Dex
The moment she says all her contacts had been deleted, I know exactly who had done it and why. It’s that Timmy creep. Trying to control her by moving her all the way to the other side of the island they’re living on. And then deleting contacts for everyone she’s ever known.
What a petty, controlling little fuck he is. It’s dangerous, removing contacts that someone might rely on, whether it’s for work or social reasons. Who would do that to a woman? Especially a woman like Margaux. It’s depraved, idiotic. And it shows who he really is at his core. I just wish she could see it.
But she played it all off casually, and it wouldn’t have been right for me to jump in and tell her what I really think. Not yet. Even though I’d really like to have a conversation with this Timmy fellow. Me and him, alone in a room. Oh, I know exactly what I’d do. And it wouldn’t be my mouth that would be doing the talking.
I clench one of my fists and roll it around, examining the landscape of scars that have developed over similar conversations with people. All of those have been for work.
But with Timmy, it would be personal—for fun.
To avenge Margaux and all the shit he’s put her through, that he’s continuing to put her through. What I’d give to see the look on his face when it’s just me and him. When he doesn’t have a vulnerable, trusting woman falling for his bullshit.
When he only has me to answer to.
114
GUSHING
For a couple of weeks, things feel almost normal—as normal as life with Timmy can be, anyway. He’s relaxed, funny, affectionate. He keeps his word on the little things—cooking meals we both enjoy, cleaning without being asked, remembering my preferences in small but meaningful ways. He brings me a beautiful shell from the beach one day, holding it up with pride like he’s found buried treasure just for me.
We swim together most afternoons, splashing around like carefree kids. His laughter is infectious, and it’s hard not to feel charmed when he pulls me close, kisses me with genuine affection, and tells me how lucky he feels to have me. It feels like a balm to my frayed nerves, soothing the chaos that’s been swirling around us for so long.
Our sex life is back to being incredible. Every day, without fail, he goes down on me with enthusiasm, as if it’s his new favorite hobby.
There’s a spark of playfulness between us that had been missing for a while, and I find myself relaxing just a little bit more each day.
I start thinking that maybe this move really was the right thing for us, and we’re finally turning that corner that always seemed just slightly out of reach.
Of course, I’m still careful around him. I have to be mindful ofhow I speak, how I ask for things. I’ve learned to monitor my tone and delivery, softening my edges so I don’t trigger one of his moods. It’s something I’ve become hyper-aware of—like walking a tightrope without a safety net.
But part of me wonders if this is just something I need to work on, my own growth edge. Maybe I’ve always been a bit too blunt, too demanding, and perhaps this is what compromise looks like in a healthy relationship. Maybe this is growth for both of us. After all, Timmy has admitted many times that he’s sensitive, that words can hurt him deeply, and he seems to genuinely want me to adjust for his sake as he appears to be doing for mine. It feels like a fair ask.
When Timmy calls his parents, he still always makes sure to sing my praises.
“Margaux has changed my life, Mom and Dad. She got me to quit smoking, which I honestly thought I’d never do. She’s literally extended my life by years.” He beams at me as he speaks. “And she’s been planning all these hikes and outdoor activities to keep us healthy. I’m so lucky to have her. I love her so much.” He leans over to kiss me sweetly on the cheek, smiling at me with those soft, sparkling blue eyes I fell in love with.
“That’s wonderful, son,” his father replies warmly, but then comes the question that always lingers in the air like a storm cloud. “So… do you have a job yet?”
Timmy grimaces, but his voice stays upbeat. “I’m working on my graphic design stuff, Dad. You know these things take time.”
His father doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, you should probably find a job in the meantime. It’s important to contribute.”
“Yes, Dad, I know. I will. Thanks for reminding me,” Timmy replies, his tone light and agreeable, though there’s an edge of impatience lurking beneath it.
I sit quietly through the exchange, feeling both validated and unsettled. It’s a relief to know his father is nudging him toward responsibility, but there’s also something about the conversation that doesn’t sit right with me. It feels... juvenile. Like a grown man being coaxed out of bed by his parents—it reminds me of a boss I once hadwho had to call his mid-twenties son every morning just to make sure he got to work on time. It’s unsettling. Why does Timmy need this much pushing to do what’s expected of any adult?
But still, things have been good between us, and I want to hold on to that. I want to believe that this is the new normal—that we’re finally—finally—settled into the kind of relationship I’d been hoping for.
And yet…there’s another growing knot in my stomach.
It’s subtle at first—just a nagging, creeping sensation. But now that I’m hyper-attuned to Timmy’s patterns, I can sense something shifting beneath the surface. The manic energy is starting to bubble again. It’s not quite here yet, but, somehow, I can tell that it’s coming.
I’ve seen this play out before. We’ve been through this cycle too many times for me to ignore it. First, Timmy realizes he’s been a bit of an ass. He drops his defenses, apologizes profusely, and treats me with kindness and affection. There’s a honeymoon phase—a week or two where things are great, and I think maybe, just maybe, things are changing.
And then... something sets him off.
It’s often something seemingly harmless—his own decision to deep-clean the apartment or reorganize the kitchen. He’ll throw himself into it with manic energy, insisting it’s for both of us, a way to make our space more functional and inviting. But somewhere along the way, things twist.