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THE OTHER SIDE OF FEAR

J ackson and I stand there, shell-shocked, as the sound of Timmy’s truck fades into the distance. My heart pounds in my chest, my hands trembling as I try to process what just happened.

“What the actual fuck?” Jackson mutters, his face pale. “Is he always like that?”

“No,” I whisper, my hands trembling, my voice shaky. “I mean… he gets upset sometimes, but never like this.”

Jackson shakes his head in disbelief. “Probably too many drugs.”

I pull out my phone and dial Charlie, my hands shaking as I explain what happened, and I give her our location.

As we walk toward a nearby café, my mind races, trying to make sense of Timmy’s spiral. The enormity of the drive crashes over me. His manic energy, his vile stories, the reckless driving, his wild accusations—it’s like I’ve just seen a side of him I never knew existed, like I’ve been dropped into a nightmare I can’t wake up from.

Jackson and I sit at the café, and he tries to reassure me. “You did nothing wrong. He was acting crazy as hell.” My brain feels scrambled, trying to reconcile the Timmy I love with the person I just witnessed—a man unhinged, spiraling out of control .

I glance at my phone, half-expecting a message from Timmy. Apologies, excuses, promises—it’s always the same. But this time, I feel different. This time, the fear won’t go away.

Because deep down, I know this isn’t just a one-time thing. It’s part of a pattern—one that’s getting impossible to ignore.

The rest of the group meets us at the café. Before we get a chance to share what happened, my phone rings, and Timmy’s name lights up the screen like a flare in the night, signaling disaster. Everyone in the room reacts instantly, tension thick in the air.

“Speakerphone!” they all yell in unison, their voices tinged with urgency.

I hesitate for a moment, knowing deep down that whatever Timmy has to say won’t be good. But part of me hopes—maybe—it’ll just be him venting, angry but manageable. I press the speaker icon, my heart pounding, and set the phone on the table.

What comes through is far worse than anything I could have imagined.

“I’m going to throw your cat in the ocean, you stupid cunt,” Timmy’s voice snarls, the words crackling through the phone like venom. “You’re fucking awful, and I’m going to do to you and your cat what should have been done long ago!”

The room falls into stunned silence, the words hanging in the air like a toxic cloud. Several people gasp, hands flying to their mouths, their eyes wide with disbelief. The weight of his words hits us all at once, like a gut punch, knocking the breath out of everyone at the table.

My heart clenches, my breath catching painfully in my chest. Sabre. My sweet, innocent baby, alone with him. Timmy must have somehow made it all the way back to the other side of the Cay. And now he’s threatening to take Sabre—my child, my constant companion—and throw him into the ocean.

Who does that ?

Who threatens to hurt a helpless animal just to punish someone?

“Please,” I whisper into the phone, my voice barely audible, raw with fear. “Please don’t hurt Sabre.”

Timmy’s reply is laced with venom, dripping with spite. “You’re a fucking dumb slut. Fucking a fourteen-year-old.”

My mind reels, trying to process his words. “What are you talking about? That’s disgusting!”

But Timmy isn’t done. His voice rises, lashing out with unhinged rage. “You’re fucking gross. I should call the cops and tell them what you’re doing.”

My hands tremble as I try to calm him down, feeling helpless. “Timmy, please,” I beg, tears threatening to spill over. “Please don’t do this. Just be calm.”

But my plea only seems to fuel his anger.

“Fuck you, slut. You’re going to pay the consequences for what you did. I hope you have a nice life with your fourteen-year-old boyfriend.”

And with that, the line goes dead.

The silence that follows is deafening. Everyone at the table is frozen, their expressions a mixture of shock, horror, and disbelief. I sit, stunned, as the tears I’ve been holding back begin to spill over, hot and relentless.

Charlie’s friend, a woman I’ve only just met, shifts her chair closer to me without hesitation. She places a supportive hand on my forearm, offering quiet comfort. The warmth of her touch is the only thing grounding me in the moment.

“Oh my god,” someone mutters under their breath. “Did that just happen?”

Another person, pale with disbelief, shakes their head slowly. “He really said he was going to—throw your cat in the ocean?”

I can feel their eyes on me, but it all feels distant, like I’m watching the scene from outside my body.

“He’s threatening your cat,” Charlie whispers, horrified. “That’s... that’s insane.”

I press the heels of my hands to my eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears. But it’s no use. The emotions flood in too fast—fear for Sabre, shame for being in this situation, disbelief that the man I love could say something so monstrous.

The woman beside me gently takes one of my hands in hers, clasping it tightly. She leans in, her expression earnest and full of empathy. “Margaux, you’re in an abusive relationship,” she says softly, her words cutting through the fog of my mind. “I’ve been there. I know how hard it is. But it’s going to take a lot of strength to break away. Trust me, though—it will be worth it.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy and clear, but they don’t fully sink in. It’s like I’m hearing them through a thick layer of denial, as if they’re meant for someone else—not me.

Timmy’s just upset , I tell myself. This isn’t who he really is .

He hasn’t hurt me physically since the deer antler incident—that was a one-time thing, an aberration. This must be the same. A fluke. An anomaly. The second-worst thing he’s done, if I had to rank them—but somehow, this feels worse. Maybe because it involves someone else, or because he’s threatening the thing I love most.

I cling to the idea that this isn’t the real Timmy—that he’s just having a bad day, and that once he cools down, he’ll see how wrong he was and apologize. That he didn’t mean it.

But even as I try to convince myself, I feel the creeping weight of doubt pressing in on me.

The woman squeezes my hand again, her gaze steady. “It doesn’t matter if he’s just upset,” she says, as if reading my thoughts. “What he said—what he threatened—is not normal. It’s not okay.”

I nod numbly, but my mind is spinning, tangled in the cycle of justifications I’ve built to protect myself from the truth.

He’ll calm down. He always does.

He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t have meant it.

I’ll call him later, and we’ll sort this out. It’ll all blow over.

But deep down, I know I’m lying to myself. She’s right. This isn’t normal. This isn’t okay.

And the scariest part is that I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending it is .

I hug my arms around myself, trying to hold everything in—trying not to shatter completely in front of these people.

“You don’t deserve this,” the woman whispers, her voice soft but firm. “No one deserves this.”

I nod again, more out of politeness than agreement. The words don’t feel real yet. I feel like I’m floating, untethered, unable to process what just happened.

But one thought cuts through the fog, sharp and clear—I need to get home. I need to get Sabre. Whatever happens next, I have to make sure my baby is safe.

The others exchange concerned glances, and I can feel the weight of their worry pressing down on me. But for now, all I can focus on is getting through the next hour, the next minute, the next breath.

Because right now, that’s all I can do.

My phone buzzes violently in my hand. The screen fills with messages from Timmy—one after another, each one more twisted and hateful than the last. It’s like watching a dam break, and I can’t stop the flood.

Timmy:

You’re so fucking dumb. This truck’s not gonna go much further, and you’re... it’s going to get fucking ripped.

You’re just... you’re just dumb and... collect your baby 14-year-old. You’re so fucking retarded.

You’re still the dumbest fucking retarded person I’ve ever fucking known.

The most abusive, punching, pinching, fucking twisted, fucking a 14-year-old.

You’re just a fucking retarded cunt.

You’re a stupid fucking whore thank you bye.

I can only imagine you’re happy bc you’re fucking around with your 14-year-old .

I stare at the screen, my heart pounding so loudly I can barely hear myself think. The words don’t even make sense—they’re jumbled, manic, incoherent—but the anger behind them is unmistakable.

The accusation about Jackson sends a shiver down my spine. Why is he fixated on this disgusting idea? I’ve been nothing but clear, and the accusation is beyond repulsive. The fact that he’s hurling such vile things at me... it’s more than just an insult. It’s cruelty for cruelty’s sake. Or he’s just so sick and twisted he actually believes his own story.

My fingers tremble as I respond.

Me:

That’s gross. I’m actually with his mum.

His reply comes instantly, the rage boiling over in his words.

Timmy:

Fuck you, fuck you, and fuck you.

I hope you make it back in time.

I’d like to see all three of us alive together.

The air leaves my lungs in a sharp gasp. What the hell does that mean? And then it hits me—like ice plunging into my chest. He’s not just raging. He’s threatening to kill me. To kill Sabre.

I clutch my stomach as nausea twists through me. I try to retch, but nothing comes out, just dry heaving sobs. My poor Sabre. Alone, defenseless, with a man whose mind is unraveling.

The next texts arrive, relentless.

Timmy:

I’m the one just trying to ask people for help with gas money to get home... like I’m not going to make it there, but I really hope... I don’t even know why I’m talking to you.

Still, you’re such a fucking cunt. Like, why the fuck am I even talking to you?

I’m going to get your truck and drive it up your ass at some point, you fucking piece of shit.

I slap a hand over my mouth, stifling a cry. He’s threatening to drive the truck into me. The very thought of it—a steel frame and screeching tires, aimed at me in rage—makes me shiver uncontrollably. My hands ache from gripping the phone too hard, but I can’t loosen my grip. I have to keep reading.

Timmy:

Fuck yourself.

Hanging on some kid, walking off hanging out with some child.

You’re a fucking dumb cunt.

You’re the dumbest fuck. Most apologetic. Fucking opposite cunt I’ve ever seen in my fucking life.

Go fuck yourself and I hope your cat fucking dies.

I gasp aloud, the words slamming into me with the force of a punch. Sabre .

Timmy:

I meant you, sorry.

Another gasp. My heart falters for a beat—relief mixed with horror. At least for now, Sabre’s not his target. But what happens when his rage shifts again?

Timmy:

I watch you and your stupid choice.

When someone doesn’t have a single second to talk to someone, it’s because...

You’re a fucking cheater and I fucking hate you.

And you’re also very fucking gross.

So fucking gross.

I burst into tears, the dam inside me finally giving way. I can’t stop the sobs from wracking my body. None of this is true. It’s all lies—hateful, hurtful lies. The accusation is literally insane. But the venom in his words makes it feel real, even though I know it’s not.

The only person I want is him. And yet, here I am—being accused of the most disgusting, repugnant things. I can’t even wrap my mind around the fact that he thinks I’d be interested in a child. How could he say that? How could he even think that?

But then there’s the other layer—the more immediate fear clawing at the back of my mind. The death threats. He said he hopes we don’t all make it.

That thought alone makes my blood run cold. If I don’t get back soon—if I don’t intervene—what will happen to Sabre?

I wipe my face with the back of my hand, but the tears keep coming. I have to get home. I have to protect my baby.

The pit in my stomach grows heavier as another realization creeps in—Timmy has shown me, time and time again, that when he gets like this, he doesn’t just stop at words. He damages things. He breaks things, destroys what he can’t control. And right now, he’s alone with everything I own—everything I’ve built and cared for. It’s only stuff , I tell myself, trying to be rational.

But it’s my stuff. And he’s already cost me so much. If I don’t get back in time, what else will he take from me?

My phone buzzes again, but I can’t bring myself to look at it right away. Instead, I clutch it in my hand, rocking slightly in place, trying to steady my breathing. What if he follows through on these threats? What if I lose Sabre? What if I lose everything?

I shake my head, trying to force the spiral of fear to stop. But it’s relentless, wrapping itself tighter and tighter around my mind. I need to get back.

I wipe my face again, trying to collect myself, but it’s useless. I’m unraveling.

The thought of walking back into that apartment terrifies me—facing Timmy, his rage, the unpredictable storm that he’s become. But I know I don’t have a choice.

I have to go.

For Sabre.

For me.