Okay. First things first, are you okay?
It’s a question I don’t really know the answer to.
I fill her in, typing furiously. The words spill out like a confession.
I tell her everything—Timmy’s drinking, the noogie-that-wasn’t, the argument, the security guard.
Alice:
So drunk Timmy decides to grab someone's throat? That's super healthy.
Me:
Yes, in a noogie without the noogie part.
Alice:
His parents. They weren't like...alarmed?
Me:
Oh I’m sure they were.
He was like, ‘She isn’t coming to Montana.’
Alice:
It doesn’t sound like a good idea.
Me:
And they were like, ‘You’re so drunk Timmy.’
God knows what they actually thought of my live tweets of the past 3 hours or so. I kept them updated while their son acted insane.
Security said she was going to call the cops and I asked her not to.
She said she wouldn’t but I’m listening to my headphones really loud and hopefully she doesn’t bc I think he’s going to sleep.
He really just lost his shit. Kept saying ‘Oh I love you, I’d never hurt you’.
And I said, ‘It’s not the intention bro’, and that my throat still feels funny hours later.
And then I mentioned the domestic violence stats around strangulation, and the likelihood he would really harm me one day.
Alice:
It’s true. Especially strangulation—it's no joke.
It’s a massive predictor of future violence.
Her bluntness cuts through the fog of rationalizations I’ve been clinging to, and for a moment, I feel seen.Understood.
Me:
I told him that too. That it’s not just me—it’s statistics. That men who strangle their partners often escalate. And he didn’t like that info.
Alice’s reply comes swiftly: