This is your life with him.
Me:
Yep. I’m basically done.
Alice:
Is this what you want?
Me:
No. It’s lame. I hate it. I hear you.
Timmy’s voice carries from the bathroom. “I’m too scared to come out of the bathroom. I’m scared you might hurt me!”
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck.
I tell Alice about the prior cockroach incident, when Timmy threw one at me and I scratched his arm in retaliation.
Me:
Girl got to defend herself.
I also realize I shouldn’t need to.
Omg I can’t wait to hang out and just feel relaxed.
And it’s true. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t on eggshells, constantly trying to avoid upsetting Timmy, or when I hadn’t given up entirely and matched his madness with my own.
Me:
I’m going to get a therapy evaluation to see what’s going on with me.
Alice:
Good.
I worry about you. And him throwing shit at you.
Me:
Yeah, who throws a cockroach?!
Speaking of which, there’s a vent in our bathroom that big cockroaches can get through. He’d sealed it up with mesh.
But apparently when he had a bubble bath the other night, he opened the vent up ‘because it was steamy’ and they came crawling in.
The image is disgusting enough to make me gag, but it’s also infuriating.
I’d spent weeks clearing out the infestation when we first moved in. Now the roaches are back with a vengeance, invading every corner of the apartment. They’re in the silverware drawer, crawling over the plates, even hiding inside my espresso machine. Every time I open it, one scuttles out like it owns the place.
It took me ages to get rid of them the first time, and then Timmy just goes and opens up the vent and lets a bunch more back in.
Alice:
That’s so gross.
OMFG ewwwww.