Later,we decide to drive up to the other side of the Cay. The scenic route is supposed to relax me, but the car ride becomes yet another battle. I can’t play the music I want without him making snide comments. He complains about my choices, saying I have ‘terrible taste’, that I ‘always play the same songs’, and acting like he’s doing me a favor by tolerating them. When I refuse to stop at bridges for him to jump off, his irritation deepens, the air in the car thickening with tension.
Then, at a surf store, he tries to shoplift right in front of me. I catch him about to slip a pair of sunglasses into his board shorts. “Timmy, what the hell are you doing?” I hiss, my heart racing.
“Relax,” he mutters. “It’s no big deal.”
“Yes, it is!” I whisper fiercely. “Put them back.”
He rolls his eyes, but reluctantly returns the sunglasses to the display. “You’re such a buzzkill,” he mutters under his breath, and I bite my tongue to keep from snapping.
At the next stop—a coffee shop—he tries again. This time, it’s a cute espresso mug he has his eye on. I grab his arm before he can casually wander out of the store with it.
“Seriously?” I whisper, glaring at him. “What’s wrong with you?”
His eyes darken, his expression shifting into that familiar look of irritation mixed with defiance. “You’re overreacting. I know you like to drink out of cute coffee cups.”
“That I pay for,” I say, through gritted teeth.
Apparently, me asking him not to shoplift is wildly offensive, and he spends the rest of the time being sullen and sulky, snipping at me over everything he can find to cause dissatisfaction.
I feel the urge to scream, to jump out of the car and run as fast as I can away from all of this.
It’s becoming all too much—the texting, the lying, the petty theft, the constant conflict. We’ve never been able to come to this side of the Cay without having a big fight.
The chaos clings to me like a second skin, suffocating and relentless. And no matter how hard I try to keep us afloat, it feels like Timmy is dead set on tearing our flimsy raft apart piece by piece.
When we finally get back toMatty’s, I’m emotionally drained, teetering on the edge of collapse. I don’t even have the energy to confront him anymore. Instead, I retreat into the bathroom, close the door, and sit on the toilet with the lid closed. Tears sting my eyes, but I force them back, refusing to cry.
This is all too much. The jail situation, the courts, an apartment I’m paying for but can’t live in, having to stay at Matty’s if I want to be with Timmy, and now some skank that he’s reaching out to behind my back. This has taken a wild turn and not in a good rollercoaster kind of way. My gut is churning, I’m grinding my teeth, and I feel on edge.
And whenever I stick up for myself, he gets even more enraged. I’m already upset about this texting situation, and he’s mad at me for being mad at him about it. So now he’s piling on thing after thing. Trying to engage in risky behaviors, putting me down, making excuses for himself, and getting mad at my reaction to his very questionable actions. I can’t even imagine how he would react if he saw a text where I said ‘I miss you’ to some guy I’d just slept with right before we met, and then made the excuse I was drunk. He’d completely lose his mind, more than he already has.
But I’m just meant to sit here and take it. And smile sweetly. And believe the words coming out of his mouth that his actions don’t match. I’m supposed to believe that he really cares for me and nobody else, and that the message had no feelings behind it. I’m supposed to believe that everything is fine.
And part of my body and my brain want to believe that. Because it’s so much more comfortable than constantly being on edge. About worrying about what he’s doing, and how he might not be acting in my best interest. Because every thought I have about him, about us, is how to keep strengthening our relationship. How to let these feelings go. Building us out of this hole that’s started to be dug. And it’s starting to feel like he’s standing right behind me with his own shovel.
I take a deep breath, pull out my phone, and scroll mindlessly, searching for anything to distract me from the turmoil swirling inside. But no matter how hard I try, the weight of everything—his lies, his temper, his risky behavior—presses down on me like a heavy fog.
When I return to the living room, he’s sitting on the couch, scrolling through his own phone as if nothing is wrong. He looks up and gives me a half-smile, as if to say, See? Everything’s fine. Why are you making a big deal out of nothing?
But everything isn’t fine. It hasn’t been for a long time. Maybe it never really was.
And yet, I cling to the hope that the move will change things. Maybe being away from Matty’s influence will give us the space we need to rebuild. Maybe things will calm down once we have our own place, once the distractions are gone, and it’s just us, working on our shared future.
Because if I don’t believe that... what else is there? If this relationship falls apart, what will I have left?
96
HEAVY LIFTING
Because Timmy is banned from my apartment building and the hundred-yard radius around it, I have to move, well… everything, myself. And I don’t really know anyone else who could help, unless I want to hire an expensive moving company, so it’s on me. Luckily, I still don’t have too many belongings, so I repack my four suitcases, as well as a couple of backpacks for the additional items.
The mattresses are big and bulky, and they’re a pain to move by myself.
I slide the top one off, and sitting on the lower mattress is Timmy’s stupid bone necklace. The one that looks like a human spine. I thought the cops had taken it, but I guess it’s been here all along, secretly taunting me. My stomach churns at the sight of it, and I feel bile rising in my throat.
That stupid fucking thing.
I immediately think about the picture of his skanky ‘friend’ wearing it around her neck with nothing else.