He’s right, too.
Wise friends, I have.
About an hour later, the front door swings open. Timmy walks in like he’s just come back from saving the world.
Without saying a word, he heads straight to the bathroom and takes another shower—this one stretching on for forty-five minutes. When he finally emerges, his expression is grim.
“You’re the one who always starts this, you know,” he says, dripping water onto the floor. “You’re such a toxic person.”
Me:
He’s saying it’s me now.
Alice:
And he always will.
I send her a gif that saysLook at the gaslight.
Timmy starts calling everyone on Facebook that he went to high school with—in a desperate attempt to show he has friends, maybe? I don’t know.
But it’s very obvious that he hasn’t spoken to any of these people in years and he has several very awkward, forced conversations.
I stare at him, not quite comprehending how my time in the Cay has unfolded. If I could go back and sayabsolutely notto his proposal—if I’d recognized that for the red flag I now see it so very clearly was—I wouldn’t be in this predicament.
Me:
I was forced to be married five days after I turned sixteen, so that was swell.
And it’s probably why I say yes to anyone who asks now.
Sorry I’m being demented. I just remembered I am very sad and angry.
THE NEXT DAY
Over the next five days, Timmy’s behavior oscillates between absurd and insufferable.
“One time these girls were flashing their boobs at me…” Timmy starts, launching into a story I’ve heard at least five times.
“Shut the fuck up, Timmy,” I interrupt, sighing heavily. “I don’t need to hear you going on and on 24/7/365. And you’vetold me that story like 55 times. It was boring and stupid the first 54 times.”
Timmy looks like I’ve physically slapped him with a wet fish. “I’m just sad because years ago, one of my grandparents died,” he says, shifting gears abruptly.
“Okay,” I reply, deadpan. “Well, my dad died. I was raped. And I’m a child of rape.”
Timmy flinches. “Wow,” he whispers.
He gets up and leaves.
“Bye-bye,” I yell out, gleeful for the impending rare moment of silence.
Me:
I fill Alice in.
Me:
This girl is snapping.