S1E5: Only In Small Doses

He carries a knife everywhere he goes. He wears a deer spine around his neck. He talks about woodchippers with a fondness that doesn't quite sit right.

But he also shares his deepest vulnerabilities. He listens. He makes her feel completely safe.

And his oldest friend just quietly said he can only take him in small doses.

She heard it. She just wasn't ready to listen yet.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:08

Hi, I'm Heidi Stark and this is Pretty Red Flags the Podcast, Episode 5. This podcast is three things in one. A true crime story, because 99.9% of this actually happened, an audio book, because I'm reading the chapters of this actual duet. And a survivor testimony, because this survivor is sharing what actually happened, providing more context, including what occurred beyond the book. To date, Margot has made the brave decision to leave a depressing corporate life in a loveless relationship in San Francisco and move to Sunset K, which we know to be Hawaii, to pursue her dream of being a writer. She's met Timmy, a guy who's showering her with affection and who truly sees her, even if he does have some interesting quirks. It's the very early stages of their relationship, maybe a week or a week and a half in or so at this point, and things are moving very quickly. Chapter 22 Knives and Bones. There's something morbidly fascinating about Timmy's attachment to all his bones and blades. In addition to the knife he always carries, a switch blade, he's got a full pair of deer antlers, and the deer spine necklace I recognize from his tinder profile. The antlers are huge and pointy, and the necklace is pretty sharp too, actually. It's like a lay but made of animal bones. And he also has a deer skull with antlers attached. Definitely weird. He wears the antlers and the vertebrae necklace around a lot. It's like he's reenacting some primeval rite. The odd part isn't just that he wears them out in public or at all. It's the pride he takes in them, a glow that crosses his face whenever he describes how he hunted the deer and stripped its bones. Okay, I guess I kind of get it. He's proud of it, his first time hunting. I'm not opposed to hunting per se, especially when the meat is utilized, and clearly these items bring him joy. But it's definitely unusual to wear antlers and a spine around. He also has a different necklace with beads and deer claws, hooves, something like that. And one day he randomly gifts the claw necklace to me. He puts it around my neck. This is for you, he says. I want you to have it. Thanks, I say. I'm not really a big wearer of dead animals, but I don't judge people who wear the leather or fur super harshly, I suppose, although I prefer the faux versions for myself. Just a Timmy quirk. He brings the antlers and spine necklace over and stores them in my apartment so he can wear them on a regular basis. I don't love them being there, but they're not hurting anyone. I always carry a knife, Timmy says casually, indicating the sharp blade hanging from the top of his board shorts. You never know when you might need it around here. The knife itself, sinister and sharp with its dark handle and silver detailing, seems more suited for a survival show than the busy streets of Sunset K lined with restaurants and beach shops. I glance around the tourist district where the biggest threat is usually an overpriced meal or sunburn. Okay, why exactly? I give him side eye, like for construction work or something else. Things happen around here, he explains, his voice low, glancing around as if he's used to spotting trouble before anyone else. You'd be surprised. I like to be prepared to intervene if I have to. It sounds a bit over the top, but then again, I know people carry self-defense items all the time. Hell, isn't this the country where people carry guns around just in case? I know I've carried pepper spray and catty or keychains that could poke someone if needed, so a knife seems reasonable and useful, I suppose. He's always cutting leaves off things to make lays and whatnot too. Intervene, I laughed nervously, wonder if he wondering if he's exaggerating or if there's some hidden world in these streets that I just haven't seen yet. You mean like defend yourself or something? He shrugs, smirking a little. I mean yeah, like I'd like to be able to defend you if some weird people started following us or starting a fight. It happens, you know, and it's better to be prepared. There's a flash of something in his eyes, like he's playing out a scene in his mind, and it's oddly both unsettling and reassuring. It does around here, while there are definitely people up to no good here, just like anywhere else, they tend to stick to themselves. There's a heavy police presence to protect tourists, and I haven't really felt in danger, except when I've accidentally wandered down a dark alley trying to find a restaurant or something. Yeah, once I actually saved a girl, he says earnestly, his eyes lighting up. Her boyfriend was strangling her. I jumped over a bush and punched him in the face and then distracted him with my knife while she ran away to safety. I gasp. Oh wow, that was heroic of you. Yeah, he tried to fight me, but I pulled out my knife to show him I wasn't playing around, he explains. So I always think it's important to carry it and have it readily available. That sounds intense, I say, because it really does. I've lived in several big cities around the country where crime rates are known for being high, and I don't remember anyone I know ever having carried a knife around. Peppers, maybe, but never a weapon. But maybe lots of people I've known have carried knives and they've just kept them concealed. Harder for Timmy, whose signature uniform is board shorts, no shirt, no shoes. Besides, he knows this island way better than me, and I've mainly stuck to the tourist spots. Maybe things get a little rowdier, a little less heavily policed where the locals hang out. He continues, you wouldn't believe some of the things I've had to do, some of the things I've seen. His words come out of nowhere, and there's a darkness about him that I haven't really seen before. I've spent so many nights in game rooms and other shady places. I've sold drugs and festival balls and all sorts of things I needed to. He's making himself sound like a tough guy out of an action movie. Um, well, okay, what's a festival ball? It's a big firework, very loud, beautiful when it goes off. What's a game room, like an arcade? Kind of. It's where all the gang members and drug dealers go to launder money. There's gambling and all sorts of stuff going on, and you can hire people to take care of certain things. Oh, I see, I frown. Well I'm glad you're not doing that anymore. He looks almost wistful. When someone really fucks up on this island, they sometimes get dealt with. There's a wood chipper. A wood chipper? I flinch at the thought, immediately understanding he's not talking about using it to process wood. He nods a dark gleam in his eye as if he's proud to know the gritty details most people don't. Can you imagine what a human body looks like being processed through a wood chipper? What that sounds like? My mind flashes back to a movie where that happened. I can't remember which one, but I remember what it looked like and I shiver. I guess I can, but I don't really want to. I guess like a meat grinder, but for humans? It's very loud and very disturbing to watch, he nods, his mouth pressed together in a grim line, his eyes gleaming. But it's also very quick, efficient, and there's little to no chance of anyone ever identifying the body because it's in tiny little pieces, and it gets scattered around and buried in mulch like regular fertilizer. That's how we take care of things around here. He looks wistful again. I'm pretty sure he's full of shit, so I change the subject. He's a storyteller, and I imagine that kind of talk impresses some of his male buddies. But I just think it's him being a weirdo, and it's making me feel uncomfortable. If anything, I might be able to use it in a book, I suppose. I try to laugh it off, but there's an unease that lingers. I'm assuming he's just pulling my leg, but the glint of pride or something like satisfaction in his expression makes me wonder just how close he's really been to things like that. My reaction to this chapter, Timmy was obsessed with the antlers and the vertebrae necklace, as well as the one with hoobs or whatever they were, and he was always wearing them or misplacing them and looking for them. And he always, always had a knife on him, usually two. It's actually very creepy based on what we'll come to learn that he always was so obsessed with having a knife and that I wrote this before things happened after the book through written. It's actually quite chilling. So he would often misplace those knives and he would get super anxious until he found at least one of them again. He would repeat the stories about hunting over and over again and the way he stripped the bones from the deer that he hunted on Wolke. And he still had deer in his freezer that he'd cook on occasion. He often said how much he wanted to go back again and kill another deer. And he leaned on the humaneness of it all by how he used every part of the meat and how he, of course, wore the bones as fashion accessories. I found it really weird when he gave me the necklace because soon after he took it back and didn't seem to remember giving it to me, even though he made such a big deal. I was totally fine with that. I actually thought it was quite ugly, like a child's bed necklace with some animal body parts attached to it. But it was weird that he made such a big show of giving it to me and then seemed to have no recollection of doing that. I saw the antlers plenty of times and I was never scared of them, just thought they were vaguely amusing, always out of place. They were sharp, and occasionally he'd leave them on the bed and I wouldn't notice, and I'd hop onto the bed and they'd dig into me. But otherwise they were just like a weird quirk of his. He'd tell me the story of how he used his knife to save this girl on repeat, like he was really proud of it. It seemed like such an over-the-top story, but again, at the time it just seemed to be how to me was like a storyteller, a showman, a character. And he was super handy. So his job was obviously, you know, renovating condos or detailing cars, and both of those things are pretty hands-on. And he was always chopping up leaves and flowers and weaving things and volunteering to help friends to kind of landscape their gardens and do all kinds of things like that. So it wasn't like he was walking around with a machete or anything, and like the knife did serve many purposes. He did talk about the dark side of the island a lot, and he would name drop certain people who were known for selling drugs or being involved in other criminal activity. But at the time, I got the vibe that he was really just bignoting himself and how close he was to those people. Like he might be aware of them, possibly vice versa, but more so by virtue of having grown up on the same small island, rather than actually being colleagues or BFFs with any of these people. The festival ball and game room stories are also come up a lot, but his stories didn't really line up, so I wasn't too worried about it. Like he had his two jobs, and it sounded like something that maybe he'd been involved in in the past. There's one night I remember very early on that he got really dark about it, though, and his face kind of shifted as he talked about how he needed to go back into the game rooms and make money doing this stuff. But I put it down to him having had a few drinks at the time. The wood chipper conversation still kind of gives me chills when I think about it. I I think he'd watched too many horror movies, and I still think he made it up, but he was so convincing and almost excited about it. It was once again like he'd almost convinced himself that he'd actually watched bodies being fed into a wood chipper. In hindsight, some of these things were red flags. Clearly, I'm grouping them all together for you in a sequence, but his stories did flow in quick succession, interspersed with much lighter topics, gorgeous weather, other distractions, and it was split off enough that they sounded like individual little snippets, not glaring warning signs. Like if these things had all happened in a row, and it hadn't been jokes and laughter and swimming and nice walks outside and going to restaurants and bars and just, you know, having a really good time around those things, obviously it would have been like, I can't even be around this person. But he threaded them into all this other stuff, so it was hard to see the full picture. Chapter 23. He likes my other cat too. Let me take you to see your cat, Timmy says, smiling at me. Would you mind? I feel my eyes grow large at the prospect of seeing my baby. He kisses me on my forehead. I'd seriously love to. So we hop into his truck and it's so fun driving with Timmy, different from what I'm used to. He cranks the stereo and plays all sorts of songs I've never heard before, exposing me to new music as well as some songs I do know. It feels so free. One of my joys has always been driving around listening to music. I love music in general, and it's with a bit of shock that when I think about it, I realize I didn't really listen to it for the past six years or so. My ex only liked to listen to music he made himself, and he'd seem offended when I'd want to listen to anything else. He was also adamant about not listening to music while driving, again, unless it was his own, so I gave up that joy, and I'd really not given it much thought until now. But Timmy's like my own personal DJ, playing everything from classical rap to the latest EDM and house pop, RB, even reggae and local sunset K jams. I feel like my mind is being re-expanded. As we drive, Timmy leans back casually, one hand on the steering wheel, the other gesturing as he talks and occasionally lands it on my thigh, bouncing from topic to topic as the songs change. He has a way of describing things that almost feels like he's pulling them out of a dream, mixing memories with imagination, past and present. The way he talks, it's like everything is happening now, and I keep having to mentally rewind and sort through what he means. You know the kids, they get me to do this all the time, he laughs, gesturing at the radio. Turn it up, louder, louder they'll demand. And they're all in the back screaming like at some kind of dance club. All right, the kids? I replied trying to follow along. Which kids are you talking about again? Oh, back at Darren's place. I live in the room next door to him, and my ex's kids are always listening to music. Skateboarding around the yard. I swear my daughter's gonna be like that. I frown slightly, sorting through his mix of words. Does he mean kids he might have one day or actual kids that exist now? Wait, your daughter? You mean if you have a daughter? Yes, exactly. He glances over and winks. I just know she'd be skateboarding, a tomboy. I nod, catching up slowly. Got it. Her hypothetical future daughter. A little puzzle piece falls into place, although not quite snugly. He smiles, yep. Oh, I say, so you don't have kids. No, no, he says quickly. I get it now, and I breathe a sigh of relief. And you live with Maddie. You don't still live with Darren, that was a while ago, right? Exactly, he flashes a grin like I've solved some sort of mystery. It was Darren's ex's house. We all lived there, and then I lived at my ex's place, and her kid lived there, and his friends would be over all the time, and then I moved out to Maddie's a couple of months before you got here. It's starting to feel like a language all his own, a peculiar mix of nostalgia and daydreams. Timmy's stories flow around us like a stream, and I'm content to wait in it, letting his disjointed words wash over me. When he talks, there's no need for anything to be clear or linear. It's all part of the ride, part of the way he experiences life. A little chaotic, a little random, with memories and dreams just blending in together. Ever been swimming with the dolphins? he asks, changing subjects entirely. No, but I've always wanted to, I reply. Ah, that's too bad, we'll fix that, he says, his own train of thought seemingly back in some ocean memory. I've been a few times. What about surfing with a dog on a surfboard? I laugh, no, I can't say that I have. Darren's a champ at that, you'll have to see it one day. I grin, picturing it in my head. Sounds like a good time, I reply, and he just beams, his eyes on the road, but his mind clearly back in that memory. Timmy's words weave a world that doesn't necessarily make sense or line up neatly, but it's carefree just like him. I won't overanalyse it, although I'll clearly need to seek clarity from time to time. It's Timmy's unique version of reality, one that's endlessly colourful and unpredictable, even if a little confusing. I'm so glad you're not from like the middle of America, he says randomly, that you have some knowledge of beach culture, that you can like pronounce things here, native words, that you understand the meaning of how things work over here. I couldn't bear to start from scratch with some basic Becky from Utah, he laughs. And I smile back, it really does seem serendipitous. He's so patient with me when it comes to new words, taking the time to explain them. He gives examples of how things work in practice. But I do feel like I'm starting with a higher baseline than most, solely because of my own upbringing on an island with a similar culture to Sunset K. I never expected to find this in a partner and it's uniquely refreshing. We pull up to the quarantine facility and I'm nervous. The whole pick work situation is a bit confusing. I have money orders, but I don't know if they're for the right amount, and I'm just worried there's going to be some technicality where I can't see my sweet baby Saber. I miss him, his cuddles, and his purrs. At least I know the quarantine facility is nice. It's just how the lady at the airport described. A little indoor-outdoor type situation where he can see mongoose run past, and of course he has other cats as neighbors, although they're partitioned off so they can't actually see each other. We laugh when we get to Saber's quote, unit, I guess you could call it, because right there on the sign it says, Saber, caution. I wonder where he gets that from, Timmy laughs, poking me on the arm. That's my cat, I laugh proudly. He's always been feisty with authority figures and with me. Sabre, you have visitors, they call out, and he lets out a little meow in response and runs to the door. I'm gonna make him feel comfortable around me super quick, Timmy says. Watch. He lies flat on his back, arms by his side, and I sit on the floor next to him. Sabre circles him, sniffing and inspecting him from every angle. This is how we train dogs, Timmy explains. I'm doing this on his terms, making it clear I'm no threat. Wow, I say, impressed. I've never seen this before. That's so cool. Saber hops up on his little bench and tucks his paws under himself. He watches Timmy casually observing him, but he's comfortable enough to be resting around him. See, he's already starting to get comfortable with me, says Timmy. I smile. It's important to me that Saber feels comfortable around Timmy. After making him go on yet another flight and relocate once again, I feel like making sure he's secure in his own place is the least I can do. Five minutes later, Timmy's regaling me with a random story. When I was naked, running around the doctor's backyard. Which doctor's backyard were you running around naked? He looks like he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Uh nobody. Suddenly it clicks. Wait, you're telling me about running around naked in the backyard of the doctor you were dating? Why would I want to hear about that? It's an unnecessary story. Not particularly interesting, and I don't understand why he needed to share this with me. Is that how they were when they were together, running around naked all the time like a bunch of natrists fucking all the time? I feel a knot forming in my stomach. Fuck you, he growls, his eyes growing dark. Wait, I was just trying to understand, but he doesn't stop. He storms out of the quarantine cage and I close the door quickly before Saber can follow him. I sit with Saber and give him cuddles and treats, trying not to cry, not really understanding what just happens. When he returns about 15 minutes later, he's on the phone. Yeah, he mutters, his voice slow. I know. He hangs up. Who is that? I ask. Darren, not that it's any of your business, he growls. Then his voice softens. Look, I'm sorry I got upset, he says. Can we just go? I'm sorry I did too, I say. I know you've dated people before me. I just didn't understand why you didn't tell me that's who you were talking about and why you were telling me this naked story. And yes, let's just go, I sigh. I give Saber one last cuddle before we leave. I'll be back to visit you soon, I say, I promise. When we leave and hop into the truck, Timmy brings out the creepy Margo doll that he started carrying around everywhere. He hangs it from a fishing lever that dangles from the rearview mirror. That's a bit creepy, I say. It looks like it's literally hanging from a noose. That's why it's funny, Timmy laughs, and it looks like you. He cranks the stereo on the way back, directing me to play this or that on Spotify. Damn, you're a bit of a shit DJ, he teases me as I fumble to find the right songs a couple of times. His phone is set up quite differently from mine, and he has a different version of Spotify, so it's just easier to find things on my own phone. Stop, I laugh, but it's shallow and I feel heat rising to my face. I'm doing my best. I know he's only teasing me, but his comment makes me feel just a little bit embarrassed. I think he can tell because he takes my hand and glances over at me. It's okay, Margo, your DJ skills aren't why I think you're so amazing. Everything about you is amazing except for how long it takes you to find songs. We drive back to town and Timmy takes the creepy Margo doll from its makeshift noose, and he shoves it upside down in his board shorts. I laugh as he walks down the boardwalk with a tiny doll replica of me sticking out of his pants. You can just see a bit of the bright red hair along with its legs and boots on full display. It's ridiculous. He's ridiculous. And I'm having so much fun. My reaction to this chapter, um, I think it's one of those situations where where you're in it, it feels very different from looking back, especially after all that happened after it, and something that seemed quite light and low-key, actually developed more meaning over time. Uh, it was really sweet when Timmy offered to take me to see Fang. He knew how much I was missing him and how guilty I felt about leaving him in quarantine. And it was kind of far from the city, so him driving me there was really helpful. And I have a really distinct memory of the drive. It's the first time I truly noticed the way his tenses were off and got so flummoxed and frustrated by his stories that I just straight up asked him about whether he had kids. I couldn't pick apart from the stories whether he still lived with Darren, which was weird because I'd been to Maddie's house and there was barely room for two of them. And I didn't know who the kids were. It sounded like he had a daughter, you know. I came out of that conversation realizing he just spoke in a really windy, bendy way I'd never heard before, almost like a riddle. I still remember him telling the story of being naked at his ex-girlfriend's house. He was so excited and he was like he was living in the moment, and it was so unnecessary to tell me that. And it just made him feel good to tell the story. Um, the way his entire tone shifted when I called him out on it was really over the top. And it was probably the first time that he got noticeably angry with me and didn't get over it straight away. I was gently asking him to change the subject, and he took it like I attacked him and storming off to talk to someone on the phone. The way he put the doll up with a rope around its neck dangling from the mirror is really chilling in hindsight. And then his little dig about me being a shit DJ. That sounded light at the time, and I laughed it off, but there was an edge. To it that wasn't there with his previous gentle teasing. In hindsight, it was the second light jabbit that he made at me after the comment he made about my agility on the rocks at the beach and how that would translate to surfing. And then those were glossed over both of them under the guise of teasing and joking. I've since learned that that's textbook for how this type of person starts, but there was so much lightness around all of these things that it was super easy to overlook them at the time. The fact these memories are still so visceral to me now makes me realize how my body recognized them for what they were and or something deep within my mind did too. Chapter 24. Sharing as caring. We talk about everything. I've never had this before. A partner who's genuinely interested in the intricate workings of my mind, my soul. He's interested in my deepest fears and regrets as well as my hopes and dreams. And Timmy listens, he really listens. He leans in, his gorgeous blue eyes locked on mine, as if nothing else in the world exists except for our conversation. It feels intoxicating, like a drug I didn't know I needed. My exes have never really been into deep conversations, especially my most recent one, who would shove away any type of conversation about existentialism or anything else that would make him focus on human emotion. Any emotion or anything painful would make him shut down and retreat into his own little world, brushing it all off as if it didn't matter. That was his actual saying, nothing matters. And Timmy's such an opposite swing of the pendulum. It's as though I've been walking around half asleep for years, and suddenly Timmy's awakened this dormant part of me, encouraging me to unravel parts of myself that I never thought I'd share with anyone. Sure, some people know the basics, but I take him to depths I thought were buried deep inside. Tell me more about him and what he meant to you, Timmy says softly after I mentioned my uncle, who was such a special part of my life, who died too young, too unexpectedly. The weight of the memory presses on my chest, but Timmy's gaze is so full of warmth and understanding that I find myself opening up with him more than I have with anyone before. He was my hero, I start, my voice trembling as I recount memories of a man who always believed in me, who was always proud of me, and was one of my biggest champions, who helped me through one of the darkest times of my life. When he passed, I just I don't know if I ever really recovered. It feels like I lost part of myself, you know, like this big chunk of care and security that'll never get back. Tears prick my eyes and I feel my throat tighten, but I press on, trusting Timmy with a part of me that's raw and vulnerable. Sometimes I still wake after a dream that makes me feel like he's still alive, but then everything comes rushing back and I remember that he's gone. Timmy reaches out and grabs my hand, squeezing it tight, his eyes are wet too. I get it, he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. Lost like that, it leaves a mark. I've had several friends die in the past few years and their deaths still hurt like it was yesterday. The moment feels profound. For the first time I'm with someone who seems to be able to understand. Someone who can feel things the way that I do. Someone who doesn't shy away from difficult emotions or retreat when the conversation gets too heavy. Timmy leans in, brushing a tear from my cheek with his thumb and my heart swells. His emotional sensitivity, it's like a form of intelligence I've never encountered before in an intimate partner. It feels like he's seeing all of me and accepting every damaged piece of me without hesitation. And his unconditional support feels like an emotional balm, healing me in places I didn't know I needed. I take a deep breath, encouraged by his tenderness. I've alluded to my sexual assault with him before, but never gone into explicit detail. There's more, I whisper, my heart pounding as I prepare to expose more of one of my greatest wounds that I generally keep buried. Like people are aware it happened, but not the extent to which the events of that incident have affected me, how depraved my attacker was, and the indelible imprints he's left on me, the emotional scars. It left me broken in ways that I'm not sure I'll ever be able to fix despite all the therapy. My voice falters, but I push through the tremble. I have PTSD, certain sounds, certain places, they take me back to it, and it's like I'm there all over again. I'm sensitive to loud noises, and I can snap back into hypervigilance, even though it happened so many years ago. Timmy's eyes flood with tears. His hand tightens around mine, and he shakes his head as if my story is almost too much to bear. That's so horrible, he whispers, his voice cracking. I'm so sorry you went through that. No one should ever have to feel that kind of fear. He looks down for a moment, his own breath hitching, as if he's absorbing the weight of my pain. Then without prompting, he shares his own story. My family, I love my parents, but they were never really there for me once I became a teenager. After a fight with my sister's boyfriend that turned physical, they kind of cut me off. They moved away, leaving me here on the K. My dad, especially. He couldn't handle me. I guess I was always too much, you know. He smiles, but it's a sad, broken thing, filled with unspoken wounds. In that instant, while Timmy is certainly a lot at times, I vow to never exacerbate his wound by telling him he's too much. I feel protective of him, defensive of anyone who would make him relive how those relationships made him feel. That's why I haven't been speaking with them lately, he explains. Well that, and because my mother refuses to stop speaking to my ex. The connection between us deepens in this moment, a shared shared understanding of hurt and loss. It feels like we're two broken people who've finally found the other person who can help to make us whole again. I feel free, open to be vulnerable. There's no judgment, no impatience, just tenderness and empathy. I wipe my eyes and look at him, grateful for his presence. Thank you for listening, for caring, and for sharing with me too. It means so much. He smiles at me softly and leans forward to kiss my forehead, although his eyes are still clouded with emotion. I care about everything that makes you you, he says, his voice gentle but sure. Every little thing, just like I care about every one of your freckles. I smile, feeling a little lighter. God, this man is everything. I've never been able to talk like this with a partner before to speak in a way that's raw and have someone really understand and reciprocate. Timmy's expression hardens for a moment almost imperceptibly before it softens again. He leans in closer, swiping a stray lock of hair off my face. Well those people are all idiots. You're so kind and sweet, and you've been through so much, he says his voice deep and reassuring. I can't imagine not knowing everything about you. I'm here, Margot, and I want to hear it all. You never have to hold back with me. It's like a weight lifts off my shoulders, and for the first time I feel truly safe. I tell him more about the nights where I wake up from nightmares screaming, drenched in sweat, the memories of the assault clawing at me, leaving me breathless. I tell him about how scared I am sometimes, how fragile I feel when those moments hit me, how I know I've made so much progress that those setbacks have me reeling, and it feels like I'm backsliding every now and then. And Timmy listens intently, nodding, squeezing my hand, his face a picture of compassion. He starts sharing again too, but his stories are different, vague. I've lost people too, he says, and I've been hurt by others. He glances away as if the memory's too painful to hide eye contact over. The ones who have passed, friends, family, people close to me. I keep little things to remember them by, like this quilt. He gestures to an old, threadbare stitched blanket on the chair. It's falling apart and covered in stains that I can't get out, but it means the world to me, it's all I have left. I reach out to touch the quilt, feeling the worn fabric beneath my fingers, taking care not to knock one of the patchwork triangles that's hanging by a thread next to an own unknown mark that looks a bit like ketchup. That's beautiful, I say softly, but something nags at the back of my mind. He's mentioning friends and family but not by name. Who gave it to you? He hesitates, his eyes distant. A friend, someone you don't know. It's not important. He smiles, but this time for some reason it feels more like a mask. What matters is that I have it. The conversation shifts and he talks about other trinkets he's kept that he holds dear, a couple of rings another unnamed friend gave him when he helped her to move, a small foil baby shark balloon that he claims holds sentimental value as it starts to sag as the helium deflates out of it. He's emotional about these objects, tears welling in his eyes as he talks about how important they are to him, but he leaves it at that, seemingly preferring not to go deeper. Still, I don't press. It's enough that he's sharing. He's being vulnerable in his own way. He doesn't need to tell me everything, and if he wants to, he will in his own time. We're a safe space for each other now. It's so freeing like I can finally truly breathe, that I have a partner to share in my joy, my pain, and my mess, our mess now. I drown in the sweetness of his attention and the idea that I've finally found someone who gets me, someone who cares. He makes me feel so safe, he makes me feel so seen. It's the two things I've craved all my life. When I've been abandoned by nearly everyone, he's just what I need. Kind, attentive, a protector who almost also makes me laugh. And he's cute. Every insecurity I have is something he loves about me. Every fucking thing. When I was younger, I felt like I had a true love, a soulmate waiting in the wings somewhere, somehow. I believed it was in my cards. That hope had faded over the years, like it was just a silly thing, a nice concept that doesn't actually exist. But now I have Timmy and I've never ever felt such pure joy. My reaction to this chapter, I did really feel seen by Timmy. And I'd had relationships where I'd try to talk about my feelings or something deep and would get shut down immediately. Typical replies were things like, I don't talk about things like that, or just no reply at all. But Timmy wanted to go in and talk deeply about a range of topics. He wasn't scared of spiritual stuff. He would occasionally try and talk about the news, and that would end up annoying me because he'd repeat like really absurd things that he saw on Facebook or whatever. But other than that, we could talk about basically anything. He particularly seemed to absorb everything I said about my own innermost thoughts and feelings. And that felt really, really good. It got some of those deep thoughts out of my mind and out loud with someone who cared about me, where they felt really safe to share it with. He was particularly sensitive about my uncle's passing and let me talk about him going to the extent of crying himself on my behalf. And he immediately likened it to his own experience, but he couldn't really provide anything concrete behind it. So I don't know how much of his empathy was true or how much he was learning real human emotion from me. He was also very sensitive at the start about my sexual assault and interested in how my PTSD affected me, asking questions and listening really carefully about how easily I could startle at times and the impact it had on me day to day. Spoiler alert, sharing these things would come back to bite me in the ass, but we'll get to that. Right now in the story, I'm feeling seen and listened to and like I can share everything with this person because he cares about me so much and has my best interests at heart. It was really interesting how he described his relationship with his parents, especially his dad, based on what I know now. The way that cut him off seemed to have really gotten to him. And his sharing definitely made me feel much closer to him, like we could be there for each other. I remember feeling very defensive when he said that his uh family told him and other people would tell him that he's too much. And it really shaped me not wanting to be a person that contributed to something that made him so upset. It was also quite funny in hindsight that he talked about how much he did not talk to his parents. You will see why soon. He was super clingy about material possessions, his nasty quilt that he was obsessed with. I never did find out who it belonged to. And the rings. There were many fights over those, which we'll get to. Again, he said a girl gave them to him, but he wouldn't say who, but that they were platonic. But then he'd say weird stuff that made me think whoever it was and he had been something more than that. I didn't particularly care, but he'd say stuff in a way that was almost trying to get a reaction out of me. And the foil baby shark balloon that will have an important part in the story too, as simple of an item as it seems. I realize now how every tiny little thing would be said in passing back then would be so light and superficial, but it would all add up to something kind of massive when you look at it as an entire picture and what it led to. And the feeling that I had an actual soulmate, something I'd long discarded the notion of, gave me such hope and relief and comfort that I was willing to overlook all the little things, or things that seemed like little things at the time. Chapter 25, Starfish, but not the cool kind. Over the next few days, Timmy's always here, everywhere I go, every waking second, and then next to me when I sleep. He wants to be a part of everything I do, every little errand or mundane task. I'll come with you, he says every time I suggest running out to the grocery store. He insists on driving me to the post office rather than having me walk all that way, even though I love the exercise. I've never had someone want to accompany me on every errand before. With others, they were always happy to let me go off by myself to tackle whatever tasks they felt were boring. Now it's the exact opposite. And while it's a little smothering at times, there's something about it that makes me feel special, like I'm the center of Timmy's universe. Consciously, I know that it's not normal to have someone want to spend 24-7 with you. People need space, right? At least that's always what I've been told. But at the same time, it feels really nice, knowing I mean so much to someone that they want to be with me every second of the day. It's flattering, almost intoxicating. But sometimes when I do manage to slip out on a solo errand, I feel this tiny spark of relief. I get onto the sidewalk and crank my music on my headphones as loud as I can, and for a brief moment I'm just me again, alone with my thoughts. Part of me wants to keep walking for hours, to run, the wind whipping through my hair, bouting out the lyrics to songs he doesn't like, or listening to one of my podcasts that he'd probably find boring. I let myself imagine it, just me lost in my own world, free. But then that feeling fades because as soon as I picture him waiting for me with that cheeky grin, I feel an odd sense of guilt for even wanting a sliver of time apart. I think of how cozy it is to sit beside him all day, curled up on the bed, his hand brushing against mine as he turns to me and whispers sweet things. I've never been with someone who wanted this level of closeness, this much intimacy, day in and day out. Timmy talks about our future with such passion, weaving dreams of what our life will look like. We'll get a little house, just the two of us, and I'll design everything. You can write all day in peace. We'll have a beautiful garden with exotic plants and we'll grow our own vegetables. We'll have a state-of-the-art grill and even the little pizza oven beside our fout fire pit. Doesn't that sound perfect? His voice is soothing, painting a picture so vivid that I can almost see it, this future we're building together. He talks about his graphic design work with such enthusiasm, creativity pouring out of him, and he loves listening to me talk about my writing, encouraging me at every step. It's like he's always right there beside me, helping me envision this life we're working towards. What I've always wanted, someone who's just as invested in our future as I am, someone who's as affectionate and loyal as I've always craved. So how could I say no? But sometimes it's a little much, like when I go to the bathroom and he just walks in. No knocking, no asking, he's just there. What? I missed you, he'd say, as if it's no big deal. I'll be peeing or showering, and he'll just wander in like my personal space doesn't exist. He'll watch me in the shower, a cheeky gleam in his eyes, and it's not uncommon for him to bundle me up in one of the fluffy lilac towels and hoist me over his shoulder, carrying me to the bed. And when I pee, he stands there and yells starfish and pretends he wants to pee while I am as well, aiming just in front of me into the bowl. One time I even let him do it, and he cackles as his pea sloshes from the bowl and splashes me on my leg. Gross. At first, his constant attentiveness and random bathroom appearances make me laugh. Timmy, I'd say, playfully pushing him away. But now it's just part of our routine. He's always there, whether I want him to be or not. And while part of me feels suffocated by it, another part of me finds it sweet and daring even. Because when he holds me, it's like I'm wrapped in something warm and fluffy, like a cloud or maybe a delicious croysant, something soft, comforting, and buttery. His arms around me feel safe, like a cocoon I never want to leave. And when he looks into my eyes, I see a tenderness there, a kind soul who truly wants to spend every moment with me. It's flattering, honestly. I feel cherished in a way I never have before, like I'm the most important person in the world to him. I've never been good at balancing closeness in space. As a stubborn Taurus with a streak of codependency and an anxious attachment style, I'm all in when it comes to relationships. So maybe this is what love is supposed to feel like. Maybe this constant closeness, this 24-7 connection is just part of being with someone who truly cares. It's not like he's doing anything wrong. I guess it could seem like he's keeping tabs on me, but I get the feeling he just wants to be with me. And isn't that a good thing? Still, there's a small voice in the back of my mind whispering that I might need more space, that it's okay to want to do things on my own sometimes. But when I think of him, how much he loves me, how much he wants to be around me, I brush the thought away. Because who am I to say no to someone who loves me this much, who makes me feel this special, this needed. My reaction to this chapter. So it was weird not being able to go anywhere without him. And I would think of this story that a classmate told me in high school. Um, her boyfriend would follow her to the toilet and watch her pee to make sure she wasn't talking to other guys. And that's kind of how I felt. I would always think back to that story and knew that something was off. But it was nice to have a companionship outside of that, and he did make most things really fun at first, anyway. The following me to the bathroom was a bit over the top, and peeing into the bowl I was peeing, I know that's disgusting, and it makes me shudder to think about it. He was really amazing at painting a compelling picture of the future. Now, I didn't know what future faking was at the time, but he would share things that were aspirational, and he was so passionate about it and talented at describing it too. So he would use words that were so just thoughtful that I could clearly visualize exactly what our home, our office, our life would look like together, the level of granular detail he'd go to, like the exact types of plants and fruits and vegetables that he would plant, where desks would be positioned, what the actual pieces of furniture would look like. And he'd talk a big game about the companies and brands he would own. Like he was sounded, he was able to make himself sound very entrepreneurial. And he was talking about, you know, creating main brands and spin-off brands that he would sell and um having artistic direction over some of them, but then completely selling other ones. Like he was really acting like he'd thought all of this through, and it got me energized. It actually made me think, wow, I could do this, I could do that. So looking back on it, I just remember how excited his words got me, and I believed that there are things that he'd really thought about and wanted to do. Chapter 26, Steve the Horse Cop. The next day. Let's go for a drive around the coast. There's so much I want to show you. Timmy's voice is bubbling with excitement, and I can't help but smile. This trip feels like a redemption arc for me too. Last time I visited Sunset K, it was with my ex, and the memory is less about the coastline's beauty and more about his relentless complaining. I'd planned a scenic drive just like this, eager to explore hidden beaches and charming roadside cafes, to show him places where I had fond memories with my parents back in happier times. But my ex ruined the day saying it was a waste of time to sit in the car when we could be drinking by a pool. That day trip ended in a fight that tainted every stop we made. Now though, Timmy's excitement is infectious, the way he talks about the beaches and surf spots. It's clear that he loves this place with every ounce of his chaotic heart. I watch him gear up for the day, throwing on a Superman cape, a bold USA flag cap, and his deer claw necklace. He looks ridiculous and perfect in his own way. That's Timmy. Always a spectacle, always unapologetically himself. As we hit the road, I feel like I'm reclaiming the experience I wanted on my last vacation here. The palm trees sway over the road as we drive past packed beaches and quaint coastal neighborhoods, the kind of scenery I've always dreamed of living in. And now somehow I do. I pull out my phone to record short videos and take pictures, thinking how surreal it all feels. This place is so gorgeous, I say, glancing at Timmy. You know what we should do? We should make a TikTok account, share our adventures. He grins, his eyes lighting up, like a podcast. I laugh, more like short videos, reels and stuff. We could capture the fun, you know, I bet people would love it. Hell yeah, he bounces in his seat. I've got a few ideas for pranks that would make people laugh. It feels good, the shared excitement, the sense that we're building something fun together moment by moment. We make several stops along the coast, and at one point Timmy pulls into a small farm surrounded by swaying fields and distant mountains. I just need a minute, he says, helping out of the truck. A friend of mine's in the hospital and his neighbors are watching the farm. I want to check in and see if they need help. While he talks to a woman near the fence, I watch him from the car, marveling at how well connected he is. Timmy seems to know everyone, and not just in a casual way, he genuinely cares about these people. It's one of the things that draws me to him, even if his eccentricity can be overwhelming at times. He's like a patchwork quilt of wild, messy kindness. When he slides back into the driver's seat, he's still animated. I really want you to meet Steve, he says as we pull back onto the road. He's one of my best friends and he has a good. Has been since we were kids, always got my back. What does he do? He's a park ranger on another island. Pretty cool job, he works on horseback. Steve the horse cop, we call him. His family's over there, but when he's off he stays with his parents here. I like the sound of Steve. From the way Timmy describes him, he seems grounded. A stabilizing presence in Timmy's otherwise unpredictable world. It's reassuring. Maybe Timmy has his wild streak, but if a guy like Steve is still in his life after all these years, it suggests Timmy knows how to keep something steady when it matters. But as we get closer to Steve's place, Timmy's mood shifts. He stops to grab a bottle of fireball and down some of it on the road, his energy morphing into something more volatile. You're a shit DJ, he snapped at one point, swiping the phone from my hand when I can't find a song he requested quick enough for his liking. Just give it to me, you fucking suck at this. His words hit like a slap. I'm really sorry, I mutter, feeling the sting rise in my throat. He scoffs. Don't quit your day job. Tears well up, and I fight to keep them at bay. Are you crying? he asks his voice sharp. No, I whisper, biting my lip. By the time we reach the estuary where Steve is waiting, I feel like I've been emotionally whipped around. I wipe at my face, trying to salvage what I can of my makeup before we step out of the trap. Steve greets me with a polite smile and we exchange a hug. Timmy, barefoot and buzzing with energy, immediately runs off to feed the ducks, leaving me with Steve. I can't help but ask, is he always like this? Steve shrugs. He's a lot. I've known him since we were kids, and I can only take him in small doses. His eyes lock onto mine serious now. Maybe you should do the same. His words linger, a subtle warning I can't ignore. Coming from anyone else, I'd dismiss it, but Steve's got that quiet, measured way about him. He's a cop or close enough as a ranger, and there's a gravity to his words that makes me listen. Well, I'm an all or nothing person, I say, putting on a bright smile, so I guess I'm fucked. I can't shake what Steve said even as I rationalise it away, settling in my mind like a splinter. But Timmy told me himself he has moody days driven by his mood disorder. Maybe this is just one of them. And what we have is special. Timmy isn't perfect, but he's mine. He's everything I've been missing. Affectionate, funny, protective, creative, and intensely loving. Our sex life is incredible, and the way he makes me feel seen, really seen, is unlike anything I've ever experienced. Steve might think he knows Timmy, but I see a different side of him. Steve isn't living in the moments where Timmy holds me close, kisses my forehead, and makes me laugh until I can't breathe. Steve doesn't see the guy who curls up next to me at night all snugly warped and whispered promises. Timmy's rough around the edges, sure, but that's part of his charm. And the parts that aren't charming? We'll work on those. He cares enough to try, and that's all that I need. Back at my apartment, the tension melts away. I slip into something comfortable and set up my influence post with the sex wedge, feeling more at ease now that we're at home. Then I see the email and my heart leaps. Saber's rabies results are in. The quarantine station has approved his release three months early. Oh my god, I whisper, a wave of relief crashing over me. My baby is coming home. Soon I'll have Sabre with me and everything will finally feel right. The quarantine facility is really nice, but I still feel guilty thinking about my affectionate little boy sitting there day after day all by himself. Timmy notices my excitement. What's up? Saber's coming home early. I beam at him and he grins back, the day's tension already forgotten. We stop by Maddy's later, where Timmy poses with his fingers like devil horns above his head for a few goofy photos. As I snap the shots, I feel that familiar warmth return. Timmy's chaotic and unpredictable, but he's also mine. But in the corner of my heart, a small knot of unease tightens, and I know that something in this picture, this strange chaotic love, might be bigger than me. Oh, my reaction to this chapter. This is, I would say, the first time I felt what I would describe as a genuine unease that was too much for me to just brush over. Timmy did his usual routine, um, offering to help somewhat random people. And again, the fact that he seemed to like know people and they seemed to appreciate his help all lended to his credibility. And there was a certain safety in him introducing me to Steve, who had an actual responsible adult job. In real life, it wasn't an actual force cop, and I won't say what it was, but it lended an ear of credibility to Timmy by virtue of having a friend with a career and who had stayed his friend since high school. But Steve's words really did stick with me that he needed breaks from Timmy. I think it was because deep down I was starting to feel a little like I might need some breakers from Timmy too. Also, his criticism of my music and DJ skills a bit harder this time, like a bruise he kept poking, which is ironic, because we'll get to that very topic soon. But I can remember feeling sick when he said it and just like shocked at his anger about it. Overall, this was a really intense day that I can picture in my head quite vividly. And it could have gone in another direction. So I think timing is everything. So finding out that Fang was going to be able to come home from quarantine was huge and such a nice email to receive, and definitely a distraction from trying to process everything that had gone on. And Timmy was also really adept at taking a negative moment and then immediately flipping it, following it up with something that's so much fun, so much lightness that it was really hard to place as much weight on what had happened beforehand. So we'll leave it there for this episode. I'm interested, have you ever been in the early stages of a relationship and glossed over red flags because it felt easier to focus on the positives or for some other reason? Or did you notice the red flag that you just could not overlook? If so, what was it? Comment below or message me. I'd love to hear from you. And stay tuned for episode six because believe me, things are going to escalate extremely quickly very soon. And in the meantime, remember, it wasn't you, you're not too much, and it was never your fault.