Page 39

CHAPTER 39

IDIOT PARTY OF ONE

DEX

M argaux’s world is a storm, and I’m the man in the shadows trying to shield her from its worst winds. She doesn’t know how closely I watch, how deeply I care, or how far I’ll go to keep her safe.

It’s a delicate dance, sabotaging Timmy just enough to keep him distracted, without him catching on. He’s a loose cannon, and if his rage ever turns fully on Margaux... No, I can’t let that happen.

I’m perched in front of my monitors, watching the feeds from Margaux’s apartment. And tonight, I’m on high alert.

Timmy is pacing again, muttering to himself about something he’s lost. His fob, probably. I smirk, knowing it’s exactly where my associate left it after ‘borrowing’ it earlier to secure the door to their storage unit. Locked storage, a ‘missing’ fob, and a wild goose chase for Timmy—all small, safe distractions that keep him occupied without putting Margaux in harm’s way.

Later, the camera catches her leaving the apartment with Sabre in tow. Good. She needs space, and she’s smart enough to take it when she can.

My eyes flick between the monitors, scanning for Timmy’s whereabouts.

He eventually storms out, phone in hand, muttering about finding cigarettes. I watch him walk to the corner store, knowing he’ll get distracted along the way.

While he’s out, I instruct my associate to get to work. The sabotage with the board shorts and the shampoo was minor, a warm-up. Tonight, I focus on annoyances that don’t touch Margaux’s safety.

His flip-flops mysteriously go missing again, and my associate replaces the batteries in the remote with dead ones. It’s not much, but it’s enough to keep him preoccupied and off-balance. The goal is simple: keep him so focused on his petty frustrations so that he doesn’t have the energy to unleash his chaos on her.

When he returns, he slams the door, frustrated with the world—or himself.

Either way, Margaux gets a rare reprieve.

But then her truck breaks down, and I’m torn between stepping in and staying hidden. Before I can decide, some guy with tattoos and a gold chain helps her out.

I relax slightly, but only slightly. I make a note to keep an eye on him too, just in case.

When she calls Timmy’s dad, Phil, and Phil defends Timmy, saying he’s a ‘really nice guy’, I want to reach through the phone and rip Phil’s tongue out of his stupid mouth. What a fucking idiot. Can’t he see he’s created a monster?

Timmy shows up eventually, his smugness practically oozing through the screen as he fixes the hose. I watch him bask in his self-made hero moment, and my fists clench. He’s created this mess—literally—and now he’s acting like he deserves a medal for ‘saving’ Margaux. It’s pathetic, but she’s trapped in his cycle of chaos and rescue.

For now.

I want to be the one that saves her, not this clown biscuit.

The next day, Timmy’s antics escalate.

He storms out, accusing Margaux of everything from infidelity to imaginary slights.

I watch her roll her eyes and text her friend Alice, her lifeline. Alice’s humor is sharp and cutting, a balm for Margaux’s wounds. It makes me like her even more. She’s a good influence, and a grounding force when Margaux needs it most.

Still, Timmy’s paranoia is dangerous. His texts to Margaux—‘Do you have a boyfriend in there?’—make me grit my teeth. I’ve seen this pattern before. He’s wearing her down, one accusation at a time.

That night, Timmy runs off again. Margaux texts Alice yet another runaway pickle GIF. She’s still trying to laugh through the pain. But even she has limits, and I can see them fraying.

When Timmy returns, dripping wet from the ocean, he’s all bluster and no substance. He yells about her triggers being fake, about her making up her PTSD.

She looks crushed.

I want to reach through the screen and throttle him.

Instead, I focus on my next move.

Timmy makes it clear he really wants to watch a specific movie, and I know it’s one that Margaux has no interest in. Knowing she’s done with work for the day, I disable the Wi-Fi in their apartment. It’s a small thing, but it’s enough to irritate Timmy without making him suspicious. He spends the next hour trying to fix it, leaving Margaux in peace for once. It’s not much, but it’s something.

Later, Timmy dons his ridiculous child-sized Superman cape, prancing around the apartment like a six-year-old.

Margaux laughs, but there’s a tension in her smile. I know she’s thinking about the anonymous messages she’s been getting—the ones warning her about Timmy. She hasn’t mentioned them to him, and I’m relieved. The less he knows, the better.

Through it all, I watch Margaux’s interactions with Alice and Josephine. They’re her lifelines, her anchors in the storm. I envy them, their ability to offer her comfort and laughter so easily. But I also admire her for letting them in, for leaning on them when she needs it. It’s a strength, not a weakness.

As I watch her laugh at one of Alice’s sarcastic texts, a small smile tugs at my lips. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s stronger than she thinks. And one day, when she’s ready, I’ll be there to help her break free from Timmy’s grip for good.

Until then, I’ll keep sabotaging, distracting, and watching.

Because Margaux deserves better.

And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she gets it.