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WHAT DID I JUST DO?

T he approval for the apartment feels like a huge relief—at first.

“Good news! Well, for you two and me,” the landlord says with a satisfied grin that I can hear through the phone. “The other tenant backed out, as unfortunately they’re no longer going to be able to move here from overseas. The place is yours if you still want it.”

Timmy beams, wrapping his arm around me. "See, baby? Things are starting to fall into place for us."

I smile back, but it feels tight, forced. Inside, my gut twists into knots. My thoughts are spinning, riddled with what-ifs and worst-case scenarios.

I try not to let Timmy see the flicker of doubt in my expression. The last thing I want is for him to think I don’t believe in him—or in us.

Later, in the quiet of night, the anxiety creeps in like an uninvited guest. I wake up in cold sweats, my heart racing as fears crowd my mind.

I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, Timmy’s breath steady beside me, and I try to soothe myself with reason. He promised he won’t run away—he's said it over and over. He swears this will be a fresh start for us, away from the distractions and bad influences that seem to follow him on this side of the Cay.

But my gut is tickling at me. I wonder what happens if we break up out there? If it’s actually safe to live out there. What if Timmy does run away even though he promises he won’t?

But then, if we stay here, he’s just around the same old bad influences, and it’ll take longer for us to find something else. It’ll be far easier for him to get in trouble here, he keeps reassuring me. What he says makes sense. He keeps reminding me that it’s easier for him to find himself in trouble on this side of the Cay. The problems out on that side of the coast seem to be things he hasn’t gravitated toward to my knowledge, like meth and heroin. I doubt he would be involved with those things after observing their impact on acquaintances and family members, including some of his siblings.

“I’ve seen what meth and heroin do to people,” he says. “That’s not me. That’ll never be me.”

I believe him, mostly. He’s never given me a reason to think he’d slide down that path. But still, the worry gnaws at the edges of my mind. What if? What if this isn’t the fresh start we need? What if the distance just becomes another hurdle? I shove the thought down, reminding myself that doubts can’t build a life—only actions can. And he’s been trying, he really has.

Then there’s another flicker of hope—I’ve finally sorted out my health insurance, after weeks of confusion and stress. It’s a small victory, but one that makes me feel lighter. I no longer have to panic every time we’re driving, worrying that an accident or emergency could leave me bankrupt. It feels like a safety net beneath my feet, a step toward some semblance of stability.

I pull an oracle card. GROW.

It’s fitting. Like the universe is nudging me forward, telling me that this is the right path. I need to embrace the change, take the risk, and trust that we’ll grow through whatever comes next.

Tonight, things take a rare and sensual turn. Matty, miraculously, is out on a date—something involving a boat ride and dinner, so we know we’ll have the apartment to ourselves for at least a few uninterrupted hours.

Timmy’s eyes light up with mischievous excitement, and I feel my pulse quicken in response. He’s always talked about wanting to try shibari—Japanese rope bondage—and now, finally, we have the time and space.

He pulls out the soft lilac ropes, his hands deft as he begins to tie intricate knots around my wrists, the strands winding their way along my body. The tension is perfect—snug, but not painful. It feels intimate, almost meditative, as he focuses completely on the task at hand, drawing on his experience with ropes from his time as an offshore fisherman. There’s something soothing about surrendering control to him in this way, letting the ropes bind me and hold me in place. He snaps a couple of photos with the rope expertly knotted around my breasts.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over my cheek. His voice is low, filled with reverence as he shows me the photo—I have to agree, it looks hot as fuck—and for a moment, I feel like we’re the only two people in the world.

With Matty gone and the apartment quiet, it feels like a pocket of peace amidst the chaos. Just us, no distractions. The ropes secure me in place, but for once, I feel free—free from the weight of my worries, from the uncertainty about the apartment, from the fears about what the future holds. It’s just me and Timmy, tangled up in something that feels as fragile as it is meaningful.

Afterwards, we lie together, our limbs still intertwined, the ropes loosened but not fully removed. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my skin, and for a brief, fleeting moment, I feel like everything might be okay.

But life, as always, presses on. The next day, it’s back to reality—dealing with the truck, getting the paperwork sorted to transfer it into my name. To park the truck in our new building’s parking garage, we need to provide a driver’s license to match the ownership details, and Timmy doesn’t have a license. Plus, he’s offered to give the truck to me as a gesture of goodwill, a contribution toward our first couple of months of rent. Of course, being Timmy’s vehicle, back payment is owed on the registration, and it needs safety tags which is a challenge with a beater like that. It’s another task I take on, knowing that Timmy is leaning on me to handle the logistics. It’s exhausting, but I tell myself that it’s worth it. That we’re building something together, even if it’s messy and complicated.

He promises to pay me back. He always does. And I want to believe him, but there’s a small part of me that wonders how long I can keep carrying the weight of us both. How long I can keep filling in the gaps, smoothing over the cracks.

Still, I hold onto the moments like last night—the tender ones, the ones where it feels like we’re both trying.