In the shower, he soaps me up with care, his hands gentle as they glide over my skin. He kisses my forehead, wrapping me in a fluffy towel when we’re done. I feel cocooned in warmth, in love, in something that feels like safety.
The next morning,he’s practically glowing. He makes breakfast, grinning from ear to ear. “Last night was incredible,” he gushes, his excitement infectious. “I can’t believe you took my entire cock in your ass. Fuck, Margaux, you’re so amazing.”
His words fill me with a kind of pride I haven’t felt in years. It’s the same sensation I used to get when I won an award or aced a test—like I’m being recognized for something extraordinary. And the fact it’s coming from Timmy, the man I love, makes it even sweeter.
“You’re so talented,” he continues, setting a plate in front of me. “Smart, sexy, funny—everything I could ever want. I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”
I smile, feeling like I’m floating. His adoration is like a drug, and I’m completely hooked.
For now, everything is perfect. Timmy’s love feels all-encompassing, like a wave that carries me away from all my doubts and fears. As long as I have him, I can believe in this version of us—the one where we’re happy, where we’re enough for each other, where nothing else matters.
But somewhere, deep down, I feel a flicker of unease. Like the tide could shift at any moment.
For now, I push that thought aside. For now, I bask in the warmth of his love.
55
FAKE FUTURES
Timmy’s excitement is contagious as we drive toward Darren’s apartment. The car hugs the curves of the mountain road, the scenery shifting from dense jungle to sweeping views of the ocean below. The breeze flows through the open windows, warm and salty, carrying the scent of frangipani and wet earth.
I’m excited to meet the friend he’s mentioned at least a thousand times, the one he used to live with. They seem really close, so of course I want to meet him, to learn more about Timmy from him.
During the drive, Timmy excitedly talks about our future together, and how we’re going to meld our creative enterprises—my books and his clothing lines.
“We’re going to be so amazing,” he says, gripping the wheel, his voice brimming with optimism. “Just picture it: a huge office in a trendy warehouse. Open floor plans, big windows with views of the ocean. Your office is right next to mine with a sliding door—so I can shut it if you start annoying me.”
I laugh, imagining it with him. It’s hard not to get swept up in the way he describes it: the effortless success, the creativity pouring out of us, the life we’ll build side-by-side. His voice is like asoothing rhythm, painting a future I never dared to believe I could have.
“We’ll have an amazing team,” he continues. “And we’ll treat them so well—no bullshit like those corporate jobs. We’ll design, create, live, you know? And we’ll be really, really happy.”
He paints a compelling picture, describing the finest details of our office space. It sounds really cool. And then he goes into more detail about his plans for his clothing brands. The way he’s talking is visionary. He has a main umbrella brand mapped out, along with smaller brands that fall within it. He wants to sell off some of the smaller brands as they become more popular, and keep the main one, as well as any that become more like passion projects. His babies.
It sounds idyllic, and his enthusiasm and creativity are contagious. I picture myself surrounded by books, with assistants handling my marketing, my social media, book signings—everything I never have time for. And Timmy’s energy feels unstoppable, as though his clothing brands are already a hit, as if the world is just waiting for us to seize it. It’s easy to fall into his dream, to imagine us thriving, building something meaningful while the world unfolds around us like an adventure waiting to be had.
I’ve never been in a relationship with someone who can visualize the future with such passion and excitement—who wants to plan a future where both of us can live out our dreams. And where we’re so successful we’re able to turn our efforts to helping others, to building community.
As we reach the peak of the mountain range, the road levels out, and Timmy points out landmarks from his past. His stories are as colorful as ever. “See that hill over there? That’s where we ran away from the cops on our dirt bikes—there’s a fence now, probably because of us.”
I grin, shaking my head.
“And that street over there?” He points at a dusty trail. “That’s where I drove my truck down, covered in mud, and a whole row of guys came out to cheer me on from their balcony. They thought it was the coolest thing they’d ever seen.”
I notice how every story seems to cast him in the starring role. He’s always the hero, the one being celebrated or admired. It’s endearing, even if it feels a bit self-indulgent. But that’s just Timmy. He loves attention, and I don’t mind giving it to him.
When we finally pull up outside Darren’s place, Darren is already waiting for us, standing by his front door, ready to go. He’s a big guy, heavily tattooed, with a round belly that stretches his faded T-shirt. There’s a gleam in his eyes that makes me wary, but his grin is wide and warm.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Darren greets me, wrapping me in a big bear hug and planting a kiss on my cheek. “Been hearing a lot about you.”
I force a smile, a flicker of unease stirring in my chest. I remember what Timmy told me about Darren—the volatile temper, the history of physical abuse with his previous partner, the drug use. But Timmy insists Darren is a loyal friend, a ‘teddy bear’ most of the time. I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt—for now.
We drive Darren to a friend’s place, where Timmy helps them chop down trees that threaten the house’s foundation using the two chainsaws he brought with him from Matty’s place. The air smells of sawdust and green wood, mingling with the delicious aroma of pork roasting on a spit. In the courtyard, the atmosphere is laid-back and jovial. Timmy stays close to me, making introductions, his hand resting protectively on my lower back.
I start to relax a little, letting the warmth of the evening and the camaraderie around us sink in.
Darren, surprisingly, abstains from drinking or drugs, saying he’s ‘taking a break.’ I try to take his presence at face value, but I can’t quite shake the feeling that there’s more to him than the friendly facade he’s presenting. He seems to be observing me from a distance, silently scrutinizing me as if he’s trying to get a read on me. But I guess that’s normal, trying to figure out what would make one of your best friends propose to someone in such a short time.
When the night begins to wind down, I glance at Timmy. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” I ask, eyeing the empty shot glasses scattered on the table.