I grab my phone and message Alice.
Me:
Hey Alice, can I call you and have a super normal convo with you so he feels like a dick?
Alice:
Yes, you can.
I call her, and we chat away for half an hour about anything and everything—roller derby, her crocheting projects, my books, and our cats—anything but Timmy.
He glares at me from across the room, clearly annoyed that I’m enjoying myself.
After we hang up, I feel much better.
Alice messages me:
Alice:
You’re amazing, friend.
Me:
Am I? I feel gaslit, and apparently I’m a small, unattractive person.
Alice:
You’re extremely hot. Gaslighting has a wild way of making your flame feel small by being extra large.
Me:
You’re the best. I love you and I feel the same way about you.
Alice:
I’m sorry he gets to you like that. You don’t deserve it. You deserve so much more.
Me:
He makes me feel gross. But he makes me feel less gross than other guys, so I’ve tolerated it.
Alice:
Unacceptable. You need someone who makes you feel beautiful when you feel gross, not the other way around.
Timmy storms over and tries to grab my laptop. I manage to hold on to it.
“You’re an ugly crusty Ron Weasley!” he yells, his face twisted with rage.
I quirk a brow at him. What a curious thing to say.
I tell Alice.
Alice:
Unacceptable.
Electric chair.