I can’t shake the feeling of wrongness that settled over me during that ride in the truck. It was like watching someone I thought I knew unravel right in front of me, piece by piece, until I couldn’t recognize him anymore.
He went from friendly and sociable to cruel and vindictive in the span of minutes. One second, he was charming Jackson, and the next, he was hurling accusations that made no sense. It wasn’t just upsetting—it was scary.
And now, with every passing mile, I find myself dreading what I’ll walk into when I get back to him. Will he be calm and contrite, apologizing the way he always does? Or will he still be riding the high of whatever manic wave he’s caught on?
I try to convince myself that he’ll have calmed down by the time I get home. He has to. He’ll realize how out of line he was and feel guilty—like he always does after a blow-up. That’s the cycle, right? He explodes, then apologizes, and we move on.
But tonight feels different. The anger in his eyes, the reckless way he drove, the way he kept escalating even when I begged him to stop—it wasn’t just a bad mood. It was something darker, something I don’t know how to handle.
What if he’s still angry when I get home? What if he hasn’t calmed down?
The thought makes my chest tighten with anxiety.
I press my forehead against the cool glass of the car window, trying to steady my breathing. The Uber driver hums along quietly to the radio, oblivious to the storm raging inside my head.
I keep checking my phone, half-hoping for a message from Timmy—some sign that he’s come to his senses, that he realizes how badly he messed up. But there’s nothing. Just silence.
My mind keeps racing, trying to piece together how things went so wrong so quickly.
Was it the alcohol? Drugs? Stress?Or is this just... who he really is? A part of him I hadn’t wanted to see until now?
The Uber driver glances at me in the rearview mirror, his brow furrowing slightly. “You okay back there?”
I nod quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just... a long day.”
He nods, seeming satisfied with that answer, and turns his attention back to the road.
But I’m not fine. Not even close.
122
WHIPLASH
Twenty minutes pass before my phone buzzes again. Timmy’s name flashes across the screen.
Timmy:
I’m almost home where you should be and I hope you have a good time.
Good night love of my life.
I don’t know what to make of his text. I don’t respond, and then more start flooding in.
Timmy:
I’m so sorry, do whatever you have to do.
I love you. I love you so much.
I’m at home now.
I would’ve grabbed you but I had zero gas, and I was lucky enough forsomeone to help me.
I just wanna to go to bed and cuddle with Sabre.
You do what you’ve gotta do.
I wish you would’ve just come home with me.