Page 63

CHAPTER 63

IF YOU'RE HAVING A BAD DAY JUST CRANK SOME T SWIFT

MARGAUX

D ecember arrives, but I’m not in a holiday mood.

The weather in Sunset Cay hasn’t changed much—it’s still humid and sticky, like a warm, oppressive blanket I can’t shake off. The sun sets a little earlier now, but other than that, it’s business as usual: tropical vibes on the outside, chaos on the inside.

Things haven’t been awful lately, but they haven’t been anywhere near good, either. I’ve been walking on eggshells, trying to keep Timmy calm enough that I can focus on my books.

Timmy’s tantrums have become routine, their predictability as frustrating as their frequency. Each one derails my writing for days, and I can’t keep letting that happen. But there’s a small, dim light at the end of this tunnel—he managed to land a gig helping a condo renovator onsite. It’s only twenty hours a week, but it gets him out of the apartment, giving me just enough breathing room to focus on my books.

Still, living with him feels like navigating a minefield. He’s incapable of accepting even the gentlest feedback. “You’re so mean to me,” he whines whenever I bring up anything remotely constructive. And yet, he feels entitled to criticize me over the smallest things, like the way I put egg shells or citrus peels in the garbage disposal, or how I arrange the shower curtain.

I try to reason with him, my tone steady but strained. “I need to be able to talk to you about how I’m feeling without you flipping out or acting like you’re being attacked. I feel like that’s a basic requirement for a relationship. I only bring up things that really matter.”

He frowns, but doesn’t respond.

Instead, he pivots to what he thinks is a fun story.

“Oh my god, I was at work earlier and Dennis was telling me this story about how he was meant to be dying of cancer,” he grins. “So he went overseas and told all these women about how he was dying. Dude got choke pussy because of it.”

I scrunch up my face. “Ew, that’s disgusting. Please tell me that’s not how you speak with your workmates about women. And the fact you sound so excited about this upsets me.”

A shadow passes across his face. “Fuck you, Margaux. You’re such a fucking hypocrite. You write books about girls fucking four guys at once.”

“They’re books ,” I snap. “You’re talking about your real-life coworker deceiving women for pity sex.”

“Your books are about people being whores ,” he spits, venom dripping from every word.

“Excuse me? Grow the fuck up,” I reply.

“All you do is tell me mean things,” he pouts, his voice dipping into that insufferable victim tone.

“Maybe because you need to hear them,” I reply coldly. “You need to change your atrocious behavior. You’re a grown man acting like a spoiled child. Fix it. ”

He sighs dramatically, his demeanor softening as if to reel me back in. “I’m sorry. Can we reset? Can I put your drums together for you?”

I’m too drained to argue. “Fine. Whatever.”

Later in the Day

Alice intuitively reaches out, her message lighting up my phone like a rescue flare:

Alice:

What’s going on, friend?

Me:

Douchebaggery.

Alice:

What happened?

Me:

Just the usual.

Alice:

Has he touched you lately?

Me:

No. He says he’s stopped doing that.

He’s just used verbally derogatory terms, and I just drove by him hanging out at a homeless tent and yelled that he’s a lying user.

Alice:

That’s not a good and healthy relationship for you, babe. At all.

Me:

I know.

Alice:

And you deserve someone wholesome and loving.

Me:

He ran off because I told him there’s information available online about how he’s a piece of shit.

Alice:

Ugh. Exhausting.

Me:

The last wholesome relationship I had was for 6 years and we didn’t have sex for 5, and I spent the whole 6 years apologizing for his weirdness.

Alice:

You need an actually good person.

Me:

I’m going to walk over to dickhead and tell him.

Alice

Is that a good idea?

Me:

You know what? I no longer know what is a good idea.

It’s 154PM here, so better time than any.

Alice:

Amazing how bad circumstances make all ideas seem good.

Me:

It’s light outside. I’ll take one of my books and if he’s a dickhead, I’ll throw it at his stupid head.

If he’s not, I’ll give it to one of his meth buddies. Jesus.

I don’t think he’s actually doing meth, but he’s smoking weed and drinking cheap vodka with homeless people and acting like they’re better than me.

Alice:

Yeah, he's spending time with unpredictable people.

Which isn't good for an unpredictable person.

Me:

Maybe I should just drive down the beach and watch the waves instead.

Or I will just reinforce his narrative that I’m a psycho, which I did by pulling a screeching U-turn and then slamming the accelerator like I was Vin Diesel in Too Fast Too Furious. Not even the original, one of the shitty sequels, bruh.

Alice:

You're gonna hurt yourself!

Me:

He will see me go by and lose his shit, thinking that I’m going to go on a date once again.

Alice:

This sounds awful.

What an awful way to have to live your life.

Me:

Yeah.

I agree. He’s just dumb.

Like… he’s smart in some ways, but really fucking dumb.

Says mean things.

Has stopped hurting me physically, and now says mean things instead.

He started a new medication yesterday that’s meant to stop him from being such an asshole.

Oh, and I think he’s panhandling again. Jesus Christ.

Alice:

Seriously? Why?

Me:

Well, it said he was by the store.

So I imagine he was scrounging for Karkov and a Black and Mild.

Needing a break from the oppression of the apartment, I go for a drive.

I crank Taylor Swift and MGK as loud as the truck’s speakers will allow. As I drive past a ‘hot people’ tent—not the meth tent, just a group of attractive people enjoying the day—I catch their attention. The crazed redhead in a camo truck, blasting music, probably looking as unhinged as I feel.

Me:

I am on a lovely drive cranking old school Taylor swift, and the hot people tent (not meth tent but fun hanging out day hot people tent) all turned and looked at the crazed redhead driving by in a camo truck.

Alice:

This feels like an NBC show.

Me:

But edgier. I’m cooler than King of Queens.

I can’t make this shit up.

Alice:

People will be disgusted anyone fucks him.

"Get her a cock attached to someone better!!!"

I crack up laughing at her unexpected comment.

Me:

Lol. I had to pull over bc you had me LOLing!

I’m literally going to go hand him his baby bottle on the way back if he’s still there.

I send her a picture of the glass baby bottle I got him from the Asian grocery store. It had contained a Japanese milk beverage, and he’d become instantly obsessed over the childlike bottle.

I got it as a joke, but he’s obsessed and calls it his ‘baba’.

So now his ‘friends’ can see his baba.

I pass by Timmy’s supposed location. Sure enough, he’s there with his ‘friends’, laughing and carrying on like he’s the life of the party.

I don’t stop. I don’t even slow down. Let him have his moment of delusion. Let him pretend these people care about him.

When I get back to the apartment, I’m met with the same suffocating reality—Timmy’s chaotic presence, the weight of his words, the impossibility of building anything stable with him around.

I’ve always been hopeful. I’ve always believed people could change. But as the days stretch into months, that hope feels more and more like a cruel joke.

I glance at my phone, at Alice’s latest message:

Alice:

You deserve so much better.

And I do.

But for now, I’m still here, navigating this nightmare one chaotic day at a time.