Good. It’s time.
I draft an email to Timmy.
I’ve made a decision.
I don’t want to be with someone who spends their time hanging out with known drug users in homeless tents
I don’t want to be with someone who is constantly volatile, vindictive, and who will take items out of our home that I paid for on a regular basis.
I will not be with someone who fabricates narratives against me to support their own delusions.
And most of all, I will not be with someone who fractured my skull and then proceeded to call me an abuser when ‘your mood changed.’
I’m sick of the constant stories and false narratives, and I am done.
You cannot stay here for two months. You are not on the current lease, and you can move out straight away.
There is a cast mate on one of the shows I watch, and he runs away and everyone makes fun of him for it to the point there are gifs and memes about it.
Now another castmate does it, too. He was described as a man child.
You described yourself to me as a man child.
I apologize for not picking up on all the signs you gave that you were unsuitable and did not meet my requirements in a partner.
I wish you the best, but I know in my heart that you’re not the one for me.
Because the right person for me would not treat me, gaslight me, or manipulate other people about me, the way that you do.
Before hitting send, my friend messages me.
Jo:
Hey, it’s Jo. I just got the weirdest voicemail from your phone.
Your fiancé called me the n word…
Oh my god.
She sends it to me—he’s texted her and also left her a voicemail. The tone in the voicemail is cold… chilling, in fact.
“Fucking cunt…you’re a fucking worm. If you want to know what my Facebook is it’s TimmysHatDesignz with a fucking Z, you fucking n-word.”
Full of pure rage.
Directed toward my friend, who did absolutely nothing to deserve his wrath.
I turn to Timmy, who’s sitting on the bed, contributing nothing to society as usual.
“Why did you do that?” I’m fuming. The audacity to break into my phone through my computer and send my friends abusive messages while I’m in jail on false charges that he filed against me.
“What?” he asks.
“Message my friend.” I play the recording.
I have no time for the back and forth where he feigns confusion, so I start with the receipts.
“Oh…” he frowns. “I’m so sorry, Margaux. I thought she was a man, and you were going on a date with him.”