All of a sudden, Parker starts screaming at Timmy, calling Timmy a ‘loser thief’ and hurling insults that are just cruel. Timmy screams back, which seems justified. I’m defensive of Timmy, and Parker’s shrieking is throwing me off. I’m not sure what provoked it—their argument seemed relatively benign and kind of out of nowhere.
We walk all the way back to Parker’s apartment, but he’s not there. So Timmy finds a place on the hood of Parker’s car where he can discreetly tuck in the keys. It’s not a long walk, but by the time we get there, I feel emotionally drained. It’s not feeling like much of a celebration.
I think the situation is over, until my phone buzzes. I start receiving a series of messages from Parker on my phone.
His texts are full of rage, his words twisting into threats. Photos appear, and to my shock, they’re selfies of Parker. I realize with horror that he’s still hanging out in my building’s lobby.
FUCK.
Parker:
I’m going to mess this place up big time.
You’ll be very sorry for fucking with me.
Me:
I didn’t fuck with you though?
I don’t understand. Please don’t do this, whatever this is.
Parker:
You stole my keys, you fuckers.
Me:
Parker, you left the keys at my apartment and we just took them to you.
But you’re saying you’ve been at my apartment building all this time?
Why didn’t you just tell us you were still there?
Parker:
Nah, fuck you guys. You’re going to pay.
I feel a cold sweat prickle in my neck as I read the texts, my hands trembling.
We rush back, and Parker is still in the apartment lobby, refusing to leave.
Oh my fucking god, why did Timmy invite this crazy man into my apartment? This is insane.
I call the police, and Timmy looks more than a little panicked as the sirens approach. “See you in a bit,” he yells. “I’ll explain later.”
He runs off, leaving me standing here wondering what the hell is going on, even more than before, alone as the police arrive.
What the actual fuck?
I explain everything, mortified and apologizing profusely. “I’m really sorry—I feel ridiculous calling you out here. It’s just… I don’t know what’s going on with Parker. I don’t know him. My fiancé brought him here and then he just started acting crazy.” My cheeks are burning. My uncle, a career officer, would be rolling in his grave if he knew what was happening right now.
“No, no,” a female officer says, her face kind. “This is what we’re here for.”
Parker comes running past, chased by two officers. “TimmyO’Malley has a warrant out for his arrest!” he yells. “He’s the one you should be looking for!”
“What’s that about?” the officer asks, glancing at me. “Who’s Timmy O’Malley?”
“My fiancé,” I explain.