But he’s lost in his own narrative, ignoring me. “And one of them—man—one of their pussies smelledsobad. So I kept pretending I needed to mess with the stereo, leaning down to figure out which oneit was.” He laughs, his voice high-pitched with amusement. “But I couldn’t tell, so I aborted the mission.”
The words hit me like a slap, leaving me stunned.
“That’s fucking disgusting, Timmy!” I snap. “Why would you say that in front of me? Or Jackson?”
He shrugs, utterly unbothered by my reaction. “What? It’s just a story. It’s what happened.” His grin widens, full of boyish glee.
“Telling that tome—yourpartner—that’s gross. And to a14-year-old kid?” I glance at Jackson, who’s shifted uncomfortably in the backseat, staring out the window like he wishes he were anywhere but here.
Timmy howls with laughter, practically gasping for air. “Ahahaha! You’re so uptight, Margaux.” His eyes sparkle, delighted by the way I’m squirming. He’s enjoying this—feeding off my discomfort, knowing he has an audience.
I swat his arm, a light tap meant to signal that he needs to cut it out. “Stop! That’s not funny.”
Timmy’s reaction is instantaneous and dramatic. His eyes widen, and he gasps as if I’ve physically assaulted him. “Oh my god! You hit me!” He turns to Jackson, outrage smeared across his face. “Did you see that? Shehitme!”
“You know I didn’t hit you,” I say through gritted teeth, my patience evaporating.
“Un-fucking-believable.” He shakes his head, scowling at me, condescension dripping from his words. “That’s not okay, Margaux.”
“Timmy, cut it out,” I say through gritted teeth, feeling my patience wear thin.
He laughs again, and I notice his foot pressing harder on the gas. We’re speeding now, and the road is narrowing.
“Timmy, seriously, slow down,” I plead, my heart racing.
He ignores me, lost in his own manic energy.
The truck swerves around a corner, the tires skimming the edge of the road. My pulse quickens as the landscape blurs past us.
I glance out the window, trying to steady my breathing, and my stomach drops. We’re miles from home. The familiar streets andlandmarks are gone, replaced by endless stretches of highway heading toward the city. I’ve been so focused on Timmy’s vile commentary, I didn’t notice how far we’d driven.
“Timmy, we’re way out of the neighborhood. We need to go back.”
He shrugs, nonchalant. “I’m showing Jackson the island. It’s a special tour.”
“His mom didn’t say you could take him this far,” I say, my voice sharp with warning.
“She’ll be fine.” He waves me off, as if the rules don’t apply to him.
Timmy’s words blur into another inappropriate story—something about an old hookup—and I feel like my brain is starting to short-circuit. He just won’t stop.
“Timmy, enough!” I snap, my voice cracking with frustration.
“You’re so fucking uptight,” he hisses, his grin twisting into something uglier. “Always pinching and hitting me, nagging me. Jesus.”
“Stop saying disgusting things!” My voice rises, teetering on the edge of panic.
Jackson leans forward from the backseat, trying to play mediator. “Dude, what you said wasn’t cool. And she barely tapped you. You’re overreacting.”
For a moment, Timmy’s face darkens, his playful grin vanishing like a switch has been flipped. His expression contorts into something feral—his features tightening with rage.
“Please, Timmy,” I plead, my voice softening in desperation. “Just stop. You’re not okay right now, and you shouldn’t be driving.”
My words seem to ignite something inside him—a fire that burns too hot. With a sudden growl, Timmy slams his foot on the accelerator, and the car surges forward.
I grip the seat as Timmy speeds through another turn, barely missing an oncoming car. My heart slams against my ribcage, and I glance back at Jackson, who looks equally alarmed.
“Timmy, stop!” I yell. “You’re driving too fast!”