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ACTUAL WTF

A Few Days Later

My heart pounds in my chest as Timmy’s accusations ring through the apartment, sharp and relentless and irrational.

His face is twisted with rage, and his blue eyes blaze darker as he points a finger at his slightly deflated, sagging foil baby shark balloon—the same balloon that he kept from a friend he’d mentioned once in passing. He hasn’t gone into details about who or why, but he’s made it clear it holds some sentimental value.

“I know what you were trying to do, Margaux!” He screams, his voice cracking. “You were going to pop it because you know it’s important to me, weren’t you?” His words are venomous, filled with a fury so disproportionate and so inaccurate it leaves me breathless.

I stand frozen, my hands raised as if surrendering. “I wasn’t trying to pop it, Timmy! I told you, I was trying to move it so it didn’t get squished, because you had it between me and the hard concrete wall! I?—”.

“Bullshit!” he yells, cutting me off, his eyes narrowed into tiny little slits. The veins in his neck bulge as he storms over to me. “You always do stuff like this! You think it’s funny to mess with my stuff, to threaten the things that matter to me!”

I stare at him, stunned, the air around us thick with tension and disbelief. Every word out of his mouth feels like a slap in my face, and all I’d been trying to do was help . Something deep inside me fractures under the weight of his rage, and the realization hits me like a punch to the stomach, rendering me breathless—this isn’t just about a foil baby shark balloon. Surely not. Nobody could possibly be so irrationally upset over something suitable as a cheap decoration for a child’s birthday party.

Tears sting the back of my eyes, but I try to fight them back. I don’t want to let him see the effect his behavior is having on me. Not now. Not after everything.

“I can’t do this,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. My voice wavers, but I steel my spine, gripping the bottom of my shirt as if it’s holding me together somehow.

Timmy keeps ranting as I gather what I can in a hurry and shove it into my backpack—my phone, a few clothing items and my charger. Sabre is spending the night back at my apartment, so I don’t need to grab him. I don’t stop to check if I’ve forgotten anything.

The apartment door slams shut behind me as I stumble into the night, my breath coming in shaky bursts. “Yeah fuck off, you dumb bitch!” I hear him call after me, and it feels like another slap in the face.

The street outside is dark, the streetlights buzzing faintly but offering little comfort or visibility in the inky black night. Shadows stretch across the cracked pavement, the overgrown weeds that line the alleyway elongating into creepy shapes that make me shiver despite the warmth of the humid air that envelops me like a suffocating cloak.

Distant sounds—a car horn, an alarm, laughter, the hum of engines—make the night feel uneasy, threatening even. I hug my bag close, scanning my phone and the street on either side for signs of the Uber .

My phone buzzes, and I see the car icon moving closer, just a block away.

Hurry , I plead silently.

The seconds feel like hours as I shift on my feet, rubbing my arms as I feel a chill despite the warmth of the night. I can’t stop the tremble in my hands—whether from hurt, fear, anger or exhaustion, I’m not sure.

Just as the car’s headlights come into view, I hear a voice from behind me and I jump.

“Margaux! Margaux, please wait!” I hear Timmy’s voice, ragged, as if he’s been running. I see him coming toward me, wild-eyed, his hair a tangled mess. Shirtless and shoeless as usual, wearing only board shorts.

He drops to his bare knees right in front of me, onto the dirty sidewalks, his breath coming in uneven gasps, his hands in prayer position. No man has ever got on his knees for me. In public, I mean.

“I messed up! I really messed up.” This time his voice cracks, not from anger, but from something that sounds like desperation.

I step back instinctively, my heart racing. I’m not sure whether I should feel fury or relief, or both.

“Matty…” he sucks in a deep breath, trying to gather himself. “Matty told me I was being a complete asshole.” Timmy looks up at me with eyes that now seem haunted, hollow with regret, pleading for me to listen. “He’s right—I misunderstood, and I took things out on you. And that’s really not okay. None of it was okay.”

I stare down at him, stunned and silent.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Margaux,” he pleads, his voice raw, breaking apart. “Please… I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I don’t want to lose you. Not like this.” He bursts into tears. “I never want to lose you. Ever.”

The Uber idles by the curb, waiting.

My hands grip tightly around the handles of the backpack. Everything inside me is swirling—anger, pain, rage, love, confusion, frustration, betrayal. The man I thought I knew now kneels on the cold pavement, begging for forgiveness, drawing curious glances from passersby, his earlier rage dissolved into remorse.

“Margaux, please. I beg you to forgive me. Matty was right. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. You’re the best thing in my life. I’m so lucky to have a chance to be with you, and I’m acting like an idiot. Will you please give me one more chance? You’re my everything, my universe. I’d be lost without you. I love you so much.”

His eyes are kind and blue, pleading. And we’re on a dodgy street, but it’s as if everything around us fades away and all that is left is me and him and his pretty words.

“Please,” he adds. “I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I’ll treat you like a queen, just the way you deserve.”

I could get in the car and leave. I could close the door on all of it—the stupid balloon, the screaming, the wild accusations. But as Timmy kneels there, trembling under the weight of his own guilt, I realize something important—forgiveness, like love, is complicated. It’s messy and painful and non-linear.

“Please,” he pleads again. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

My fingers hover over my phone as the Uber driver glances at me, as if waiting for my signal. The easy thing would be to drive away, escape the mess and hurt. Timmy’s behavior was completely out of line, and a nagging feeling in my gut worries it’s a sign of things to come.

But he’s also taking accountability for his actions, apologizing, promising me that he realizes he created this situation. Telling me I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Something in his voice pulls at me—a combination of guilt, remorse and genuine fear.

I exhale slowly, as if I’m deflating like the baby shark balloon. And I press the cancel ride button on my phone. The driver pulls away, giving a slight shrug, satisfied no doubt with his cancellation fee. The hum of his engine fades as his taillights disappear down the street, leaving me wondering if I just made a huge mistake.

I take a deep breath, and for the first time since the fight started, I speak.

“I really was trying to make sure we didn’t accidentally pop the balloon,” I say, my voice low. “I would never, ever destroy your things. Especially when I know something means a lot to you.”

Timmy nods, grabbing my hand that’s not holding my phone. “I know that now, Margaux. I really am so sorry.”

He rises to his feet, watching me cautiously, as if he’s afraid I might change my mind at any moment and order another Uber.

I put my phone in my fanny pack, zipping it up and clutching my backpack tighter, still unsure whether I’m making the right decision—but at least the anger and venom in his eyes is gone, replaced by something softer and more familiar.

“Come on,” he says, taking my hand and leading me back to Matty’s apartment. He opens the apartment door and guides me in. “Let’s go inside.”

I follow him back in, the space feeling strange now—quieter, calmer, like the storm has passed, but also left everything slightly off-kilter.

Timmy rubs the back of his neck, his eyes flickering with guilt. “I really am sorry, Margaux,” he says. “I promise I’ll make it up to you, starting right now.”

He takes my bag gently from my shoulder, and places it on the ground by the couch, and pulls me into a hug. His arms wrap around me tightly, as if holding me will stop everything from unraveling.

I exhale heavily again, pressing my forehead against his shoulder—still unsure if I’m ready to forgive, but relieved the rage has dissolved, and he seems to be trying.

“Do you want some ice cream?” he asks, pulling back enough to see my face, a sheepish smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

I nod, feeling the tiniest flicker of warmth in my chest. I’m not hungry, but my acquiescence is more about the gesture than the ice cream itself. “Sure, ice cream sounds good.”

He rummages through the freezer, returning with one spoon and a pint of Half Baked ice cream, and guides me into the bedroom. We settle on the mattress, together, me tucked under his arm, the duvet draped around both of us. We take turns devouring big spoonfuls of ice cream .

As the movie starts, Timmy rubs slow circles into my back, murmuring soft apologies between scenes. I feel the tension in my body ease, little by little, as the night unfolds with an unexpected gentleness. His attention feels genuine now—as if he’s trying to undo the damage he caused, bit by bit.

Matty stays out of our hair and gives us space.

Timmy rubs my back and my feet. He brings me wine and sparkling water. And he makes me feel like I really am the only thing in his universe.

“I really thought you were going to pop my baby shark,” he says, his eyes pleading.

“I said ‘let me move this so I don’t pop it by accident’, because I know it has special meaning to you. I would never damage anything of yours. That’s not how I am as a person.”

Timmy frowns and nods, as if everything is sinking in. “I understand that now. I’m sorry that I got my wires crossed. I’ll listen better. Thank you for making sure you didn’t pop it.”

“Also, it’s a fucking balloon, Timmy. I can’t believe you got so upset over this, even though it has sentimental value which I totally get. You literally went crazy because of a foil, helium-filled baby shark. Can you please assume positive intent? There’s no way I would intentionally damage your belongings. Ever. I’m not vindictive. I’m not spiteful. I can be low-level petty, but not in a malicious way, and not with you. Okay?”

“Okay, I promise. I’m just so grateful for you giving me a chance. I love you so much.”

I look at him and his gorgeous blue eyes. He smiles at me hesitantly. God, that smile.

“I love you too, Timmy. I love you so much, too.”

I’m not sure whether I’ve made the right choice by staying. But as Timmy kisses the top of my head and offers me the spoon again, I feel the tiniest spark of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, that was a one-off explosion, and things will be better from here.