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LIAR, LIAR, SKANKS ON FIRE

L ater that Day

His phone’s still not working properly, but I’m a determined person. I want to see what I’m getting myself into. The full picture. What actual data I can pull from that’s not based on an anecdote from Timmy or his ex.

Bring in the rice.

I tell myself this is wrong. Going through his phone isn’t a line I’ve ever had to cross with other romantic partners. But it’s not like I have other options now that he’s in jail, unreachable. I need to know what’s true, what’s fiction, and what kind of mess I really might be stepping into here.

He said in his Tinder profile that he wasn’t interested in drama, but I’m getting the sense that the opposite is true, and that he actually thrives on chaos. Maybe he’s just got a wild streak, a harmless impulsiveness—but there’s this other side I’ve seen now, dark and unpredictable. He threatened to kill me, and actually attacked me. And maybe this is the only way to know what I’m actually dealing with and how he might behave when he gets out.

After trying everything else I can think of, I finally manage to get his phone to work, the rice doing enough to make the screen turn on in brief, frustrating spurts. Because he’s given me the passcode, I’m able to get into it.

With each minute, I feel my stomach tighten. I tell myself that it’s a one-time thing, even though he’s given me permission. Usually, if I did want to check something, I’d do it in front of him, not here when he can’t see me doing it.

But once I get in, it’s like Pandora’s box, a whole new world. A sea of toxic exchanges with numerous people, the kind that feel like poison soaking through the screen.

It’s mostly angry texts between him and a few friends—accusations, insults, mean jabs. A picture pops up next—a baggie of pills, sent by a number I don’t recognize. I’m no drug expert, but these don’t look like they were issued by a pharmacy. Is he buying them? Selling them? It’s unclear. I swallow hard, feeling like I’m peeking into a world I don’t belong to.

Then there’s the girl. The one who he refers to as his evil twin. And she’s… unremarkable, aside from the haggard look to her face that gives her away. The telltale signs of late nights and heavy hard drug use.

Okay, maybe I sound bitchy and judgmental. I own it. But there’s something about her that makes me irrationally angry. She’s one of those people who would be comfortable blowing up someone’s relationship just for a flicker of attention, for some dick.

And she did have sex with him, right before I met him. And she won’t stop blowing up his fucking phone.

I think back to our earlier conversation… not verbatim, but the general gist?—

“You fucked your friend when she came to visit, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“Tell me the truth.”

He’d sighed and scowled. “Well, yeah. Fine, I’ll tell you. We had sex. It didn’t mean anything, though.”

“So… you pretend to like me, and then your friend comes to town. You stop messaging me for days. And it’s because you’re fucking your friend? ”

“We weren’t together yet,” he shrugs. “And I had no idea if you were actually going to even show up.”

“But I did show up. I asked you about it and you lied about it.”

“But it was none of your business what I did before I met you.”

“Listen, my friend said you’re not replying because you’re off fucking your female friend. And he was right. I just want to know what kind of person you are. If you can be trusted.”

“Well, she means nothing to me. We got drunk and fucked. That’s all.”

I scroll further up, seeing the toxic messages between them.

I gasp as I see one picture of her wearing his bone necklace—the one he put on me like it meant something to him, a weird ritual of his. She’s topless, her thin-lipped mouth posed in a way that doesn’t do her any favors, holding the skull and antler combo to her head in some half-drunk attempt at being cute. The thought of her wearing that necklace topless, holding that skull he’s obsessed with, feels like a slap. And for a second, I wonder, how many other women has he put that necklace on? I shiver with disgust.

Flipping through the messages, I see the desperate back-and-forth. Only a few days before I arrived, she texted him and said she needed to get her stuff from his house. He tells her only if she promises to not say a word, to swear to god she won’t. And that if she says one word, she has to suck his dick. I retch. The way she’s been blowing up his phone, it seems like she took it as an invitation.

Apparently, he physically hit her a couple of weeks ago. He sounds absolutely unhinged in his texts to her. And it’s obvious they’ve both been drinking by the content of the texts. They’re not… romantic… per se, but there’s an undercurrent of something. A tension.

It just goes on—insults thrown like barbs, her blowing up his phone, him demanding she ‘quit blowing him up’. Then him messaging her if she stops.

He told me she’s a nightmare, loud and obnoxious, that he couldn’t stand being around her for more than a day or two. So then, what’s this? It certainly doesn’t look like he’s been trying to stay away .

I’m disgusted. If he fucks that , then… I know, I sound bitchy to myself.

But she’s gross.

Now I’m having visions that he just fucks anyone in Sunset Cay who is willing.

I’m someone who has worked my ass off for so long to live my dream. And now I’m concerned that maybe he’ll take what he can from me and run back to some tragedy like her, with my stuff. And leave me with nothing.

What if they’re in a secret relationship? What if I’m a fucking joke to both of them? And they’re just biding their time, waiting to be reunited, after he’s taken everything that he can from me. Exploited what he can through pretending to care about me.

I think of his exes that I’m aware of, all older than me. Successful from a career perspective, but all with issues from a personal standpoint, at least from what he’s told me.

Before we met in person, he was talking to a single mother with four children that had matching mohawks, but he said he chose me over her.

I know I’m not perfect, though. Who wants a three-times-married woman who doesn’t have a family? Maybe he’s the best I can ever hope for.

But if he cheated on me with… her? I’d be so grossed out.

Why do I feel like that’s a risk, though? If she compliments him while we’re having a fight… he’s just one hurt feeling away from hurting me just to be spiteful. That’s not what I want. I know that’s not how relationships should work. Being worried that if you say one wrong thing to your partner, that he is so needy of praise and positive reinforcement that you risk being cheated on? That’s not healthy.

But instead of pushing him away, conceptually, at least, in my mind, I pull him closer. I want him to realize why he should never want to do that. Why he should never say he had no choice but to do that. Cheat with the girl he doesn’t like but will fuck.

As if on cue, his phone dings, and it’s her. Selfies of them together, arm in arm, looking like she’s exactly where she belongs .

For someone he doesn’t like, they sure took a lot of selfies together, both of them cozy, his arm slung around her.

He looks like himself, the requisite surfer, exuding charm and confidence.

She looks all perky on his arm, but her face is still hard as nails. No plastic surgery can undo the drugs she’s done.

It’s funny how my anger is all directed at her. My meanness. But that’s normal, right? She’s the one trying to break up a relationship, or at least interfere with it. She’s the one who knowingly keeps reaching out and sending him selfies. That’s disgusting behavior. I tell myself that she’s the one who is obsessed with him, a sad, low-value woman who can’t take a hint.

But some small, insidious part of me whispers that maybe it’s not just her. That maybe he’s keeping her around, feeding her scraps of attention, enjoying her attention when he tells me she’s nothing but a pest.

Her texts look toxic, like his, but—I have to admit—slightly more reasonable. He hurls more insults, more comments that are derogatory to women, than she does to him.

The way he talks about her behind her back feels slimy, and I can’t shake the feeling I’m just the newest target of his games. Am I any different from her—just way prettier and smarter? Or am I just the one officially sitting next to him while he leads on another distraction.

The way he pleaded with her over text that they should both stop drinking because they would be ‘so much better together’… it was said in what could be interpreted as a platonic way, but could easily be misconstrued by someone who’s unhinged.

I’m beginning to feel like there’s more to the story than the version he’s given me.

Because in his version, she’s a psycho who is obsessed with his dick or something.

That she’s impossible to be around. Loud, jarring, gets banned from every place in town. Not very smart .

And he’s the innocent one, barraged by her attention, because he’s just so fucking adorable.

If that’s the case, he sure does have a pattern.

My own phone dings, and it’s Jennifer again.

Jennifer:

Did you drop off his stuff at Matty’s house?

Me:

Not yet.

Jennifer:

Do it soon. Trust me.

Don’t let him lure you into paying his bail.

Pretty sure he only called me bc he knows my number since he has no phone.

She has a point. There’s an urgency here, and I don’t know what to expect when he gets out. I feel panic rise, knowing I can’t ignore her warning. There’s an urgency in her words, a strange camaraderie, like she’s been exactly where I am right now. And I’m feeling so flat after reading his gross messages with Skank Face.

I take all his stuff and load it into trash bags and then call an Uber to haul it all to Matty’s place, hoping to put some distance between me and whatever sick trap I’ve walked into.

I can’t figure out his keys—none of them fit in the lock—and so I leave his things right outside the front door, hoping nobody will take them. Of course, today is the one day since I’ve known him that Matty has a date and isn’t at home watching YouTube.

When I get back to my apartment, more selfies pop up from her, and I run to the bathroom, the bile rising as I fight back these feelings of betrayal and disgust. My body heaves as I empty my stomach, retching until my eyes water and my throat aches.

I’ve always thought I was strong, capable of anything, but here I am, folded over and breaking.

Whatever I deserve, I’m absolutely certain that it’s not this.