The entire bed will bounce, and it feels a little bit being on a trampoline.
And then he’ll let out these little moans, grunting noises like an animal in pain.
It’s torture, sitting here listening. Being bounced up and downwhile I’m trying to sleep, and then even more when I try to work. He’s depriving me of sleep, depriving me of being able to concentrate on writing.
And I go through this cycle of feeling like a bitch for asking him to stop.
But it’s like he knows it annoys me, so he does it more. He puts it on, in addition to whatever might be real.
Sometimes he starts off the day shaking his foot and moaning, and the moans are actually traumatizing to listen to, like a wounded animal crying in the night. I almost expect Sarah McClachlan to start singing with a voice-over asking us to donate to animals in need.
Those are generally the days where he describes having had a bad nightmare that will typically impact his mood for the rest of the day. He’ll be short, irritable, take everything extremely personally, start fights for no reason, find excuses to storm off.
And when he’s in the apartment, resentfully sitting on the bed next to me, he will shake that foot harder than a blender on the highest speed setting.
And I get it. I have nightmares too, and mornings where I wake up screaming because something terrifying happened while I was asleep. But, after a moment of disorientation, I’ll realize it was just a bad dream and I’ll move on with my day.
But with Timmy, he wakes up in a mood and he lets it pervade every aspect of both of our days. Like he’s wearing his nightmare like a badge, and justification for bad behavior. It’s almost like he’s saying ‘because I had a bad dream, you have to endure me dragging it into our day and making you have a real, living nightmare’.
And then other days, it feels like I’m able to catch him at just the right time.
“Timmy, let’s watch the movie you mentioned. We can hire it.” Or, “Yes, we can add that extra streaming service I can’t afford.” Or, “Let’s go to the store and you can pick out what you want.”
Many days, when I give into his never-ending list of wants or needs, usually resulting in financial cost to me, he’s nice for a spell. And the foot shaking stops. But it never lasts. The good periods seemto be getting shorter and shorter. His wants and demands seem to be bottomless, ever-expanding, illogical, greedy.
I feel like he’s training me in some ways. Giving me positive reinforcement whenever I give into his spontaneous whims. Punishing me when I don’t.
Sabre can be like that, sometimes. If I give him a treat—especially if it’s a Churu—he’ll purr and rub himself up against my leg, cuddling me as a thank you for the treat. When I don’t give him a treat, however, he’s prone to biting my ankle.
And Timmy is starting to act a lot like Sabre. Sleeping all day, being selfish. The reward and the punishment.
But the difference is that Sabre is a cat.
And Timmy is a nearly 40-year-old man.
111
BROKEN THERMOSTAT
AWeek Later
Timmy’s voice is calm, his eyes soft when he speaks, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel like maybe—just maybe—things are finally changing.
“I’ve been thinking,” he begins, his eyes locked on mine. “I’ve been taking for granted all the amazing ways you contribute to our life.”
There’s a subtle tremor in his jaw, and then I see it—a single tear slipping down his cheek. It catches in the light, magnifying the brilliant blue of his eyes. He frowns slightly, a look of worry etched on his face, and I feel my heart clench in response.
It’s like he’s finally cracked open, finally seeing what I’ve been trying to say all along. His words are cautious, deliberate, and they carry a weight I haven’t heard from him before. It’s not just the content—it’s the delivery, the vulnerability.
“Margaux,” he continues, his voice trembling slightly. “I guess I just took for granted that you’d be paying rent and bills anyway, with or without me.”
The words land like a punch to the gut, and for a second, my hope falters.Really? That’s how he’s been seeing things this whole time?Mybrain can’t help but flag the entitlement dripping from his words—this casual assumption that because I’d already be supporting myself, he can simply slide into the arrangement, rent-free. Like my effort and financial burden are somehow expected when it’sourlife.
I mentally file it away—another, not insubstantial, red flag—another ick.
But then, before I can dwell on it, he keeps going, his expression softening, as if he senses he’s on thin ice.
“But I see it now,” he says earnestly. “You make sure we have such a nice life, and I just want to say thank you.” His voice catches slightly, and I watch him closely, trying to gauge whether he really means it. “I know I haven’t been doing my part. But I promise you, I’m going to work harder, try harder. I’m going to do better by you—for us.”