Page 10

CHAPTER 10

ALICE HAS ENTERED THE CHAT

MARGAUX

I vague-post on Facebook, because that’s how I deal with emotions now. It’s a cry for help wrapped in plausible deniability, an outlet where I can vent just enough without inviting too many questions—or so I think.

The response comes quickly. My roller derby friend Alice messages me. We haven’t talked directly in a couple of years, but we’ve stayed connected, liking each other’s posts and trading jokes in comments. She’s the kind of friend who makes you feel seen even from a distance.

She’s exactly the person I need right now.

Alice:

You okay?

Me:

I’ve been better. But yes, I am okay. Thank you for checking in xoxo.

Alice:

What's going on?

Me:

Life.

Alice:

I mean I am fully crying in my backyard so I can relate.

Her honesty stops me in my tracks. Should I downplay everything, or let her in on just how bad things have gotten? There’s something about Alice that makes her feel safe—a mixture of humor and straightforward compassion.

She’s the type of friend who’d threaten to stab someone for me, if necessary. That kind of loyalty doesn’t come around often.

I think of the people who’ve distanced themselves: Sven, who decided I was too much to deal with. Paulo, whose once-steady friendship has started to feel tenuous. With Alice, though, I don’t feel judged. She’s a constant, supportive anchor, even in moments like this.

So I decide to be honest—at least a little.

Me:

Moved here and my job arbitrarily made a policy that I couldn't work from here. Got into a relationship where I was proposed to one week in, and it’s a bit abusive, but I also love him.

Alice:

Great, we can be complete messes together.

Me:

Alice:

Hi, are you me?

You and I have the same prescription for pink glasses, I see.

Me:

Lmao I love you so much. You know when you don’t know someone well, but you know you love them. You are that for me and it doesn’t come easily.

Alice:

Hard same, I adore you.

I feel lighter already. Alice has that effect—her humor and candid honesty strip away some of the isolation I’ve been drowning in. Her words are like a warm hug, breaking through the loneliness that’s felt suffocating lately. I can feel my chest loosen for the first time in days.

Me:

Pink ass glasses, motherfucker.

His family is cool.

Alice:

I’m not gonna tell you to leave him, that's your business. But I will maybe tell you not to marry him.

Me:

Lol, thanks boo.

Alice:

You know, since marriage is legal and shit.

Her humor coaxes a laugh out of me. It feels good, even if it’s fleeting.

Me:

I’m meeting his fam in person next week in Montana.

You know I’m a serial marrier right? 3 and counting.

Alice:

Montana is so pretty!

Me:

Yeah, I went there with D once on a vacation and it was so fun!!

Alice:

So his family is cool. What does he do that isn't cool?

I hesitate but then let it spill out.

Me:

Yell, and say he’s going to kill me. And one time he tried to strangle me.

He can’t handle liquor. Otherwise he’s quite nice.

I’m rolling my eyes at myself typing this out.

He also sleeps in until almost midday, and then watches movies all day while I scrape through my savings paying rent. Gosh, he is a WINNER. I really have hit the jackpot, haven’t I?!

There’s a pause before Alice replies. I can almost feel her weighing her words carefully.

Alice:

Look, I know you already know what I'll probably say, so I just am going to write out this sentence as a placeholder.

The only thing I am actually going to be super blunt about is that strangling and, "I'm going to kill you" deal, because that, in cruel statistics, bodes very badly for you, and that makes me really worried.

Her words are sobering, like a cool splash of water. A reminder of just how far I’ve let this go.

Me:

I know, and thank you. I have been googling. He has stopped doing that, just was yelling yesterday. And I got so mad I yelled louder and got told off by my apartment. That’s not me.

Alice:

It doesn't sound like you.

Her kindness gives me permission to admit the parts of myself I’ve been ashamed of. I tell her more about my yelling, about getting written up by the building, about how the neighbors seem to have no issue with Timmy’s tirades, but suddenly cared when I raised my voice.

Alice:

Again I know I don't know your life story, but between the 2 of us, I'm the yeller.

Like I do not have an ‘indoor voice’ half the time, so yelling is expected.

Me:

I am actually slightly tickled that I got written up by my apartment building for yelling.

Bc I have a voice now.

Alice:

I can get that! It's fun to learn something about yourself.

Me:

It’s also annoying bc he was yelling for ages before, but I guess lower octaves don’t disturb the neighbors. And also I yelled later in the evening than he did, bc I was getting more and more annoyed over the course of the evening, lol.

Alice:

Okay, that's just stupid and annoying.

Me:

You know women get that brunt…

Alice:

Oh absolutely. I was also going to guess they also probably were offended by a GIRL YELL.

Me:

Yeah, girls are not allowed to yell.

Or roller skate and smash people in the face.

Alice:

I feel like we just didn't get that memo.

I dunno. Misogyny strikes again!

I send her a picture of the beachfront view from my apartment, with Sabre looking out at the waves.

The view is stunning, but it feels like a cruel joke—beauty outside, chaos within.

Alice:

I hate you right now.

Me:

Nah, you love me.

Alice:

It’s true, bluff called.

I laugh, the kind of laughter that feels like salve on a wound. It doesn’t erase the pain, but it dulls it for a moment.

We talk about roller derby for a while, and I send her a video of my infamous skating fall.

Alice:

HELMET!!!!!

Me:

LMFAO I know

Alice:

Gonna have a heart attack watching y’all without your helmets.

Me:

Anyway, I’m pretending everything is fine. That’s healthy, right?

Alice:

I mean it’s not, but I also do the same thing. Like constantly.

Me:

Dissociating is the official word.

Alice:

Too bad denial doesn’t have any essential nutrients.

Me:

Lmao. If so, I already have a bulk vitamin pack.

The conversation feels like coming up for air. Alice doesn’t push, doesn’t demand answers or solutions. She’s just there. And in this moment, that’s enough.

The next day, she checks in again.

Alice:

Back to why I reached out.

You said you were in a pinch yesterday. That still the case, and can I help?

Her kindness makes my chest ache, but in a good way.

Me:

Agh, just saw this. Thank you!! I was just in a non-physical argument that didn't make sense, and feeling very isolated all the way out here. You were a massive help just by being here and I appreciate you!!

Alice:

Is he behaving now?

Me:

Yes. There has been no drinking for several days, so it's been nice.

Like I said, we're visiting his parents on Wednesday in Montana for almost a week, so that will be interesting.

As I hit send, I feel the weight of my reality pressing down again. But at the same time, I feel lighter than I have in weeks. I don’t know what’s coming next, but for now, I know I’m not alone.

For the first time in a long time, there’s a flicker of what feels like hope. I have no idea what Montana will bring, but at least I know Alice is only a message away.