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A LONG NIGHT

“ M argaux, dear, he seems like he’s on gear or something.” Charlie squeezes my arm, her voice gentle but weighted with concern. Her expression is serious, her brows knitted, as if she’s carefully choosing her words.

“Gear?” I echo, a nervous laugh escaping me. “What do you mean? Like… drugs?”

She nods. “Yeah. He just doesn’t stop talking. His speech is so fast, and he keeps repeating himself. I don’t know—it’s just weird. Even earlier, his behavior seemed really off, like he’s not all there.”

Her words hit me like a cold slap to the face. It’s the first time someone from the outside has mirrored back the things I’ve started to notice but haven’t dared to say out loud. Timmy’s chaotic energy—something I’ve grown used to, even when it’s exhausting—suddenly feels like a glaring problem. Through her eyes, I can see what she means.

It makes me feel a little defensive, though, a little embarrassed. Nobody wants to hear their partner described like that, especially from someone they trust. “I mean... that’s just kind of how he is,” I say weakly, feeling the need to explain him. “He gets really excited sometimes. ”

She tilts her head sympathetically but doesn’t back down. “Excited is one thing, Margaux, but this—” she gestures vaguely in a random direction, seeing she wasn’t there when he peeled off in the truck—“this is something else. He doesn’t seem right in the head.”

I want to argue, but the truth is lodged in my throat, uncomfortable and undeniable. I know exactly what she’s talking about. Timmy’s frenetic energy can feel exhilarating when it’s directed the right way—like a spark of inspiration that lights up everything around him. But when it spirals, it’s suffocating. Like trying to hold on to a tornado. And tonight, it wasn’t just suffocating—it was terrifying.

“I get it,” I say, my voice low. “He was... off today. I don’t know what that was.”

Her son, Jackson, flashes through my mind—the awkward tension in the car, Timmy’s reckless driving, the sickening stories he kept telling. My stomach churns with guilt. I feel terrible for putting them in that position. I never would’ve introduced them if I’d known Timmy was going to act like that.

I sigh heavily, the weight of everything pressing down on me. “I’m really sorry this happened, Charlie. I didn’t mean for things to get like that.”

Charlie gives me a warm but worried smile, wrapping me in a hug. “Don’t apologize. I’m just glad we’re all okay. But are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” I say, though the words feel empty.

“Are you sure? Because, Margaux... he’s acting fucking nuts.”

I force a smile, though my heart feels heavy with doubt. “He’ll calm down eventually. He always does. I’ll be okay.”

Charlie pulls back and searches my face with concern. “I really hope so. If you ever need anything—just call me, okay?”

I nod, feeling the sting of tears threatening to surface. She gives me another squeeze before I climb into the Uber that finally arrives. As the car pulls away, I watch her standing there, her worried expression lingering in my mind long after she’s out of sight.

The Uber ride back takes nearly an hour, giving me more than enough time to think—but my thoughts are jumbled, spinning in frantic circles.

I stare out the window, watching the night slip past in a blur of streetlights and shadows. My mind replays the events of the day, over and over, like a broken record. Timmy’s manic energy, the way he kept pushing boundaries, laughing at things that weren’t funny, driving like a man possessed. And then the switch—how quickly he turned cruel, throwing out wild accusations like grenades, leaving me stunned and scrambling to make sense of what just happened.

I can’t shake the feeling of wrongness that settled over me during that ride in the truck. It was like watching someone I thought I knew unravel right in front of me, piece by piece, until I couldn’t recognize him anymore.

He went from friendly and sociable to cruel and vindictive in the span of minutes. One second, he was charming Jackson, and the next, he was hurling accusations that made no sense. It wasn’t just upsetting—it was scary.

And now, with every passing mile, I find myself dreading what I’ll walk into when I get back to him. Will he be calm and contrite, apologizing the way he always does? Or will he still be riding the high of whatever manic wave he’s caught on?

I try to convince myself that he’ll have calmed down by the time I get home. He has to. He’ll realize how out of line he was and feel guilty—like he always does after a blow-up. That’s the cycle, right? He explodes, then apologizes, and we move on.

But tonight feels different. The anger in his eyes, the reckless way he drove, the way he kept escalating even when I begged him to stop—it wasn’t just a bad mood. It was something darker, something I don’t know how to handle.

What if he’s still angry when I get home? What if he hasn’t calmed down?

The thought makes my chest tighten with anxiety.

I press my forehead against the cool glass of the car window, trying to steady my breathing. The Uber driver hums along quietly to the radio, oblivious to the storm raging inside my head .

I keep checking my phone, half-hoping for a message from Timmy—some sign that he’s come to his senses, that he realizes how badly he messed up. But there’s nothing. Just silence.

My mind keeps racing, trying to piece together how things went so wrong so quickly.

Was it the alcohol? Drugs? Stress? Or is this just... who he really is? A part of him I hadn’t wanted to see until now?

The Uber driver glances at me in the rearview mirror, his brow furrowing slightly. “You okay back there?”

I nod quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just... a long day.”

He nods, seeming satisfied with that answer, and turns his attention back to the road.

But I’m not fine. Not even close.