“I think she went to Seattle,” Jas said. She sounded surprised that I didn’t know where Ryan was, and for some reason, that hurt the most. Like, yes—if anyone in the world knows what’s going on with Ryan right now, it should be me.
I would feel that weird guilt and fear times ten a few years later.
But yeah, Jas said that Ryan had mentioned Seattle. And then I saw thatLA Minuteclip and found the hotel where she was staying.
So I went.
Even when I got to town, Ryan wouldn’t tell me her room number until I was actually in the lobby. I was super worried for her, but after spending my money and my weekend to make sure she was still alive, I was starting to get a little pissed off. My emotions were all over the place by the time I was pounding on her door. I felt wired.
How much do you want to know? I’m not here to give you some bullshit account of a catfight, if that’s what you’re looking for. That’s what the tabloids always wanted.
But yes. We fought.
She opened the door with this sullen look on her face, and I said, “Thank god. What’s going on? You have to talk to me!”
“I don’t know what’s going on,” she said. She didn’t invite me in. “I just need a break from everything. Is that allowed?”
I didn’t like her tone. I could have been more understanding, I know—she was going through something rough—but come on, I’d come to help.
“Of course it’s allowed,” I said. I looked past her shoulder into the room and saw a blue duffel bag I didn’t recognize. “You’re not alone, are you? You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
Ryan crossed her arms. “No. I’m not alone. I’m fine.”
She was being cagey again, and that set me off. Why not let me in? Why not let me help? You can’t just vanish when things get difficult. She was always bad about that. So I said something that I knew was just a bit over the line: “Yeah, I can tell you’re totally fine by the way you disappeared from LA and screamed at a journalist and didn’t answer my calls.”
She glared at me. She said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know who I can trust right now.”
That literally made me take a step back. “That doesn’t includeme, right?” I asked. “That doesn’t include the one person who’s had your back for more than, what—more than eight years, does it? Who’s gone to all your shows, all your tours and events and stupid-ass parties with girls you say you hate but can’t seem to stop hanging out with?”
“You seem to benefit from it enough.” Ryan couldn’t look me in the eyes when she said it. I’ll give her that much.
“Ryan!” I just said her name, really sharply. I didn’t know what else to say.
“You were the one who said I should reach out to Justin again,” she muttered.
“That’s not what I said. I never said that.”
“Well, that’s what it felt like.”
I stood rooted to the ground, just staring at her. I felt empty inside. Then I said, “I don’t even know who you are right now.”
And I walked away.
Fourteen
Reddit user u/kill_bill
There’s no way Justin didn’t murder her. Take a coddled white man who already feels entitled to this woman and acts like he owns all her creative ideas and then have Ryan ruin his life—there’s no way he takes that lying down. We’ve seen the pattern again and again.
Justin claims he was at his job in Encino the night of the VMAs, but we know that he didn’t show up to his shift at Shake Shack (thanks to u/ancient_jellyfish and their amazing network of fast food friends! You guys rock!).
JustinStill Worksat the Shake Shack on Ventura Blvd in Encino if any of my LA friends are brave enough to confront him!!!
#RescueRyan
Jasmine
Ryan and I had coffee again when she got back from her hiatus in Seattle. We sat on the rooftop patio at Madcap, and I waited for her togo first. The smog was particularly spectacular that day—I could hardly even see the First Republic Bank building. Lovely.
