Page 93

CHAPTER 93

THE MOST EVIL THING

MARGAUX

A COUPLE OF WEEKS LATER

T hings have been surprisingly good lately. Timmy has been cleaning the house, cooking meals, and even helping with some of my graphic design projects.

For once, his actions are consistent with his words, and my trust in him is growing, cautiously but undeniably.

So when his cousin, Janet, shares that her mother is downsizing and moving into an assisted living condo, I bring it up to Timmy. It feels like the kind of lighthearted update he’d appreciate.

“She’s really excited,” I say. “And we joked about how it’d be cool if your parents downsized and moved near her at some point. They could be neighbors—how fun would that be?”

Timmy smiles warmly. “Oh my gosh, that would be adorable. Mom loves hanging out with her.”

It feels like a sweet moment.

I think nothing more of it.

Later, we go grocery shopping. As we pass the liquor aisle, Timmy’s eyes light up. A party bucket filled with twenty tiny Fireball bottles sits on the shelf, practically calling his name.

“Ooh!” he exclaims. “Can you please get me one of these buckets?”

I sigh, already exhausted by the request. “Timmy, I think that’s a terrible idea.”

“Please?”

“No, not happening.”

He pouts like a child. “Come on! We can make it like an Easter egg hunt. You can hide them around the house, and I can find them!”

“Timmy…”

“It’ll be so cute!” he insists, grabbing my arm. His tone shifts to a soft plea, his eyes wide and sincere. “Babe, I promise it’ll just be for fun. We’re having such a great day, and I wouldn’t ruin that. I’ll just have fun finding them and only drink a couple.”

His enthusiasm is infectious, and his promises, as usual, sound so genuine. He’s so persuasive with the way he says things.

Part of me is curious, too—can he live up to his word?

And if he doesn’t, will that give me the final push I need to get out of this?

Is this a way of saving myself?

Against my better judgment, but with a hint of curiosity, I relent.

“Okay, I’ll get you the Fireball bucket. But you have to stick to your word. I’m serious.”

“I promise,” he says, grinning ear to ear. “Thank you so much!”

As he grabs the bucket, my stomach flips.

I hope I’m not making a huge mistake.

“Yay! Fireball Easter egg hunt for Timmy!” he squeals with delight.

Well, I guess we’ll see what happens.

Timmy might be digging his own grave.

Hopefully not mine, too.

LATER IN THE DAY

Back at home, I hide the little Fireball bottles all around the apartment.

I get creative—placing them in drawers, on top of the fridge, inside the Baby Shark toy with the ripped-open butt, and even under the bed.

Timmy scours the apartment high and low for the Fireball, his giddy laughter echoing through the rooms. “Yesss! Found another! I’m so good at this!”

I shake my head, half-amused, half-concerned. I’ve never seen him work this hard at anything. It would be impressive if it weren’t so sad.

He cracks one open and downs it in one gulp.

“Careful,” I caution. “Remember your promise not to drink them all at once.”

“Oh, I know! Don’t worry,” he says with a grin. “I’ll behave myself.”

About an hour later, Timmy is visibly drunk, the now all-too-familiar cruel gleam in his eyes.

He leaves for a while, and comes back another hour later, and heads to the back room.

“I’m going to tell the secret!” he announces gleefully, his face twisted with mischief. Before I can stop him, he grabs his phone and retreats to the back room.

My heart sinks into my stomach.

What secret?

Moments later, I hear him screaming into the phone. “Mom, they were laughing about putting you in a nursing home! Janet and Margaux—they think you’re crazy!”

I freeze, the blood draining from my face.

What the actual fuck? What have I done?

What a horrible, dangerous thing to make up.

“That’s not true!” I yell, storming toward him. “I didn’t say that! We didn’t say anything like that! How dare you twist something around that was said with kindness and compassion?! Why are you lying to her?!”

But Timmy ignores me, smirking as he continues to twist my words into something vile. “Nope! That’s what they think of you, Mom! They think you need to be in a home!”

His mother’s panicked voice crackles faintly through the phone, but I can’t make out her words.

I can’t believe the lies coming out of his mouth. He’s said some really fucked up things in the past, but weaponizing something said with love and using it to terrify a woman who’s already going through so much? I have no words.

“Stop lying! ” I scream. Blood thumps in my temples, and I probably sound unhinged. “Shut the fuck up, Timmy! You’re hurting your mom for no reason! Why would you do this?!”

He smirks, his voice mockingly low and steady. “Calm down, Margaux. Just be honest about what you said about my mom.”

No doubt his parents can hear me yelling and swearing. But I’m so upset for his mother, and I just want him to stop lying to her.

I hear her sobs through his phone, and guilt shreds at my heart.

His words are daggers, designed to provoke me, to make me sound like the villain.

I can see what he’s doing, and I know it’s deliberate.

But what stuns me the most is that he doesn’t care that his evil lies are hurting his mother—only that they’re upsetting me.

“You’re a monster,” I whisper, my voice shaking.

His grin widens, and he hangs up the phone. “Wow,” he says, leaning back against the wall. “You’re so dramatic. You really need to calm down.”

As I sit on the bed later, shaking with rage and disbelief, I replay the scene in my head.

Timmy didn’t just twist my words—he weaponized a moment of kindness and compassion and turned it into something grotesque.

And for what? To hurt me? To make his mom distrust me? To sow chaos for the sake of chaos?

I glance at him on the other side of the bed, now dozing peacefully as if nothing happened.

How did I get here? How did I let someone like this take up space in my life?

It’s not the first time he’s done something like this, and it won’t be the last. I know that now.

But I also know something else—I can’t keep living like this.

Something has to change—because if it doesn’t, he’s going to destroy me.

And he’s going to enjoy every second of it.