Me:
Alice:
What’s that—the record for most times in a day?
Also, whenever you send that to me, I put it to the soundtrack of that silent movie instrument.
I can’t help but laugh at her reply, even as I feel the familiar weight of disappointment settle in my chest.
This is the Timmy show, on repeat.
Highs, lows, and little in between.
I just wish I could find the off switch.
CHAPTER 34
TRICKLE TRUTHING
MARGAUX
It’s late—11:15 PM—when Timmy stomps into the apartment, reeking of cigarettes. He heads straight to the shower without a word, but the smell lingers, curling in the air like a tangible reminder of his deceit.
When he emerges from the bathroom, I speak up right away. “You were out there smoking with random people again.” I sigh.
“No, I wasn’t,” he says.
My patience, already worn thin, snaps.
“You smoked cigarettes. You smell like them. Just fucking admit it,” I say, my voice sharper than I intend. “And you weren’t alone.”
Timmy freezes mid-step, guilt flickering across his face before he attempts to wave it off. “Yeah, I was smoking out there with one of the aunties. She’s like 75 years old,” he mumbles defensively, as if that makes it better.
“Timmy, if I went smoking late at night with an old man, you’d lose it. It wouldn’t matter if he was 105. That’s not the point.”
“See? This is why I didn’t tell you!” he sneers, his tone laced with irritation.
“Why? Because it’s dumb?” I shoot back, raising an eyebrow.
His frown deepens, but he doesn’t answer.
“Don’t lie to me,” I press.
“Don’t call me names,” he snaps.
“I didn’t call you anything,” I reply with a shrug. “And also, don’t lie.”
His shoulders sag, and the fight seems to drain out of him. “I’m sorry I lied to you,” he says reluctantly, before adding venomously, “Butfuck you, you’re the one who’s disgusting.”
The insult lands like a slap, and I blink, stunned. “What the fuck? Why am I disgusting this time?”
“Every time you drink, you start a fight,” he grumbles.
I laugh bitterly. “Are you looking in a mirror?”
That’s it.He bolts to the back room, slamming the door behind him with enough force to rattle the apartment.
I sigh, exhausted by the endless cycle. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wish he’d say something kind, like,‘Congratulations, I’m proud of you for finishing your book.’That’s the Timmy I fell for, the one who used to lift me up.