Page 122

CHAPTER 122

A WAR OVER PEACE

MARGAUX

I ’m energized after my monthly manifestation call for authors. It’s the only thing lately that makes me feel grounded, like I’m connected to something bigger than the chaos surrounding me. The call focuses on releasing negative energy and being open to receiving positivity. Inspired, I create a little note for myself and place it on my nightstand:

I will do everything in my power to protect my peace.

When Timmy gets back—who knows where he’s been, because I’ve stopped asking—he immediately notices the sign. His face contorts into a sneer, and he lets out a derisive huff.

While I’m in the restroom, he apparently gets busy crafting his rebuttal to a message that wasn’t even for him. When I return, I notice a hastily written countersign perched on his bedside table:

No way I can protect my peace.

It’s almost laughable in its childishness—and in fact, I let out a nervous chuckle—but the tension in the air is anything but funny.

“You and your stupid fucking signs about your peace,” he snarls as I walk into the room. “How the fuck do you think I’m meant to have any peace when you’re constantly trying to control me?”

The irony of his statement nearly floors me. I haven’t spoken more than a handful of words to him in days because he’s been giving me the silent treatment, which honestly has been a relief. I’ve been throwing myself into work, hoping to ignore the oppressive negativity that radiates from him like a toxic cloud.

“You won’t let me have peace. Ever, ” he says, practically spitting the words at me.

I stare at him, my face calm but my mind racing.

Projection.

That’s all this is. His words, his accusations—they’re all about him. He’s the one who can’t stop disrupting the fragile peace I try to build.

As he continues his tirade, I begin to realize something— he’s beyond fixing.

His behavior, his constant need to turn the tables, to frame himself as the victim—it’s all a cycle I can’t break.

His father enables him, minimizes his actions, and backs him up, even when the truth is glaringly obvious.

I think of everyone who has told me to leave. They were right. He’s not a good person. He’s dragging me down, slowly but surely. It’s like he’s biding his time, waiting until I’m drained of every financial resource, every ounce of energy, and then he’ll move on to his next supply.

I feel exhausted just thinking about it.

I tell my therapist about the latest incidents—the peace signs, his unprovoked attacks, his refusal to acknowledge boundaries. I realize I’ve been so caught up in specific incidents, that I haven’t even mentioned the way he had non-consensual sex with me in my sleep, so I fill her in about that, too.

She listens intently, her face calm but her eyes full of empathy. When I finish, she takes a deep breath. “First of all, I’m very sorry that you were sexually assaulted by your partner, because that’s what that was. And I know it gets more complicated when you’re in a relationship, but what he did to you is against the law.”

Her words hit me like a wave of relief.

“And second of all, I’m so sorry that you were invalidated—first by him, then by the police, and even by his father. It must make you doubt what happened, even though you know it did.”

I nod, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes. She’s the only person I’ve told, other than Alice, who hasn’t doubted me or tried to downplay the severity of what happened, hasn’t made me lose my sanity even further. All the men I’ve told—the cop, Timmy’s dad, Timmy himself—have brushed it off or outright denied my story, preferring to believe whatever lies Timmy has spun. Believing that Timmy is entitled to my body even when I don’t want to grant him access.

It’s maddening.

My soul is screaming for someone to hear me, to see me.

But in some ways, I feel like I’m beginning to mute it myself, just to survive.

At one point, she says something else that sticks with me. “He always does just enough, doesn’t he? The bare minimum to keep you on the hook.”

And she’s absolutely right.

“Why do five separate people have restraining orders against you?” I ask one day, unable to keep the question to myself any longer.

His sneer is immediate. “It’s because I was trying to leave all of them and they begged me not to.”

I blink, stunned. “So they… got restraining orders against you because they… wanted you to stay? Am I understanding that right?”

“It was retaliatory because I said I was leaving,” he says, his tone defensive.

“Um, I don’t think that’s how restraining orders work,” I sneer, done with politeness in the face of idiotic responses. “And one of them was filed by a man. ”

He goes silent for a moment, his jaw tightening.

Finally, he mutters, “What the fuck ever. They hurt me and tried to hurt me more by getting restraining orders. They were abusive. All of them. I needed to get away.”

“Wow,” I say, unable to hide the sarcasm in my voice. “You sure do have a run of bad luck when it comes to women.”

“Tell me fucking about it,” he growls. “I can’t wait to get the fuck out of here. Away from you. You’re such a cunt, you know that?”

His words are a weapon he wields freely, but they don’t cut the way they used to.

“Your words can’t hurt me anymore, Timmy. I don’t care what you call me. I don’t care what you say. They’re powerless against me because I’ve heard them all before. They carry no weight. So go off—I couldn’t care less.”

His breathing grows heavier, his frustration palpable. He’s trying to bait me, to trigger a reactive episode he can point to later and say, ‘See? She’s the problem.’

But I won’t give him the satisfaction.

Eventually, he slams the door as he leaves, the sound echoing through the apartment like a gunshot. I flinch involuntarily, the PTSD I’ve been working so hard to manage rearing its head once again.

Even in his absence, he finds a way to get under my skin.

I look at the sign on my nightstand— I will do everything in my power to protect my peace.

It feels more important now than ever. If I don’t protect my peace, who will?

Certainly not Timmy.

Certainly not his father.

And certainly not the other people who enable him, who dismiss my pain and my experiences.

I will protect the little of my peace that I have left.

And someday, I will find the rest again.