Page 2

CHAPTER 2

GUESS WHO'S BACK, BACK AGAIN?

MARGAUX

A nd then he’s back.

Timmy walks into the apartment, his face a mask of contrition. He moves toward me, slow and careful, as though I might shatter if he touches me too abruptly.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, a tear running down his cheek. He pulls me into his arms, and I collapse against him, the tears spilling over before I can stop them.

He pulls something from his pocket and hands it to me. It’s actually two things, the diamond and platinum rings. “I didn’t mean to take these, I swear. I grabbed money for ice cream, and I guess they got tangled up in the bills somehow when they were in the safe.”

I quirk a brow. “What?”

“Yeah, and I didn’t want the cops to steal them, because I know they’re important to you. So I shoved them up my ass and hid them there for a while. But then one of the other guys in the cell told me you can get dysentery from shoving things up your ass, so I took them back out.”

I’m speechless.

“Don’t worry,” he continues. “I washed them really well.”

I’m frozen, still unsure how to respond.

“I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” he murmurs, stroking my hair. “I just… I panicked. I’m so sorry, Margaux. I love you so much.”

I cry harder, and he holds me tighter. For a moment, I let myself believe him. I let myself sink into the warmth of his embrace, desperate for comfort, for safety—even if it’s from the very man who caused my pain.

The next day, I bring it up, unable to let it rest. “I still can’t believe you hit me over a song,” I say, my voice trembling.

Timmy frowns, his lips curving into a slight pout. “Well, you were smirking at me,” he says. “And you laughed. I thought you were mocking me.”

My jaw drops. “Timmy, that’s no excuse. Even if I was—which I wasn’t—that’s no reason to hit someone. Don’t you understand that?”

He shrugs, his expression almost childlike. “I don’t know. I panicked. And then you said you were going to call the cops. I hate going to jail, Margaux. You know that.”

My blood runs cold. “So you tried to kill me ? To avoid jail ? Do you even hear yourself?”

He shrugs again, his face devoid of the gravity of the situation. “I didn’t mean to hurt you that badly. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

I stare at him, my heart sinking as he dismisses my pain like it’s a minor inconvenience. “You strangled me, Timmy. You smashed my head against the ground. I could have died . Look—I have two black eyes, a fat lip, and I’m covered in bruises… caused by you.”

He rolls his eyes. “Your eyes aren’t even really black eyes. Stop being so dramatic.” He pauses, and then casually adds, “Oh my god, so the cop caught me outside the 7-Eleven where I was eating an ice cream.”

It’s as if the whole situation is a comedy in his eyes, a situation generating a repertoire of anecdotes to entertain others with, including me.

Later, as I stare into the mirror, his words echo in my mind. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am being dramatic. The bruises are fading now, turning a sickly yellow-brown. My lip isn’t as swollen and lopsided.

Maybe this really was just a mistake.

Maybe it wasn’t that bad.

I don’t look like the photos of women who’ve had the shit beaten out of them by their partners, where their eye sockets are completely black and their fat lip reaches their nose. My face isn’t covered in blood and scratches.

Maybe he did just really mean to knock the headphones off my ears and he missed slightly.

And then he panicked.

He didn’t mean to smash my head on the floor, surely.

Especially not a hard concrete tile floor like this. He just wanted to stun me so I’d calm down and he could apologize for hitting me in the face.

Maybe it’s not such a big deal, after all.

I’m embarrassed for calling them black eyes now.

Because they’re nothing compared to what other people are subjected to by their partners on a daily basis.

I’m sorry I ever used that term for them.

The cops seemed to take it seriously, but they take everything seriously.

I bite my lip, the pain grounding me..

This was all just a misunderstanding, because I laughed, after all.