He just announced he packed his bags.
Alice:
Good. You told him to.
Me:
OMG I’m financially supporting this piece of shit with my life savings, which I can’t afford, and he clearly doesn’t give a shit.
He’s giving away the mattress I’m sitting on, apparently (that he got for free from his ex’s friend), and the tv (which his former roommate had to buy bc the roommate broke the gross girl he slept with right before he met me’s tv I guess).
Lying here in bed is miserable so I think I’m going to go for a drive around the island bc I can. I hope my cat is okay when I get back. He says they’re best friends, but he has also threatened to kill him. He’s also threatened to smash the apartment up tho, too. As I type this, I realize it’s all abnormal and I might just take my cat to be safe.
He announced he took the trash out and once again that he packed his bags. I think he wants a reaction.
Alice:
Yeah, he wants a reaction from you for sure.
I would leave with your cat if you can.
He smirks at me, and I want to slap it off his face so bad.
Instead, I speak up.
“Timmy, you’re a user, so go and use your parents and stop using me.”
“Look at you sending stupid messages to your dumb friends who aren’t even your real friends,” he sneers, dancing around.
He picks up his longboard, lays it down flat, and starts skateboarding around the room.
“I don’t know what your problem is,” he says, and then he walks out the door. It beeps behind him.
Alice:
This is all abnormal and unhealthy.
She isn’t wrong.
CHAPTER 28
YOU WANT TO BE THE VICTIM? HERE YOU GO
DEX
Now that they’re back in the Cay, Timmy is unraveling, and I’m enjoying every second of it.
The apartment is no longer just a chaotic mess of his making—it’s a minefield of carefully laid traps. Tiny inconveniences, subtle adjustments, each one designed to chip away at his fragile sense of control.
Now, as I watch him through the cameras I had installed during their trip, it’s like witnessing the world’s most satisfying domino effect.
The first show of cracks happens mid-morning. He’s standing in the bathroom, shirtless, holding a bottle of his overpriced, overly fragrant shampoo. His expression shifts from confusion to mild outrage. I zoom in for a closer look.
“Why the hell is my shampoo so runny?” he mutters, shaking the bottle furiously. He tips it over his hand, and a thin, oily liquid dribbles out. I stifle a laugh.
He sniffs his hand and recoils, yelling to no one in particular, “What is this shit?!”
The camera in the living room catches him storming out of the bathroom, dripping wet and muttering about how ‘everything’s going wrong’. I almost applaud.