Then he adds his Superman cape to his outfit, and I laugh. This man is literally running around in nothing but jeans and a Superman cape and a hat. No shoes, no undies, no shirt. Just the essentials from his perspective, I suppose. And a grin that says he knows how absurd he looks—and he loves it.
He braids some ti leaves into a gorgeous bracelet, and ties it around my wrist with a flourish. “For my love, the love of my life,” he says, leaning down to kiss me. “You are everything I’ve ever asked for and more, Margaux. I’m so lucky to have you.”
His words make my heart flutter, and I kiss him back, sinking intothe moment. It’s passionate, our tongues exploring each other, and my pussy clenches hard. What a gorgeous man, treating me this way. Making me feel so special, so adored.
There’s something intoxicating about the way he treats me—like I’m the only person in the world who matters to him.
We go to the zoo,Superman cape and all.
Before we go in, we frolic.Frolic, of all things. Because that’s what life with Timmy involves. A lot of frolicking. He chases me around a giant banyan tree, and I laugh as he darts through the tangled roots, his Superman cape trailing behind him. He catches me, pulling me into a kiss, and I get butterflies. It’s like we’re in a scene from a romantic movie. Nobody has ever chased me into a tree and kissed me before, but it’s totally something that Timmy would do.
Things feel light and perfect. But at the same time, there’s still that same nagging feeling in the back of my mind. The way he throws himself into everything—whether it’s feeding birds, wearing ridiculous outfits, or sprinting through the zoo. He’s having fun, and making me laugh, but it almost seems a little… unhinged.
I tell myself that it’s just spontaneity, that I should enjoy it, but it doesn’t sit quite right. His energy feels almost too frantic, like a balloon over-inflated and ready to burst.
We grin as we snap a few selfies, leaning in to hold each other. I look at the photos, and we seem so happy—our eyes sparkling, our smiles wide.This is fun, I tell myself.This is good.
Back at the apartment building,Timmy’s antics continue. I gasp as he dives into the pool, belly first, the sound echoing off the water. I gasp as he stays under for what starts to feel like way too long, and then he pops back up, water spraying wildly around him as he emerges, a huge grin plastered on his face.
He films himself underwater. “I got a good video! Check it out!” he says, holding out his phone.
“Wait, are you sure your phone is meant to be in there?” I ask, frowning.
“Yeah! It’ll be fine!” he assures me. “iPhones are all water-resistant.”
“Oh okay,” I say. “I was today years old when I learned that.” If that really is the case, I wish I knew ages ago. I’ve bought so many waterproof phone cases over the years. But he seems to know more about this stuff than me.
After his swim, we go back upstairs where he discovers his phone did not, in fact, agree with the chlorinated water. It starts glitching, and then turns off completely. He paces back and forth, his mood swinging wildly from irritation to indifference and back within minutes. “Fuck it, I’m so angry. It’s meant to be water-resistant,” he complains.
When I ask if he’d like me to take him out for a nice dinner, he perks up immediately, like a switch has flipped. He puts on my floppy hat and a bone necklace, and we head to one of my favorite spots for pizza and martinis. His outfit is quite ridiculous at this point, and he seems to bask in the amused glances of other pedestrians as we walk there and back, as if it fuels him. I laugh, but that feeling—the one I keep pushing down—lurks beneath the surface.
The day is fun, but I just don’t quite feel like myself. I’m swept up in a wave, a riptide, of Timmy, swept along by his energy. He’s impulsive and spontaneous and fun, and I like those attributes, but he seems to be getting into some type of manic episode. His mannerisms are becoming more erratic, his stories are getting wilder. He’s wearing more and more eccentric outfits.
But it’s been a fun day, overall, and I don’t want to ruin the moment. And I certainly want to distract Timmy from being angry over his waterlogged phone. So I push the uneasy thoughts away.Just enjoy the day,I tell myself.Ride the wave.
But deep down, I know that waves like this always crash. And when they do, they leave you gasping for air.
46
FUCK OFF, K THANKS BYE
His phone buzzes again. And again.
The word, ‘Worst’”, keeps flashing across the screen like a taunt, each ping grating on my nerves.
Worst.
Worst.
Worst.
Then a new message lights up the display:
Worst:
Come pick me up, sugar.
It’s impossible not to see it—I mean, maybe I am craning my neck a little, but can you blame me?