined it was the same feeling parents got when they sent their kids off to summer camp, like, Phew, I’m finally free.

Between Ashley’s lies and my honesty, the cops sided with me. She couldn’t act her way out of it: a small victory.

Ashley’s parents were coming to pick up her belongings. I unhooked her PlayStation and set it with her bags. I didn’t have the energy or interest to go through her stuff because it didn’t matter anymore. I was finally out.

Mother of the year.

Ashley’s stepdad, Brad, knocked on my door. I let him in and pointed to Ashley’s pile of things. Her suitcase, backpack, PlayStation, and shoes were all there.

“I told you guys she wasn’t welcome here anymore,” I said.

“Yeah, well she hasn’t been completely honest with us either,” he said.

I watched Brad juggle Ashley’s things as he walked to Stacey’s car. She had parked two blocks away for no reason other than to avoid me. 

Drive into my apartment like a real man, you fucking coward.

I called Cecelia and told her everything that had happened and learned that she had played a significant role, too. When I got off the phone with her to call 911, Cecelia had reached out to Ashley’s estranged brother to tell him she swallowed a bunch of pills and that I was calling the cops. 

Her brother called Ashley’s parents to let them know some serious shit was going down.

Then I did what I should have done long ago and blocked Ashley. She couldn’t call, text, email, DM, or summon me in the spiritual realm. 

It was finally over: Ashley was gone.

I pulled up Instagram to unfollow Ashley’s family, and that’s when I saw her Mom had already blocked me.

Then I checked Twitter. Her mom blocked me there, too.

Sorry I tried to help your daughter.

For the first time in a month, I slept through the night.

I woke up feeling like a new woman. I made coffee, journaled, Wordled, and Quordled. I checked my Bumble account and decided I didn’t like the interface, so I deleted it and created a new dating profile on Hinge.

I was a little hesitant because the last time I used Hinge, it did me dirty and sent Ashley. But this time around, I’d look for red flags. And if I dated a woman who said her Grandpa died, this time I’d ask to see the corpse.

I hoped that Ashley was just a fluke and that there were still hot local singles in my area. I’m severely attracted to creative, funny, nerdy brunettes with big brown eyes and a weird soul. They’re my weakness, and I was gonna go get me one.

I knew I’d find my dream girl if I kept swiping or walking Perci through the Black Cat parking lot. I also had this insane story. I’d never run out of things to discuss at a dinner party.

Ashley couldn’t have happened to a better person. 

If you didn’t get catfished during the Pandemic by a woman pretending to be a physicist, are you really living?

The story was also incredibly sad when you flipped perspectives and looked at it through Cecelia’s lens. Her entire world shattered. Her wife, who she planned a family and a future with, cheated on her while she was pregnant, and then she moved in with her across the country. Cecelia was gaslit by Ashley and her family in the most cruel way imaginable. And then there was the financial abuse on top of the group deception. 

Cecelia held strong through all of it, as painful as it was. If there was anything positive to come out of my year with Ashley, it was knowing Cecelia. You don’t see many friendships where the wife becomes friends with the other woman. We were rare, like when a sea otter is besties with a billy goat. 

With Ashley finally out of my life, I was ready to put myself back out there.

LA's newest single lady.

I opened Hinge, excited about the prospects of a new woman. I was officially open for business.

The first profile made my heart come to a complete stop. I knew those black eyes staring back at me. The photo had been taken in my kitchen. 

It was Ashley.

She had been hauled off in handcuffs the day before. It was eight a.m. and she had already created a new profile.

Un-Hinged.

She claimed to live in Los Angeles and still called herself a Data Scientist. She posted a voice memo about a snack I used to make her.

Ashley was a predator, looking for her next victim.

I had no choice but to ring the East LA Emergency Lesbian Danger Button and warn every single woman—male or female, gay or straight—to avoid Ashley at all costs.