Down the Rabbit Hole - Holly Madison

outside it appeared as though my wish was finally being granted: Mr. Playboy all to myself.
But it was too late. The switch had been flipped. It wasn’t one thing in particular, but more a
cocktail of the last few months: his verbal lashings, my newfound confidence as a career woman, and
the affirmations of another man all allowed me to see that the fears I’d been living under for seven
years were just smoke and mirrors. Now the thought of living with the unfounded “cheater” moniker
was just too much to take. I couldn’t stay any longer.
After a meeting in Mary’s office, Hef and I decided that I would move down the hall into
Bedroom 5 while I finished shooting my final GND scenes. Most of season five was already in the
can when I met up with Criss that night in Vegas, but there was still more to do. It came as a shock to
most of the staff and show producers when I actually began the process of moving out of the master
suite. (None of my packing was captured on the show. Hef and the producers were still hoping I
would change my mind about moving out and that I would be back as Hef’s girlfriend by the time
cameras started rolling for season six.) I had done a good job of acting like a blissfully happy
girlfriend—only the closest of confidants had known about my unhappiness. It was oddly nostalgic to
be moving back into the same room I moved into as a mansion newbie seven years prior. Back then, I
barely had a suitcase full of possessions; now I had substantially more to pack. I had a large storage
closet—full of clothing, mementos, and Christmas decorations—in the mansion’s basement, not to
mention another one in the Bunny House across the street. Needless to say, this move was going to
take a bit more time.
As I packed up the vanity in the master bedroom, I labeled each box with a Sharpie, listing the
contents. One evening after work, I was making trips from Hef’s bedroom to my old room down the
hall. I noticed one box had been scribbled on in writing other than my own. In his distinctive
handwriting, it read: “Hef’s Heart.” In that instant, my own heart sank. Despite everything he’d done
to me, I didn’t enjoy hurting him. But that wasn’t going to stop me. I knew Hef wasn’t in love with me.
He was in love with the idea of being in love. He was in love with the routine and convenience of our
relationship. I wasn’t interested in settling anymore, I was looking for my happily ever after.
During my final weeks in the mansion, Hef waffled between doting on me and punishing me. If I
ever seemed to be in too good of spirits, he would do his best to smack me back down with snide
comments or attempts at making me jealous by toting around the Shannon twins. I couldn’t have cared
less. In fact, I wanted him to move on! It would have taken some of the pressure off me. I was
beginning to realize that he preferred miserable and uninspired Holly—maybe because she was
easier to control. I buried myself in work. For the time being, I was allowed to keep my job at Studio
West. While I had hoped it was because of my contribution and the experience I had gained over the
last two years, I realized that Hef’s team most likely advised him to keep me on staff to avoid any
kind of lawsuit or wrongful termination accusations.
Still, while Hef had begun the process of “moving on,” he hadn’t lost hope that I would
reconsider and move back into his master suite. Any time I would run into Hef in the mansion
hallway, it was painfully awkward.
“I’ll have the rest of my stuff out of your room by tomorrow,” I told him during once such
encounter.