After about half an hour, Timmy returns from his beach nail-clipping excursion with a bounce in his step and something cupped in his hand.
“Here,” he says, grinning like a child who just discovered buried treasure. He extends his hand toward me, revealing a shell. “I found you this.”
I stare at the shell, unimpressed. It’s just like a million of the other shells he’s brought me previously, not the least bit unique or interesting.
“I don’t want another stupid shell from you, Timmy,” I say, shaking my head. My tone is sharper than I intended, but I’m too tired to soften it.
His grin falters for a split second before transforming into mock indignation. “Fine,” he huffs. “If you won’t take it, I’ll eat it.”
I blink at him, incredulous.
He holds the shell to his mouth, as if testing my resolve.
I grab my phone and type out a quick message to Alice.
Me:
He just brought me a shell and I wouldn’t accept it, so now he’s threatening to eat it. Eat the shell, bro. Like I care.
Alice:
Mkay, have fun.
Timmy clutches the shell dramatically and mutters something under his breath.
I’m already over it, and turn my attention back to my laptop. I have work to do, but his antics don’t stop.
“Jibber jadder!” he suddenly yells, cackling like a madman. He repeats it over and over, each time laughing harder, as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever said.
I glance up, wondering if he’s drunk, high, or just having another one of his manic moments.
“Timmy, stop,” I snap. “You’re being ridiculous.”
His response is to grab a tortilla from the counter. “I should slap you in the face with this,” he says, grinning wickedly.
I cross my arms. “Go right ahead. I dare you. The cops will be here in two seconds because they don’t like you, and think you’re an idiot because of your shitty behavior.”
Timmy’s grin fades, and he tosses the tortilla back onto the counter. “Fine,” he mutters, as if I’ve somehow ruined his fun.
Before I can exhale in relief, he picks up a lime and squeezes the juice into his own eye.
Me:
He’s now squeezed lime juice into his eye.
Alice:
What is he even doing? Has he seriously done any cocaine lately? Or Adderall?
Me:
He used to do cocaine a lot, but has stopped since I met him. And has no access to Adderall that I’m aware of.
Alice:
This seems very stimulant behavior.
Or mania.