I force a smile, my mind racing. The free-spirited side of him, though odd, has always drawn me in—there’s a certain charm in his enthusiasm for life that makes me feel more adventurous and less inhibited.
But now I can’t help but view it through a different lens.
This isn’t just whimsy.
It’s part of something deeper, something darker.
If all of the messenger’s claims are accurate—and this ridiculous cape proves they know Timmy—what else might be true?
My heart pounds as I watch him spin in his cape, oblivious to my turmoil. He’s so childlike in this moment, clearly seeking attention. I know if I give it to him, we might actually have a fun, peaceful day. But the anonymous warnings buzz in my brain like a swarm of bees, their sting impossible to ignore.
What do I do with all of this? What am I supposed to believe?
For now, I push it down, shoving my doubts into the corner of my mind. The truth feels like something I can’t afford to confront, not yet. So I clap my hands and laugh, playing along, because the alternative feels too overwhelming to face.
CHAPTER 33
BAM-BAM
MARGAUX
For the first time in what feels like forever, Timmy manages to be nice to me for more than an hour. It’s a rare occurrence, like a blue moon, and I find myself leaning into the possibility of a good day.
He suggests a drive around the island, claiming he wants to show me some of his favorite spots. The suggestion alone is enough to soften my mood.
We drive to a famous garden, a lush tropical haven overlooked by a popular restaurant. The air is thick with the scent of moss and greenery, and bees and cicadas create a gentle symphony in the background. The towering palms and vibrant flowers feel like a setting pulled straight out of paradise.
As we make our way deeper into the verdant garden, Timmy leans close, his voice low and mischievous. “Let’s fuck.”
“Here?” I ask, my brow arching in disbelief. “For real?”
The sheer forbidden nature of the idea causes my pussy to clench, and sends a thrill down my spine. And he’s being so cute and romantic that I’m feeling up for it.
I turn around so my back faces him, and he yanks my pants down just enough to expose my ass, then lowers his own board shorts. He lines himself up with my entrance and enters my pussy with his tip.
He barely thrusts three times before pulling away, yanking his pants up as if someone had caught him mid-crime.
“Okay, that was too much even for me,” he admits. “I got the tip in there, but then I was worried people were going to walk past. Or that the restaurant would open and people would see us from up there. I don’t want to get in trouble for having my dick out.”
The irony.I wish he’d had the same concern at my first apartment.
It’s a bizarre moment, but his sudden burst of logic is oddly endearing. Responsibility over spontaneity?Now that’s hot.Overriding his spontaneous, self-serving impulses with an assessment of the consequences.
I decide in this moment thatthatis way sexier than any outdoor tryst could ever be.
I want to see more of it.
Accountability and responsible decision-making should both be actual porn categories.
We giggle like kids and sprint back to the car holding hands. The good mood carries over as we grab a meal and make small talk over drinks. He’s sweet, affectionate, and for a moment, it’s like a flashback of when we first met.
But of course, the peace is short-lived. Timmy snaps over nothing—again—and starts yelling at me while we’re out. I’ve grown so used to the cycle that it barely phases me anymore. Nothing good ever lasts with Timmy. This is nothing new.
Instead of engaging, though, I focus on the small victory of finding a New Zealand steak and cheese pie at a nearby food truck. Nothing like a taste of home to bring me back to center.
Up and down, back and forth. The Timmy show on repeat, with a hint of sunshine through the storm clouds every now and then.
Back at home, the cycle takes another turn as Timmy decides we should cook together. He suggests making pavlova and meat pies—a strange combo, but I’m willing to roll with it.