Page 103

101

PSYCHOS & CHEAPSKATES

A fter a few days on Solvana, right before Steve’s wife and child return home, things only get worse. Steve corners me, asking me to clean his house from top to bottom before his wife gets back. I’m exhausted and irritated—I find it quite rude of him to ask, but I do it anyway.

I vacuum and sweep, and worry that I’m doing a good enough job—he makes it very clear that his wife is a neat freak and strikes terror into him with her expectations which he has kindly passed onto me. It’s a large house, and it takes a while. I hate how eager I am to be helpful, and how I feel like I need to earn the space I take up, even when I know I shouldn’t have to.

Timmy starts drinking more, and so do I. It’s the only way I can numb myself to the awkwardness and stress, and distract myself from how resentful I am that we had to make this trip. We bicker in quiet corners—nothing explosive, just those little jabs that come from being tired and on edge. I know we’re both struggling, but his moods are becoming more unpredictable, and it’s wearing me down.

Without warning, Timmy shaves his beard off for the first time since I’ve met him. He looks younger, and reminds me of a boy band member. He’s cute either way, but I can’t help but think this is a sign of him being more agitated, outwardly changing his appearance in a fairly drastic way to get attention, to soothe something simmering inside of him. Instead of adding bone necklaces or superman capes, he’s removing facial hair.

Sabre’s the only one who seems to be thriving, zooming up and down the steep loft stairs, his tail high in the air. He darts around the garden, chasing invisible creatures and sniffing plants. His happiness is the only thing that gives me a bit of peace—at least something in our little world is going right.

A few days in, Steve approaches us, an expectant look on his face. “Hey, so I need you to stay another week or so to look after the animals while we’re away.”

Timmy and I glance at each other. “Are you open to that?” Timmy asks me.

“Yeah, sure,” I shrug. Not wanting to create a problem. I am getting some writing done from here, but it’s just delaying setting up our apartment and establishing our new routine even further. I ordered supplies based on when we were originally meant to be back, but I figure they should be okay for a few days longer. At this point, I’m too tired to put up any kind of fight.

The next day, any remaining warmth from the moment Timmy called me his penguin well and truly dissolves. I have his phone in my hand, scrolling to find a song to play, when the bright pink and white Tinder icon jumps out at me from the screen like a flashing neon sign. My heart drops.

“What the fuck is this” I ask sharply, holding up the phone.

Timmy glances over and, for a moment, his face shifts—somewhere between annoyance and defensiveness. “What?” he says, his tone sharp enough to cut glass.

“Why is Tinder downloaded on your phone?”

He groans like I’m making a mountain out of a molehill. “I don’t remember downloading that. ”

I scoff. “Tinder doesn’t just download itself, Timmy.”

He shrugs, irritated, but trying to play it cool. “Well, open it. I bet there’s no profile set up.”

I press on the icon. Sure enough, the login screen pops up. He’s not logged in, and there’s no active account. But that doesn’t matter. The fact that the app is there at all makes my stomach churn. “Why would you download Tinder while we’re engaged? That makes me feel sick.”

His defense comes fast, as if rehearsed. “I was drunk and mad at you for hurting my feelings. I don’t remember downloading it, but I guess I must have. But clearly, I didn’t follow through with anything. I didn’t message anyone. You’re everything to me.:”

I stare at him, disbelieving. “So, what? It was a revenge download? You thought, ‘Hey, I’ll just download Tinder and see what happens?’”

He rolls his eyes. “Look, if I downloaded it, it wasn’t serious. It’s not like I’d actually talk to anyone. I’d only want to download something like that for sex, and I couldn’t handle sex any more than what we already have. I can barely keep up with you.”

The flippancy in his voice makes me want to scream. “That’s not the point, Timmy. How would you feel if I downloaded Tinder when we were fighting?”

His eyes narrow. “You did, remember? When I was in jail.”

“That was different,” I argue. “You threatened to kill me. I was terrified and knew no one. It wasn’t a Tinder download for fun—it was desperation.”

He leans back in the seat, smug. “Well, I didn’t give you shit for it, so you shouldn’t be giving me shit now.”

Apples and oranges, but he has a way of making me feel like we’re looking at the same fruit. Wild.

I feel a dull throb in my temples. I want to believe him. I want to believe that it’s all just a stupid mistake. But my gut twists with unease, and the cracks in my trust feel deeper than ever. This isn’t just about a dating app—it’s about the lies, the manipulation, the inconsistencies that keep cropping up like weeds. The way he lashes out with vindictive acts that compromise the trust in our relationship. And the way that his actions constantly cause unnecessary angst and pain for me.

“You’d better not do it again, Timmy,” I whisper, deflated that the day is somewhat fucked now. “I’m not joking. If you do, I’m gone. No questions asked.”

He nods quickly. “I know. I get it. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

The next night, Steve throws a little party, inviting over a few friends to admire the structure he and Timmy have been painting. I hear their voices drifting through the open window—lighthearted chatter, some good-natured ribbing about the project. But then the tone shifts.

I hear yelling, sharp and sudden. It’s Timmy. My stomach tightens, and I know this isn’t going to end well.

When Timmy storms back into the side house, his face is tight with fury. The tension radiates off him like a storm cloud. “They can all fuck off,” he snarls.

“What happened?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm.

“They were criticizing how we painted the fucking beams,” he spits, his voice dripping with venom. He starts mimicking them in a cruel, sing-song tone, like a child mocking a playground bully. “I would have done it this way, I would have done it that way.”

“Timmy,” I say gently, trying to calm him. “Guys do that sometimes. They just can’t help it when they see a home improvement project—they all have to throw their two cents in. It’s annoying, but it’s not personal.”

His eyes darken. “They were making me look stupid. They wanted me to feel stupid.”

I swallow hard. His face reminds me too much of that night. The night everything went so wrong. I try to defuse the situation, but his anger hangs heavy in the air, an uninvited guest neither of us knows how to get rid of.

I leave and head over to the main house where some people have gathered. It’s mainly the female partners of their male counterparts who are still standing outside. A few kids. A few sober people. All oblivious to the tension brewing outside. I’m not proud of it, but I’m clutching a bottle of vodka. Partially because I feel like I need some for comfort, partially so that Timmy won’t drink it all and get even crazier, or be a vindictive shit and pour it down the sink like he’s done a few times before. All I know is that if he drinks more, things will only get worse.

When the rest of the guests are distracted, Steve turns to me and his wife.

“Timmy’s really on one,” he says.

“Yeah, he’s being scary out there,” I agree. “That’s why I came in here.”

“He threatened to kill everybody outside,” Steve adds.

My heart skips a beat. “He did what?”

“Yeah.” Steve sighs. “He’s scaring the hell out of everyone, acting unhinged.”

I press my fingers to my temples, trying to stave off the panic creeping in.

“You’re welcome to stay in here as long as you like,” Steve offers.

I nod, grateful for the offer, but knowing I’ll have to go back eventually. This is my life now—cleaning up Timmy’s messes, navigating his moods, and trying to keep us both afloat.

When I finally head back to the side house, Timmy is sulking on the couch, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. He looks at me with eyes that are wild, unreadable. I can’t tell if he’s sorry or just waiting for another excuse to explode.

I collapse onto the couch, my head spinning from the vodka and the stress. The weight of it all presses down on me, heavy and unrelenting. I close my eyes, hoping for sleep, for some kind of reprieve. Timmy stomps around, muttering crazed words under his breath.

An hour later, I’m jolted awake by the sound of the sliding door opening. Steve steps inside, his face grim. Without a word, he grabs the rifle Timmy had propped in the corner, the one meant for their hunting trip. He says nothing. Just takes the gun and leaves, sliding the door shut behind him. A quiet, deliberate act that speaks louder than any words.

Steve is saving us—from Timmy.

The next morning, Steve pulls us aside. “You guys have to leave,” he says, his tone final. “I’ve booked you on an earlier flight.”

“What about your animals?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

“I’ve got a backup plan,” he replies. “But you two can’t stay here.”

I feel a lump rise in my throat. We’re being kicked out—banished, really. And while I understand why—Timmy’s behavior has been unhinged—I can’t help but feel humiliated. We’ve bent over backward to help, delayed our own lives, spent money on this trip when Steve promised to pay Timmy a decent amount for his labor, and this is how it ends?

Tears spill down my cheeks, a messy mix of anger, embarrassment, and exhaustion. It’s always me cleaning up the messes, bearing the brunt of Timmy’s chaos. And I get that Timmy’s behavior has been completely insane. I understand Steve has a family to protect.

But I didn’t threaten to kill anyone. I didn’t hurt anyone. I feel like I’m constantly in a position where I’m being punished for Timmy’s actions. And worse , sometimes.

Because I’m the one who has to replace all the items he breaks. So his actions are costing me financially, mentally. And spiritually, too. I’m under a constant state of stress. It’s blocking me from being able to be creative, because I’m constantly worrying that he’s going to be upset, and all my energy is focused on him.

I pay for everything, I soothe everyone, and now, I’m being cast aside once again because of him. It’s not fair.

But fairness doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

“I get it,” I whisper. “We’ll leave.”

Timmy looks at me, his expression unreadable. I wonder if he understands what’s happening—or if he even cares. He wraps an arm around me, as if that will make everything better.

“We’ll be fine,” he murmurs. “We always are.”

I nod, but I’m not sure I believe him anymore. I feel like I’m sinking—drowning in the chaos of his life, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep my head above water.

For over a week’s work, Steve gives Timmy about two hundred dollars.

Timmy and I are both shocked, livid.

When we get back to our local airport, I pull the car up at the cashier’s turnstile on the way out. The parking alone is more than what Timmy was paid by Steve for the entire week. Blood thumps in my temples and rings in my ears, my heart pounding in my chest, as I pay two hundred and forty dollars for the airport parking.

The trip ends up costing me personally around a thousand dollars.

This was meant to be a trip where Timmy helped his friend and made some money to help with our move-in costs. And it cost me a grand . Right when I can’t afford it, and it’s put me way behind on my work.

Are you fucking kidding me?

This is disgusting. Regardless of Timmy’s behavior on the last night we were there, he worked for a week. We were both inconvenienced. The way Timmy is, there was no way I couldn’t accompany him. And it’s part of the fun of moving in together that you do it together.

Money I didn’t have, all wasted on a trip that was supposed to help us, not set us back.

Fury builds inside me, hot and unforgiving. “You promised this trip would help with our move-in costs,” I snap at Timmy. “Now we’re worse off than before.”

His face darkens, a storm brewing in his expression. “Steve screwed us over,” he mutters.

I shake my head, exhausted. “Well, you need to talk to him. Because this trip was a disaster.”

“He thinks he’s better than me,” snarls Timmy. “Better than both of us. Always has. He’s always been a loser, though. Nobody liked him at school. I’m the reason he has any friends at all.”

“Well, you need to speak with him, Timmy. You promised to help with move-in costs based on this trip, and you’ve cost me at least a thousand dollars across parking and unnecessary groceries and wastage at home, because you insisted we do a massive grocery shop before we go. I’m going to have to replace everything in the fridge, basically.”

He frowns and sighs. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He calls Steve, and the conversation quickly goes south. “Sorry, that’s all I’m prepared to pay,” says Steve. “I’ve spoken with my wife, and we’ve decided that’s what we’re able to offer and what we think is appropriate.”

“Well, it cost Margaux more than a thousand dollars.”

“Well, she didn’t have to come,” he replies, his tone snide and self-righteous. “You should be grateful, you both basically got a free vacation.”

“But it wasn’t free,” I say to Timmy, “and we didn’t need a place to stay for a week. We have a perfectly great apartment here. One that I would have loved to have been moving into, instead of being stranded hours away while you argued with your friend.”

Timmy reiterates my point to Steve, but he still won’t budge.

I’m so furious. If I knew it was going to cost me a grand, I would never have agreed to go. I would have convinced Timmy to say fuck off to his friend taking advantage of him, and instead we could have used the money to go somewhere nice, just the two of us. I wouldn’t have stayed in someone’s shitty side house and had to listen to their misogynistic comments all week, and pay for the privilege. What a fucking tool.

Timmy slams the phone down, his face tight with rage. “I’m done with him,” he growls. “Done with everyone. It’s just us now.”

Feeling tricked, and with the financial pressure mounting up even more unexpectedly, my resentment continues to build. Now it’s not just Timmy taking advantage of my kind nature, because at least we have a relationship. But now it feels like his friend is doing the same, too.

“I’m so sorry he’s doing this,” says Timmy. “I never would have agreed to do this if I knew he was going to use me and waste your money. I should have known.”

“This is why it should just be the two of us,” he adds. “I’m never helping another user friend again. Fuck everyone else. Fuck everyone else, except for you and Sabre.”

He pulls me close, wrapping his arms around me as Sabre weaves between our legs. “It’s just us, babe. Our cute little family.”

As we drive back to our barely set up new apartment, the weight of everything presses down on me—his lies and deception, the financial strain, the constant back-and-forth of highs and lows. I want to believe things will get better. I want to believe we’ll find stability, that the move will give us a fresh start.

But a nagging voice in the back of my mind whispers that this cycle won’t end. There will always be something. Timmy will always find some way to create chaos, and in the rare instance he doesn’t, one of his friends will.

He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “We’ll figure it out,” he says softly. “We always do.”

I nod, but I’m not so sure.

It really is starting to feel like Timmy and me against the world.

Except, minus Timmy, when he doesn’t feel like it.