I sit back, dazed. The whole encounter feels like I’m being punked—Timmy’s boss sitting with me, his ex showing up out of nowhere, the bizarre stories, the truck keys. It’s like I’ve stepped into some parallel universe where nothing makes sense, but everyone else seems weirdly okay with it.
And through it all, deep down, I still care about Timmy. What the hell is wrong with me? He attacked me. Threatened me. And yet, I keep thinking about him—about the moments when he was kind, the way he made me feel so seen. How can someone be so many things at once?
Jennifer slips the keys into her pocket and gives me a wink. “Good luck with him,” she says, standing to leave. “If he ever tries to contact you, block his ass immediately.”
I nod, my head spinning, and watch as she walks away. Timmy’s boss—well now, former boss, I suppose—leans back in her chair, smirking again.
“You’ll be okay,” she says. “I’m just glad you got out of there alive.”
I don’t feel okay. I feel like I’ve fallen into some strange dream Ican’t wake up from, where every twist makes me question what’s real and what isn’t.
And the scariest part? I still don’t know what’s coming next.
64
THE ONLY PEOPLE YOU'RE PURSUED BY ARE THE POLICE
Overnight, I start to think about the keys. I become scared. What if he’s aggressive and angry and psycho when he gets out of jail? What if he wants to kill me? What if me giving the truck keys to Jennifer tips him over the edge?
I try to push it out of my mind, but then I receive a text.
Jennifer:
Hey Margaux. It was so nice to meet you yesterday despite the circumstances. Thank you for giving me the keys, but the more I think about it, the more I realize I’m actually quite scared to have them. I think he is likely to come after me if he finds out I have them, so I’d prefer to give them back to you if that’s okay.
Me:
It’s so interesting you say that because I’ve just been through the same thought process. Where can I meet you?
Jennifer:
I’ll be at the local beach club. Let me text you the address. Meet you there in like 90 minutes?
Me:
Perfect. See you then. Thank you.
I look up the address she sends, and it’s about an hour’s walk, which is really what I need in order to be able to clear my head enough to think things through. My mind is a jumble. I’ve never been through any of this with a person I’m properly in a relationship with. With no friends or family nearby. This is absolutely brutal.
So I get ready, and step out into the sunshine, and I crank my music through my headphones as loud as it will go.
The walk to the beach club feels both endless and too short—plenty of time for my mind to churn through every possible scenario. The idea of holding Timmy’s keys and handing them over to Jennifer felt like a power shift, like a declaration that I wanted no further part in this nightmare. But now that it’s come full circle, with her handing the keys back, I feel trapped in some surreal loop. What if he comes after me for the keys? The thought sends icy shivers through my veins, and I pick up my pace, hoping that walking faster might outrun the fear blooming inside me.
By the time I arrive at the beach club, the sun is high, but I feel heavy, my stomach a knot of anxiety. I spot Jennifer waving me over, and she’s sitting with another woman I don't recognize. They look relaxed, like they’re just two old friends meeting for drinks, but everything about this feels… off.
"Hey!" Jennifer greets me warmly, as if we’re lifelong friends reconnecting over coffee. "Thanks again for meeting me."
We settle at their outdoor table, the ocean breeze tousling my hair. I try to focus on the bright, cheerful atmosphere, but all I can think about is how bizarre this situation is. I’m here, chatting with Timmy’s ex and her friend, poolside, about his spiral into violence. How did my life get here?
Jennifer wastes no time diving into stories about Timmy, and soon I feel like I’m watching someone unravel a very strange puzzle—one I didn’t know I was a piece of until now.
“He used to disappear on me for hours, sometimes days,” Jennifer says nonchalantly, swirling her drink. “Honestly, I liked it when he did. It gave me time to fuck young guys without worrying about his tantrums.”
I blink, stunned by how casually she’s admitting to cheating on Timmy. Her candor is unsettling. There’s something about it that feels... wrong. Too detached. As if she’s playing a game I don’t fully understand. I smile awkwardly, trying to mask my discomfort.
Then she drops the next bomb. “He cheated on me with that skank who keeps messaging him, the one he refers to as his ‘evil twin’.” She sneers. “She’s been circling him for years—doesn’t care if the guy’s in a relationship or not. She’ll always come back. She just can’t stay away. And they like to do drugs together. That’s part of why they’re perfect for each other.”
I feel sick. I’d finally managed to write off the girl Timmy mentioned as irrelevant, but now? Now it feels like a warning I should’ve heeded. My stomach twists, and I struggle to keep my face neutral. Was I the fool for believing him when he dismissed having any ongoing involvement with her?