Me:
I told him I’m done.
Fuck this. I am done.
Alice:
He can’t keep losing your cat.
Me:
Sabre is over it and came back by himself.
Sabre is like ‘fuck this, loser. I don’t even want to run away.’
This is how dumb it is.
A while later, I hear the clinking of glass from the kitchen, followed by a heavy sigh. Turning around, I catch Timmy in the act of grabbing my bottle of gin.
“Fuck off, loser,” I snap. “Go live in a tent with your loser friends. You can all be losers together.”
Without missing a beat, he carries the bottle into the bathroom. Moments later, the shower turns on.
I grab my keys and slam the door on my way out, determined to reclaim some control over the chaos. Driving to the convenience store, the rain begins to pour. The truck fishtails wildly on the slick road, but I keep going, my grip tightening on the wheel.
Me:
He was having a shower, and if I wasn’t a decent human being, I’d have walked in there and punched his face in.
Alice:
Don’t give violence unless it’s in self defense. Just as a safety thing.
Me:
Oh, I don’t plan on it. I’m not a fan of doing time
Not that I ever have had to… I don’t intend on making it a thing.
I did go and replace the bottle of gin he just stole from me.
Because I’m proving a point—that I can go and buy something without PANHANDLING.
When I return, the apartment is eerily quiet. No Timmy, no sound of running water, just an unsettling emptiness.
Me:
He’s disappeared, but I’m not filing a missing person’s report.
Another friend starts messaging me simultaneously. He can tell something’s up.
I give him a brief rundown.
Friend:
Jesus.
Being nice isn’t a requisite to not hurt other people.