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THEY SAY THE TRUTH WILL SET YOU FREE... BUT WHAT IS THE TRUTH, ANYWAY?

T he next day, my phone buzzes. It’s Jennifer, and she has some unexpected news about Timmy.

I stare at my phone, reading the text thread over and over again, my emotions in a tangled mess.

Jennifer:

Oh my god, I just got a voicemail from a phone number that said ‘Timmy in Jail.’

His message was all about how he needed me to bail him out. He even offered to give me back the truck and the chainsaw if I do.

Just seeing those words makes my heart race.

The part of me that knows how to survive tells me that everything Jennifer is saying is right—he’s dangerous, a menace, a walking grenade with the pin already pulled. But the other part, the one who felt cherished when he cradled me and kissed me like I was his entire world, aches to reach out to him. He needs me. I can’t just leave him there like that. My heart twists in conflict.

Jennifer:

He sounds terrible. Good!

Her gleeful text snaps me back to reality. I stare at the screen, trying to decide how I feel about that. It’s not that I don’t get it—if anyone has a right to feel that way about Timmy, it’s her. But something about the way she seems to revel in his suffering leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It’s the way her words feel smug, not just relieved, that makes me uneasy. Does she want him to suffer, or does she just want me to know she’s right about him?

Me:

Oh shit.

I feel guilty, even for sending that. Is it really okay to feel bad for him, after everything he’s done to me? My body throbs under the weight of that thought, the bruises blossoming into angry purples and blues. I trace the edge of one absentmindedly, wincing at the sharp sting. Some of them could be from sex, sure. But the others… the ones that feel deeper, more deliberate… those are different.

Jennifer:

Yeah, he’s fucking insane.

Kept going on about how he desperately needs his medication. How he’s anxious and has a sore tummy in jail. Boo fucking hoo.

Don’t you worry. No fucking way in hell am I bailing him out. He’s a menace to society.

And I’m going to tell Steve not to either!

The word menace rattles me. It doesn’t sit right, even though she might be correct. It makes me feel defensive, as though hearing someone else condemn him stirs something protective in me. A part of me wants to argue, wants to say, ‘he’s not like that, not all the time.’ The other part knows that’s exactly what people say when they’re in the thick of an abusive relationship. And yet, here I am, still trying to make sense of it.

I feel bad that he’s in pain, but he kind of put himself in that situation. I’ve never been in jail, but from what I’ve seen on TV, they give you medication. I’m sure the whole desperate ‘I need my medication’ thing is just a tactic for him to get bailed out, a sympathy ploy. Still, I feel bad for anyone in pain, especially the people I love. And I can’t help but think about him tossing and turning and experiencing heartburn and anxiety while trapped in a cell with god knows who else. And part of me feels guilty for putting him there, despite what he’s done to me.

I sit back, my phone heavy in my hand, and try to piece together everything—Jennifer’s stories, Timmy’s promises, the tenderness, and the violence that followed.

It’s like trying to fit together two different versions of the same person. On the one hand, Timmy is generous, sweet, playful—a free spirit who lights up my world with his quirky charm. On the other, he’s reckless, explosive, and terrifying. And now, sitting in jail, he’s hurting. And I still care about him. How can both be true?

Jennifer says Timmy slashed her kid’s tires, threw her things over fences, and wrecked her stuff. She paints him as a chaotic storm that leaves devastation in his wake. And some of it matches the Timmy I’ve seen—the wild behavior, the unpredictability. But other parts don’t fit. She claims he stalked her even while he was with me, but I know that’s impossible. He’s been glued to my side every second. Why would she lie, though? And then again, why wouldn’t Timmy?

My head throbs. It’s hard to tell where her bitterness ends and the truth begins. Maybe the timelines are blurred, or maybe this is just another manipulation—another way for Timmy to keep two women tangled in his web.

The texts feel like they’re burning a hole through my phone. Why am I still entertaining this? The logical part of my brain knows I need to let go, to sever ties with Timmy and anyone associated with him. But another part clings to the hope that Timmy isn’t the monster everyone thinks he is. What if he really does need me? What if, deep down, this love—this chaotic, volatile love—is something that could heal us both?

I rub my temples, as if I can physically push the thoughts out of my head. He told me I was the only one who truly understood him, that I was his person, his lifeline. And I believed him. I still want to believe him. But I also know what it feels like to love someone who hurts you—and to justify it, over and over again, until you don’t even recognize yourself anymore.

I glance at the bruises again, and they feel like a brand, marking me as someone who’s crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed. How did I get here so fast? Just a couple of weeks ago, I was in love, dreaming of a future with Timmy, and now I’m sitting here, covered in bruises, wondering if I’m going to get hurt again when he gets out. Wondering if I’ll be able to walk away.

I tap out another message.

Me:

Do you think Steve will actually listen to you?

Jennifer:

Probably not. He’s loyal to Timmy to a fault. But I’ll try.

Just stay safe, okay?

Her words feel sincere, but I still don’t know if I trust her. I don’t know if I trust anyone right now—not even myself. I put my phone down and stare out at the ocean, the waves crashing rhythmically against the shore. I breathe in the salt air, hoping it will calm the storm inside me.

How do I still feel like I love someone who can hurt me like that? How do I reconcile the man who made me feel seen, cherished, and adored with the man who shoved me to the ground, bruised my skin, and threatened to kill me?

The hardest part is that I still want to believe in the first version of Timmy—the one who held me close, kissed my forehead, told me I was his world and that he loved each and every one of my freckles. The one who took me to see Sabre in quarantine. The one who made me feel like the only woman on earth.

What if everything she’s saying is a lie? What if he’s right, and she’s the toxic, abusive, bad person in all of this? Sure, she didn’t attack me. He did. But part of me feels like I need to hear his side of the story. I feel sympathy for his mental health issues, and god knows I have my own. PTSD, anxiety and depression are all a bitch that I have to deal with every day. And his condition seems more severe. No excuse to attack me, of course, or to threaten to kill me. But he says I’m his person, the one that has helped him and will continue to help him, and there’s a sense of obligation in that. A sense of feeling like I might be the only one who can help him to change his life for the better.

But now, at the same time, every sweet memory feels tainted, every loving gesture a potential manipulation. It’s as if the person I thought I knew was a mirage, and now I’m left wandering in the desert, desperate for water, not knowing if I’ll ever find it again—or if it was all just a trick.

I pick up my phone and stare at the message thread again, my thumb hovering over the screen. I know I should block him, let him go. But I also know I won’t. Not yet.

Because part of me is still waiting. Waiting for the Timmy I fell in love with to come back. Waiting for the story to make sense. Waiting for him to tell me that everything will be okay.

Even though, deep down, I know it probably won’t.