I’m so tired, so exhausted.
Alice is right.
Thisismadness.
But not the fun kind.
Hours later, Timmy returns.
“Let me make you some food,” he says, his voice gentle, his eyes contrite. “I’m sorry about what I did with the football. That wasn’t very nice. Let me make it up to you… the food will be a peace offering.”
I want to tell him I’m not hungry, that I don’t want anything from him. But I can’t handle any more chaos.
So I just nod.
When he brings me the food, I eat it silently, choking down both the meal and my emotions.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, even though every fiber of my being feels like shouting.
CHAPTER 88
TOM KHA... GUY? AKA SOUP TWINS
MARGAUX
My soul is screaming. I don’t even realize how loud until I’m sitting in the truck, away from him, with the windows rolled down and the ocean breeze brushing against my face.
After a few days of sobriety, he’s drinking again, and it’s as though the clock has rewound to the worst days.
Every promise he made, every step forward—gone.
Erased.
Back to the old patterns—running off to the tents, coming home reeking of cigarettes and booze, spinning lies to shift the blame for everything. My breathing quickens just thinking about it, the oppressive weight of it pressing down on my chest.
Today, I need to breathe. To feel like myself.
I leave the apartment complex, the tires crunching on the gravel of the parking lot as I pull out. Thai food. That’s what I need—something spicy and soothing, something just for me.
I imagine the lush flavors, the heat that lingers on my tongue, and the warm comfort it always brings me. Self-care comes in many forms, and right now, it comes in a takeout container.
Before I even hit the main road, my phone buzzes. I glance at it when I’m at a stoplight.
Timmy:
Where are you going? Are you going on a date?
I grip the wheel tighter, my knuckles whitening.
Me:
No, I just needed a break. I’ll be back soon.
Seconds later:
Timmy:
I can see by your location you’re meeting with someone.