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FUCK OFF, K THANKS BYE

H is phone buzzes again. And again.

The word, ‘Worst’”, keeps flashing across the screen like a taunt, each ping grating on my nerves.

Worst.

Worst.

Worst.

Then a new message lights up the display:

Worst:

Come pick me up, sugar.

It’s impossible not to see it—I mean, maybe I am craning my neck a little, but can you blame me?

My gut twists into a knot, the sinking feeling dragging me deeper with each buzz.

The casual way he lets her messages pile up, completely unconcerned, makes it worse. It’s as if her texts don’t even register as a problem to him, but they’re glaring at me like a neon warning sign. Every time his phone buzzes the image of her suitcase on Timmy’s bed creeps into my mind.

“Why the fuck is this girl blowing up your phone?” I ask, trying but semi-failing to keep my voice calm. My heart beats fast against my ribs. “I thought you said you didn’t want anything to do with her.” I raise a brow, the unease racing through me.

Timmy shrugs, his face annoyingly neutral, like this is a minor inconvenience. “I don’t.”

I narrow my eyes. “Well, she doesn’t seem to have gotten the hint.”

He shrugs again, his indifference only fueling my irritation. “I’ll tell her to piss off. She’s annoying. She must just want something.”

Annoying. That’s all she is to him, he says. But my gut keeps whispering otherwise, and I can’t shake David’s words from earlier. “ He’s banging her. That’s why he went radio silent for a few days. He’s insecure, and people like that cheat—especially when they know you’re out of their league.”

David’s words swirl in my mind, needling at my insecurity, making it impossible to ignore the nagging doubt. He has an agenda, too, I remind myself. But no matter how hard I try to dismiss it, the suspicion sticks, sharp and persistent.

I need to know the truth.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “When she visited,” I ask slowly, “did you sleep with her?”

The question hangs between us, heavy and loaded. Timmy blinks, clearly taken aback by my directness. “What kind of question is that?” he snaps, his tone defensive.

I watch his face closely, searching for any flicker of truth. And there it is—something fleeting, a flicker of guilt or frustration, maybe both, gone almost as soon as it appeared.

“Well, did you?” I ask again.

His expression darkens. “No,” he scowls. “And it’s none of your business. We weren’t together then, Margaux. We hadn’t even met in person. Stop asking me if I slept with her.”

The sharpness in his voice feels like a slap, leaving me embarrassed and stung. My cheeks burn with shame. He’s right , I tell myself. It’s not my business . If something did happen between them, it happened before us , before Timmy and I existed as a couple, so why does it matter? And he’s saying nothing happened, so I should trust him.

“Um okay,” I mutter, feeling like I’ve been put in my place.

We drive in silence for a few minutes, the weight of the conversation hanging heavy, the hum of the car engine the only sound between us.

Just as I think the conversation is over, Timmy speaks again, his voice quieter but no less jarring. “Well…okay. I did have sex with her.”

I feel like the ground just dropped out from beneath me. My stomach twists violently, bile rising in my throat. “Excuse me?”

“It didn’t mean anything,” he says with a shrug, like he’s explaining away something very minor. “She’s just this annoying girl I’ve hooked up with a few times. I didn’t even know for sure you were coming to the island, and she was just… there.” His tone is flat, unbothered, as if this explanation should just somehow make everything okay. “She’s just a friend, though. We don’t like each other as anything more than that. Never have, never will. I’d certainly never date her. She’s a mess.”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest, and I try to breathe through the sting. “Right…” I frown. My fears have been realized.

It’s not that he slept with her—it’s the lie. I asked him point-blank, and he lied about it.

And now, here she is, still texting him, still blowing up his phone, still trying to insert herself into his life, into our life.

“It’s not the sex that bothers me,” I say, my voice tight. “Because you’re right, we weren’t together. We hadn’t met yet. It’s the fact you lied about it. I know you’ve been with other people before you met me—of course you have. But you specifically lied to me about her . And now she’s still reaching out to you, still trying to get your attention. That’s what makes this gross.”

Timmy sighs, rubbing his face as if I’m the one being difficult. “She probably just needs a ride somewhere,” he mutters. “She uses people like that.” He looks at me with an almost childlike expression, almost as if he expects me to take his side. “We’re not interested in each other like that. You have nothing to worry about. ”

I want to believe him. I really do. I try to tell myself that we weren’t together when it happened, that it was in the past, and that it doesn’t matter. But the fact she’s still texting him—trying to get him to go and pick her up from somewhere—makes it very much my business now .

I swallow hard, trying to push the knot of discomfort deeper down. Maybe he’s right, she’s just someone from the past who won’t take a hint. Maybe I’m overreacting. But the truth still gnaws at me—if everything is as simple as he says it is, why did he lie in the first place?

He speaks up again. “And I usually had to initiate conversations with you, and I’m used to being pursued. And she wanted to meet up with me. And so I did.”

Weird. So it’s now… at least partially my fault he went and slept with his friend that he told me he was going to meet up with? When I was hours away and hadn’t even met him? And what is this nonsense about him being pursued? Are there more like her, trying to get in his pants even though he’s in a serious relationship?

We drive on, the silence between us heavy and uneasy. I stare out the window, watching the palm trees blur past, trying to make sense of everything.

I want to trust him. I want to push these doubts away and just enjoy being with him. But the lie sits between us like a stone, impossible to ignore. Just like the missed messages and calls on his phone.

No matter how hard I try to convince myself otherwise, I know something isn’t right.

And she needs to leave us the fuck alone.