Going over to meth tents is not normal behavior.
Stealing laundry money to go buy cheap bottles of vodka, breaking your things—breaking you—is not normal behavior.
You don’t deserve that. Your life could be so much more peaceful without him.
I know she’s right. But part of me is holding out hope that he’s going to be one of the few men who can defy the statistics. Who truly wants to change so much that he’s willing to put the effort in to become an entire new human—a gentle, loving man with a solid work ethic who would do anything for his family.
But the more I’m honest with myself, the more I have a nagging feeling in my gut that we’re never going to reach a point in our relationship where we can have a healthy discussion about boundaries.
Every time I try to establish one, he breaks it almost immediately. And then he acts remorseful, before going right back to doing the same thing or worse.
And then it becomes my fault, and most certainly my problem.
It’s hard to function like this, but some stubborn child within me is insistent on sitting up on Delulu Peak, watching all the other people and thinking there’s something special about me that can fix Timmy. Something special about our relationship that means he is truly capable of change.
CHAPTER 106
I’M SO LOST WITHOUT YOU
MARGAUX
Timmy’s message hits my phone like a bullet:“Is there a TRO?”
A chill runs through me.How does he know?
My landlord must have mentioned it—trying to keep him away, no doubt—but the decision to tell him leaves me reeling. This wasn’t how I wanted it to unfold.
I’d planned for the police to serve him quietly, effectively, before he could spiral further. Now, the floodgates are open.
As the notifications pile up, my heart races. His words blur together, a chaotic mess of apologies, promises, and desperate pleas.
I don’t respond, knowing anything I say will be twisted into ammunition against me. But his relentlessness weighs heavy, eroding the fragile peace I’ve tried to carve out.
Hands trembling, I respond by email:
SUBJECT: LOVE
Dear Timmy,
Before reacting, please read the whole thing.
I don’t think you do love me. I think you think you do, but you don’t.
If you did, you would have done all of the things you promised me that you would so many times before.
I don’t expect anyone in my life to be a perfect person, but I do expect and deserve a partner who has so many qualities you have promised, but not delivered on. And what you have put me through is criminal. This is not love.
You’re right. I AM amazing. But I don’t think you actually believe that. I’m just a source for you. Someone to pay your rent and enable your wildly inappropriate behavior. This is not love.
I’m fairly sure this email will irritate you, and you will either lash out at me or just move on to the next person who will do everything for you, until they get sick of it or you kill them. There is a track record here. This is not love.
Also, I caution you against trying to harm me bc 1) nobody should and 2) the Cay is very small, and your history—here and in other states—is well known. The fact I have to caution you against harming me is gross. This is not love.
And, if you do try to harm me, clearly, this is not love. And everybody will know it was you. Why do I even need to say this? This is not love.
Call the police for an escort and we can arrange a time for you to pick up your things.
I have not harmed your things, bc I am a rational and mature individual. You have damaged so many of my things—some irreplaceable, including my skull. This is not love.