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EXIT OF THE SK?LDPADDA

T he weight of Sven’s message sits heavy in my chest. I stare at my phone, the screen still open to the last few texts before one of my closest friends from the East Coast blocked me, reading them over and over again, hoping I missed some context that might make this feel less gut-wrenching.

Sven Skoldpadda :

You had this all planned out.

I would kill him if he were any closer, after what he did to you.

I’m going to block you now.

Gone. Just like that.

One of my closest friends—someone I always thought of as a brother—has cut me out completely. I sit there in stunned silence, the phone slipping from my hand.

“What’s wrong?” Timmy’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

“Sven… he just blocked me.” My voice cracks, barely above a whisper. “Because of you.”

Timmy shrugs, his expression remaining maddeningly neutral. “Fuck that guy,” he says, his arm draping around my shoulders with a casual possessiveness. “He just wanted to bang you, anyway. I didn’t like you talking to him. It’s much better this way.”

His words twist inside me like a dull knife. I know Timmy doesn’t like Sven. That much was obvious. But hearing him dismiss someone who meant so much to me—someone I thought would always have my back—feels surreal.

Timmy’s hand moves to my chin, tilting my face toward his. “Now at least you know who your real friends are. Like me.” He smiles, his blue eyes sparkling, as if Sven blocking me is some sort of gift. “I’m your real best friend.”

A lump forms in my throat, and I try to swallow it down. Part of me knows this is all wrong—knows that a best friend, a real friend, wouldn’t try to isolate me from the people I care about, wouldn’t relish in me getting cut off by yet another member of my support system. But the other part of me is so exhausted, so worn down by the constant push and pull, that it feels easier to let Timmy’s words sink in.

Sven did overreact—there’s no question there. Maybe Timmy is right—maybe Sven had ulterior motives, and maybe it is better to cut ties with people who can’t accept the choices I’m making. But it still hurts. The wound feels raw, and I know it won’t heal easily.

Timmy pulls me closer, planting a kiss on the top of my head. “It’s just you and me, babe. We don’t need anyone else. I’ve got you, and you’ve got me. That’s all that matters.”

The warmth of his arms around me should feel reassuring, but instead, it feels heavy. Suffocating. Like a weight I can’t seem to shrug off, no matter how hard I try. I sit, frozen, trying to convince myself that this is okay.

That I don’t need anyone else. That Timmy is enough.

But deep down, something feels fractured. Sven’s words echo in my mind—“I’m so upset with you.” And all I can do is sit with the uneasy knowledge that the people I love are slipping away from me, one by one, and I don’t know how to stop it. I get the sense that they feel helpless, with me so far away, knowing I’m in a situation that maybe isn’t as good for me as it once felt. Powerless to do anything but watch from a distance and hope for the best—that I either snap out of it myself, or that they were wrong in their assessment and things are better than they fear.

I shift slightly under Timmy’s arm, and he tightens his grip, as if sensing my discomfort. “We’re good, Margaux,” he whispers. “It’s just us. That’s all you need.”

I nod, more for his benefit than mine. But inside, I feel like I’m slowly disappearing, fading into the version of myself that Timmy wants me to be. And I wonder how much of me will be left by the time this is all over.

I find myself pulling away from all but my closest friends.

I’m embarrassed about what happened, nervous about anyone knowing that the person who attacked me is still in my life.

I don’t post many pictures of us together online, preferring to keep them private. As if—instead of being someone I’m proud of and want to share with the world—Timmy is my guilty secret.

This is out of my typical behavior—I’d usually be blasting my love far and wide.

But nothing feels very typical anymore.