What I do know is that I’m done.
Done being a pigeon, done being his emotional supply.
And done believing that Team Ginger Shark was ever anything more than a mirage.
CHAPTER 127
THE LAST FUCKING STRAW (IS GORDON RAMSAY)
MARGAUX
I’ve been diving more and more into the subject of narcissistic relationships, lately.Obsessively. It’s become a compulsion, because every article, every case study, every description of a narcissist feels like it’s been ripped straight from Timmy’s playbook.
If there were a picture of a narcissist in the dictionary, Timmy wouldn’t just have a photo—he’d have a full multi-page spread.
The more I read, the clearer it becomes. Survivors of narcissistic abuse rarely leave because of the physical or psychological torture. It’s usually something tangential, something seemingly small compared to the magnitude of the abuse itself.
A moment that lights the final match.
For many, it’s cheating.
For me, though, that final match is Gordon Ramsay.
The producer ofMasterChefcalls me, her voice bubbling with excitement.
“Margaux! Oh my gosh, welovedyour audition tape and application! We’d like to consider you and Timmy for the show, but we need him to submit his separate application.”
I’m elated. The upcoming season is going to feature couples, and it sounds like they’re interested inus!This ishuge.
I run to Timmy, grinning ear to ear.
“Timmy, you have to fill out the application!” I say, pointing to his laptop. “This issoexciting!”
He looks at the form and grows quiet. At first, I think he’s concentrating—reading isn’t his strong suit, after all—but deep down, I know what’s really happening.
It’s the passport question.
Still, he says nothing.
We record a second video, explaining why we’d be ideal cast members. For a brief moment, I see a flicker of the Timmy I fell for—the funny, creative, charming guy who could light up a room.
He banters with me, his eyes kind, his smile charming. And for a fleeting second, I believe in the facade again.
It would be silly for the producers not to cast us.
But my gut nags at me. I know he doesn’t have a passport. I know that might sink our chances of appearing on the show.
Surely he can get one, though? It might cost a few hundred dollars to expedite it, but it would be worth it to be able to travel.
I look at the passport site, and then it hits me—if you have outstanding child support, you cannot get a passport. I had no idea.
It would literally cost about thirty thousand dollars for Timmy to get a passport.
Not only will we not be selected for the show. Timmy is never going to be able to travel with me.
Right after learning Timmy can’t travel, I hop into the beater truck—a gift from his ex, not something he earned—and dial into my therapy session.
Kathleen, my therapist, is my emotional rock. She’s been my anchor on this part of the Cay, and I’ve been dreading her departure as she wraps up her postgraduate studies. Today is our final session.