Down the Rabbit Hole - Holly Madison

Criss insisted that I be present for every one of his performances. In the beginning, I would
watch the show from a seat in the audience—and Criss would manage to work my name into the
narrative and introduce me at the end, along with his family. Initially I thought it was sweet, but it
soon became embarrassing. Eventually he would suggest that I wait backstage with his bodyguard,
which meant I would be there to greet Criss during his quick between-scene changes. He told me that
having me there helped the shows go by faster for him.
My mind was on my next step. Every time Criss went back on stage, I used those few minutes to
pull out my BlackBerry and add to a list of what I needed to do. He was with me every other minute
of the day, so this was my only chance. I quickly made the list: find an apartment in Las Vegas,
contact Crazy Horse Paris (Criss had successfully talked me out of accepting their offer to guest
star), get my valuables out of Criss’s safe, etc. I wrote all of this in French so Criss wouldn’t be able
to read the notes the next time he snatched my phone away from me.
“Who are you texting?” the bodyguard sneered at me, throwing me a suspicious look.
“No one,” I said as I pocketed my phone. “I’m just writing down some ideas.”
I WAS DONE. I had gone to bed finally ready to leave Criss. He had started another one of his onesided
arguments over nothing and I had had enough. I didn’t even try to engage him, and instead
quietly sat through the rant until he calmed down and I was finally able to go to sleep.
The next morning, his fit clearly wasn’t over. He stormed out of the master bathroom, tearing up
a Valentine’s Day card I had given him featuring my pinup portrait by Olivia on the front. Criss was
screaming about having just noticed that the rendering included a pair of curled-up pink bunny ears on
top of my head, striking a deep nerve in him.
Criss finally said that he thought I should go back to my parents and that he would buy me a
plane ticket.
“Okay,” I said, barely louder than a whisper. I was afraid to argue with him. I silently
congratulated myself on this easy out he had just provided me.
He stormed out of the room and yelled loudly to one of his assistants to book me on a flight to
Portland that afternoon.
I crept out of bed and began gathering what I needed. Luckily, I still had a perpetually packed
suitcase at the ready for my back-and-forth-to-L.A. trips that had come to an immediate halt a few
months earlier.
Criss asked me if I wanted to wear my jewelry, slyly eyeing the vintage Gucci watch I had
purchased for myself, my small cross necklace, and the ring he had given me.
“Yes,” I replied without thinking. It never occurred to me that he would actually expect the gifts
back. After all, I had bought him expensive things, too.
When I finally pulled my things—and myself—together, I walked out into the living room of the
suite. Criss’s bodyguard was standing by to drive me to the airport.
“Bye,” I said, giving Criss a cold, distant hug.
“Take care,” he said just as coolly, before planting a kiss on my head and asking me to let him