from Paul Sado’s Instagram @thepaulsado

Last summer I was assaulted on a date with Paul Sado. He is a writer and producer for Adam Sandler. Yes, that Adam Sandler. We first met after he liked a tweet that I posted about liking a scene in one of the movies that he worked on. After a few months of talking online, he asked me out. We met up and he seemed great. He often spoke in support of the #metoo movement; he said that he hated Harvey Weinstein, Louis CK, Bill Cosby and all the other creepy Hollywood figures now well known for sexual harassment and assault. He would tweet out support and say things like ‘believe women’. He was charming and fun and I thought I could trust him.

Shitty out of focus film photo of him at Jones in WeHo, on our first date

Late on the night of July 15th 2018, Paul Sado called me and invited me over to his Silver Lake apartment to hang out. I was a little hesitant at first, so I told him I would come over but that I didn’t want to have sex or stay the night. He said that was totally cool and that we would just hang out, so I agreed and took a Lyft over to his place around 1am (which by then was the 16th).

This was just the third or forth time we’d hung out. We were on his couch having a nice time, talking, making out, and listening to records. Neko Case’s That Teenage Feeling had just started playing.

While we were making out, he placed his hand on my neck, which I wasn’t comfortable with. When I tried to gently move his hand off my neck, he tightened his grip. I stopped kissing and pulled away and very clearly, unmistakably, and sternly said “PLEASE STOP” but he squeezed harder and said “Are you laughing at me? Are you laughing at me?” He kept squeezing my neck and ignoring my terrified cries of “please stop…please stop…”

By the time I realized the danger I was in, he had already rolled on top of me and pinned my hands and legs so I couldn’t fight him off. The terror amplified when he wrapped both hands around my neck. I was sobbing and begging him “Please stop, please stop!” He continued to strangle me, pure blank rage on his face.

I suddenly realized that I’d told no one where I was going that night, that no one knew where I was. I kept trying to breathe but the air just wasn’t coming in. I was spending the last of my breath still hopelessly repeating “please stop… please stop...please stop” But he squeezed harder still, wrenching my jaw up, twisting it, and slamming my teeth shut. I couldn’t speak anymore.

I felt like the lower half of my face was going to break. I felt my teeth grinding together, and I vaguely registered a feeling of grit on my tongue. My eyes felt like they were going to explode. The last of the air vanished. My muscles could no longer make the movements necessary to breathe. I stopped feeling and thinking entirely. There was nothing. Just a blank resignation. And right as my vision started to dim, he let go.

As soon as he let go, all of the air came rushing back into my lungs and I was crying and gasping. He wrapped me in a bear hug until I stopped crying. After a few minutes, he finally let me sit up. I was completely terrified of him. My pulse was pounding in my head, eyes and ears. I was shocked and numb at the same time. When I tried to take a sip of water, there was an awful clicking sound and what felt like a blockage in my throat. I couldn’t swallow the water. I tried to speak but I couldn’t find more than a hoarse whisper with which to excuse myself to the bathroom.

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. My hair was a mess. My eyes were puffy, and my chest and neck were red. My head was pounding and my throat felt like it had been crushed and lit on fire. I realized the grit in my mouth was from my front teeth chipping.

I’d had the presence of mind to grab my purse on the way to bathroom, and used my phone to get a Lyft. Thankfully it was a female driver and she was only two minutes away. I straightened myself out as best as I could and went back out.

Paul was leaning back on the couch, an inexplicably smug and satisfied look on his face. I told him that I needed to go home. He asked me why I wanted to go, and I told him that it was because my throat was in horrible pain and I was losing my voice. He asked why. I thought ‘Why?! Really?’ But I said, “Because you choked me…? Listen to how my voice sounds…” His response was a casual “Oh, I did that?” He didn’t acknowledge my teary and disheveled state as worthy of concern. He didn’t care at all that he’d hurt me, let alone nearly killed me. He didn’t apologize or show any remorse.

Then he asked me to spend the night. For a crazy moment, I actually considered saying yes because I was terrified of making him angry. But the alarm bells in my head were ringing out “HE’S GOING TO KILL YOU! LEAVE NOW!” and I knew I had to get out of there.

As I made my way to the door, he got up saying “Oh don’t be like that!” and got angry when I told him my Lyft driver had arrived. He tried to prevent me from leaving, but I said a hasty goodbye and said I’d call him later. On rubbery legs I practically ran down the stairs and jumped into the waiting car outside.

When I got in the car, the Lyft driver asked if I was okay, and I told her what happened in one long, sobbing, stuttering sentence. She empathized and told me a story of her own abuse. She got me home and told me to stay strong.