My head throbs as I fight back tears. I want to scream, to grab him and shake him until he admits I’m not crazy, that Ididapologize, and that I’m not the monster he’s painting me out to be. But instead, I press my lips together, locking the frustration inside. I know where this is going, and I can’t bear it.
I’ve thought so hard about recording our conversations—I’ve even joked to myself about wearing a bodycam. That’s how crazy this situation is making me feel. Just to force him to confront reality and prove I’m not losing my mind. But even then, deep down, I know even that might not be enough for Timmy.
It isn’t just about the apologies. It’s about how Timmy’s entire version of reality twists, depending on his mood, and depending on who he’s telling about it, a constant distortion that leaves me feeling disoriented and unsure of myself. He has this way of flipping things back on me, making me feel like a villain for things he’s done or said. As if he’s projecting his worst qualities onto me, punishing me for crimes I didn’t commit.
And the worst part? If he really believes what he’s saying—if he really thinks I’m this unkind, unapologetic, selfish, dishonest, manipulative, unloving person—what does that mean for what he’s capable of, and for my safety?
He’s already joked multiple times that he’s going to kill me. I shiver involuntarily as I’m reminded of the cold, matter-of-fact way it’s rolled off his tongue. It’s generally followed up by an apology and a rescinding of it, saying he’d never hurt me. But in the moment, it feels like he means every word.
He always plays those comments off as throwaway lines, almost offhand, but his words are lodged in my brain as if there’s a sirenringing in the back of my head, warning me to be careful. That he just might follow through one day. Because it’s not just the words he uses, but the ease with which he says them, as if such a dark thought doesn’t trouble him in the slightest.
And when it comes down to it, that’s really what troubles me the most… that the man who claims to love me, to truly believe I’m his soulmate, to be the greatest and only true love of his life, is also someone who holds the potential—and apparently the occasional intent—to destroy me.
His devotion feels suffocating, like being trapped under glass sometimes—something fragile, breakable, with jagged pieces threatening to tear me apart just below the surface. After all, what does it mean to be someone’s ‘everything’ when that same person is capable of imagining your end?
I feel myself unraveling bit by bit. I’m starting to see through more than a few minor cracks in his facade—his charming grin, smooth words, affectionate gestures. It’s all starting to feel like an elaborate ruse, a flimsy cover for something far darker lurking underneath.
From a distance, with Timmy, everything looks normal. Perfect, even. But when you get close enough to touch it, you realize how flimsy it all is. How it’s only a hair away from completely falling apart. Like he himself is a human comb-over, one gust away from causing it to slip out of place, revealing the truth behind it. And now that I’ve seen it, I can’t unsee it.
The cracks are spreading, a seismic rift deep at the core of our relationship, and I don’t know how much longer I can pretend they aren’t there.
116
THE ONLY BLOCKING I APPROVE OF IS IN ROLLER DERBY
If there was a soundtrack to my life right now, it would be aching, bittersweet, tinged with regret.
Timmy’s silence stretches, heavy and sharp, as I wait for his response, amplifying the growing tension between us. I can feel it—the way he’s building up, gathering his words like stones, ready to hurl them.
“Timmy, that’s not what happened and you know it,” I say, my voice trembling despite my effort to keep calm. My heart races as the knot in my stomach coils, twisting tighter with each passing second. I know I’m right, but calling him out always makes me feel like I’m stepping onto thin ice.
His face shifts, his eyes narrowing, his mouth curling into a thin, tight line.
He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he just stares, his silence deliberate and punishing, growing heavier by the moment.
“Are you seriously accusing me of lying about something so stupid?” he asks, his tone calm in a way that makes my skin crawl. The softness in his tone is unsettling—it’s not kindness, but a quiet, controlled rage. He crosses his arms tightly across his chest as if he’s pulling back from me, protecting himself from my ‘attack’,retreating behind a wall of self-righteousness. “After everything I’ve done for you? After all the times we’ve had together? This is how you treat me?” His face twists into a wounded expression, like a hurt puppy dog, his eyes downcast, his lips trembling ever so slightly.
He plays the victim so convincingly that I almost believe I hurt him.
It’s hard to believe that we’re arguing, once again, about him going out at night to smoke cigarettes. He told me he’d smoked alone, and then he later admitted he’d smoked with a woman in her seventies. I’m not at all worried about her, obviously—just annoyed he lied about it.
I can feel the weight of the guilt he’s trying to push on me, almost suffocating, but I hold my ground. “Timmy, I don’t want to fight with you. I can see you’re upset, and I am, too. All I want is for you to admit that you lied. You weren’t honest, and I know it. I just want to talk about why you did and we can move on.”
My words hang in the air, but instead of acknowledgment, I see his expression change to something darker. “You’re fucking unbelievable, you know that?” he spits, his voice low and sulky, tinged with bitterness. “You always do this. You’re just like my ex. Always trying to make me the bad guy. I guess that’s what I get for being so kind and generous and patient with you? Fucking bullshit,” he mutters.
His words are like little jabs, making me second-guess myself, even though I know what he said first, and then what he said second, and the two don’t align. My mind races. Maybe he’s right.Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe I am too demanding.
Without waiting for a response, he turns on his heel.
“Timmy—.”
“You’re pathetic,” he spits over his shoulder, venom lacing his words.
Before I can even reply, he swishes the door open and I hear the familiar beep as he locks it behind him. The door slamming shakes the walls of the apartment, and I flinch, then sit in disbelief, stunned, the sudden silence suffocating.
My chest tightens, and all I can feel is the hollow, sinking feeling like I’m drowning in quicksand.
I know it was right for me to bring this up—I had to for my own sanity—but he’s left me feeling like I’m the one who’s being punished. My mind races as I replay the conversation in my head over and over again. How could I have got it so wrong? I just wanted the truth, but now all I feel is a deep, churning emptiness, like the ground has been ripped out from underneath me. Somehow, as usual, I’ve become the villain in his story.