I message Alice.
Me:
Hey, how are you? Sorry, it sounded like you were having a rough day the other day and I was so caught up in my own mess I didn’t even ask you about it.
Alice:
Just having a rough week.
Me:
I’m sorry.
I hope something good happens for you this week.
Alice:
Same:
If it makes you feel better, I was just talking to someone else who's also having some Boy Joys.
Me:
Alice:
I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO CALL IT
Me:
It’s perfect
CHAPTER 13
THE GAME IS JUST GETTING STARTED
DEX
Every time I look at Margaux’s phone records, my jaw tightens. The threads of her life, tangled in abusive text messages and missed calls from Timmy, make my blood boil, each one a thread in a tapestry of cruelty and manipulation.
The way he speaks to her—devoid of any semblance of respect—makes my temples throb.
His toxic cocktail of emotional abuse, sprinkled with half-hearted compliments and fake apologies, is maddening. I can see the pattern: he pushes her, prods her, taunts her until she breaks—and then uses her reaction as ammunition against her.
He pushes her too far, then pulls her back in with just enough to re-hook her. Rinse. Repeat.
The sheer audacity of his words is only matched by his chicken-shitness.
This isn’t the Margaux I know. The woman I’ve watched grow over the years doesn’t snap like this. She’s warm, kind, resilient. But she’s been dulled by this parasite. Timmy’s worn her down, and even the strongest people have limits—he seems hell-bent on finding and crossing hers at every opportunity.
She’s stuck in survival mode, trapped with a predator who masquerades as a partner.
He pretends to love her, but I know better.
He dares to think he’s untouchable. But Timmy doesn’t love anyone but himself. And even that’s questionable—he seems to loathe himself as much as he loathes the world.
Good.
He should.