And I’mdragginghim to this show that he volunteered to come to with me?
He sits, sulking beside me, as the opener comes out. She’s good, and I hear him chuckle at several of her jokes.
And then Chelsea herself comes out.
“She’s so close,” Timmy whispers in awe as her proximity to us.
She’s even more talented in real life than on TV. She’s brilliant. Even Timmy laughs out loud throughout her set, clearly enjoying himself despite his earlier dramatics.
After, he doesn’t let me stick around and potentially say hello and maybe even get a photo. Instead, he makes it very clear we need to leave right away.
We get to the truck.
“I can’t believe you dragged me to that,” he says, frowning. “I felt so uncomfortable the entire time. That’s why I ran out when I did. I was having a panic attack. I can’t handle crowds like that. And her humor was making me panic.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
I get it—social anxiety can creep up on me, too—and I’ve had plenty of panic attacks in my time.
But this just feels so… manipulative. So calculated.
A last-ditch effort to overshadow my joy.
I mean, who can blame him?
This event didn’t center solely on him.
It wasnearhis birthday.
I didn’t buy him an unlimited supply of whiskey.
A comedian told funny jokes.
There were other people at the theater.
He got to see an A+ stand-up comedian for free.
Whowouldn’tbe horribly offended by all of these things?
CHAPTER 117
SHAKY FOOT, SHAKIER GROUND
MARGAUX
The foot shaking isn’t new. It’s been happening more frequently—always when I need to focus, always when I’m pushing myself to meet a deadline or maintain some semblance of productivity. It feels calculated, just like everything else about Timmy.
He shakes his leg deliberately, sending vibrations through the mattress and into my body. It’s not just a restless tic—it’s purposeful. A constant disruption, ensuring I can’t find peace, can’t settle into the flow of work, can’t sleep.
The moans are another layer, a sonic assault that frays my nerves.
When the shaking starts, I try to ignore it, but it’s like water torture. Each tremor is a droplet, eroding my patience and resolve.
He knows what he’s doing.
It’s not just physical. It’s psychological warfare.
Sleep deprivation is a tool—one that strips away clarity, patience, and strength. It’s not the overt aggression of a scream or a fist—it’s subtle, insidious.