I fucking hate bugs!!
Me:
Me too, especially if they are large.
And Timmy knows it.
The cockroach situation is just the latest in Timmy’s campaign of chaos. It’s like he’s discovered a whole new way to torment me.
Determined to regain some semblance of control, I put on my flip-flops and walk out to the rock pools in front of the building. The salty air and crashing waves help to clear my head.
By the time I return to the apartment, I’ve made a decision—I’m signing up for roller derby.
Me:
In other news, I’m going to start doing roller derby here soon.
Alice:
Good! It’ll be good for you to have friends there in person.
I can’t come in the middle of the night and help.
She’s right again. I’ve relied on Alice for so much remote emotional support, but there’s only so much she can do from miles away. It’s time to reclaim my life.
I’m isolated, and I’ve come to realize that’s just the way Timmy wants it.
But he can keep his bubble baths and cockroach vents. I’m going to build something better—starting now.
CHAPTER 54
HOUSE OF PLENTY (OF COCKROACHES)
MARGAUX
Timmy huffs from the other side of the bed, his arms crossed like a petulant child as he watches my fingers fly across the keyboard. “All you do all day is sit and watch TV and talk to your friends.”
I quirk a brow, incredulous. “Oh yeah? Funny, I thought I didn’t have any friends.”
He doesn’t miss a beat, his tone sharp. “You don’t even want to go swimming.”
“You’re right,” I reply coolly. “I’ve hardly been swimming in six months, even though I live right on the beach. Want to know why? Because I’ve been so depressed from dealing with your behavior.”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, there’s silence. Then, in a voice tinged with self-pity, he asks, “What am I meant to do?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I shoot back, my frustration bubbling over. “Maybe work and generate an income? You’re a grown-ass man. A physically capable, creatively talented, two-hundred-pound grown-ass man. So do something with that.”
“What the fuck ever,” he mumbles, shaking his head as he stomps to the fridge. He grabs random items—steak, mandarins, and a Gatorade. “I’m going to see Uncle,” he tosses over his shoulder before slamming the door behind him.
When he comes back, I’m livid.
“Timmy,” I snap. “You need to make sure things are good here first before you run off to seek adoration from people you barely know. I’m paying rent. You’re not. And while it’s nice of you to give away food to random people, that’s one less meal for me.”
“You scratched me the other day,” he says, pointing to a faint pink mark on his torso.
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have given my antibiotic cream to some random guy,” I shrug, unbothered.
“His finger was falling off!”he yells, defensive.“I had to help!”