CHAPTER 61
ALLERGIC TO PEACE
MARGAUX
The next couple of weeks are surprisingly uneventful. Or maybe my baseline for reasonable behavior has taken a nosedive.
I even manage to work out and swim, two things I find difficult to do when I’m depressed.
The fleeting peace is nice while it lasts. A mirage in a desert of chaos. But as I’ve learned with Timmy, tranquility is always temporary.
One evening, Timmy begs me to buy him alcohol and a cigarette, and after saying no many times, he finally wears me down. I don’t have the energy to fight him anymore. “I promise I’ll behave,” he says. “You don’t have to worry about me wanting to smoke cigarettes or running away. I promise I won’t do those things. I know they upset you.”
Returning from the store, he immediately opens the bottle of vodka and pours himself a glass.
I don’t bother to say anything. Words feel futile.
Instead, I pour myself coffee, grab my laptop, and retreat to the bed to work. The book I’m writing is finally taking shape, and I’m determined not to let him derail me again.
A little later, we have a minor fight because he’s not pleased with how I washed a Tupperware container, but then he calms down. He pours himself another hefty glass of vodka. He’s already slurring and stumbling.
I glance at my watch. “Hey, we probably don’t need to be pouring more vodka after midnight, babe.”
“You don’t even care about me,” he accuses, his voice rising. “You just want me gone!”
“Timmy, you’re drunk,” I reply calmly. “Go take a nap. We can talk when you’re sober.”
He glares at me, his expression dark and volatile. “You’rethe problem,” he spits. “You’realwaysthe problem.”
I don’t even flinch. I’ve heard this too many times. Instead, I walk back to the bed and flop down, my back leaning against the sex wedge that has become a makeshift headboard. I send a quick text to Alice:
Me:
The vodka is back. So is the nonsense.
Alice:
It’s like he’s allergic to peace.
Me:
Yep. And I’m allergic to his bullshit.
Alice:
What’s your plan?
Me:
I don’t know. I keep saying I’m done, but then he apologizes, and I fall for it.
Alice:
That’s because you’re a good person. But you can’t save him, Margaux.
I sigh, sinking further into the cushion behind me. She’s right.I know she’s right.
“Fuck you,” he growls. “I’ll have more if I want more.”