S1E6: Lighten Up

He steals a frying pan from a restaurant and tells her to be grateful.

He rearranges her entire apartment and tells her how lucky she is.

He crosses a boundary she explicitly stated and tells her it felt better anyway.

And every single time she raises a concern?

Lighten up.

Lighten Up.

WARNING: This episode in particular touches on themes around consent. Please prioritize your mental health.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:00

I'm Heidi Stark, and this is Pretty Red Flags, the podcast, episode six. This is three things in one: a true crime podcast because these things actually happened to me, an audiobook because I'm reading this duet aloud, and a survivor testimony because this survivor is sharing her thoughts on what happened, providing more context and elaborating beyond the pages and sharing more about what's happened since. Last time we covered Timmy's gradually taking over aspects of Margot's life, the way he listened so carefully to her innermost thoughts and seemed genuinely interested in what made her tick. Took a huge interest in her cat fang, who's very, very important to her, demanded to spend every second with her, often crossing boundaries by entering the bathroom when she was in there and even trying to pee when she pee. And he introduced her to his childhood friend, Steve the Horse Cop, who gave her a warning that he himself could only take Timmy in small doses, and warned that maybe she could she should consider the same approach. While I've censored the explicit scenes of the upcoming episodes or chapters in this episode, this episode might be triggering for some viewers, as it does touch on topics of consent and boundaries. If you want to read the whole thing, Pretty Red Flags is available on Amazon and Kendall Unlimited. Chapter 27 Bad Guy The night buzzes with energy, the kind that makes your skin prickle with anticipation. There's some type of event on the main street that runs down the length of the beach, transforming the vibrant tourist hub into a carnival of sound and colour. Food trucks line the sidewalks, filling the air with the mouthwatering scent of grilled meats, sweet fried dough, and spicy sauces. Live music spills from every corner. A blend of reggae, surf rock, and acoustic ballads. Crowds ebb and flow, clusters of friends laughing, even some couples dancing, and strangers embracing the freedom of a warm coastal night in Sunset Cay. I know you love people watching, Times is smiling as he watches me take it all in. Come on, he says, playfully grabbing my hand. Let's grab some little bottles of fireball and then I have the perfect place for us to sit. As usual, his spontaneity thrills me. I never know what's coming next with him, but it always feels exciting. Like a never ending adventure. We duck into a nearby convenience store and grab a few flight bottles of fireball. He grabs my hand and tugs me back toward the main street toward a large utility box, its dark green surface weathered by this old tear. Come on, he says, crouching to give me a boost, hoisting me up onto it before jumping up himself. We're higher up than most people now and can see everything going on in both directions, and feels like we're perched on top of the world. From here the street unfurls in both directions, waves of people, the glow of string lights, and the music drifting on the breeze. The view is exhilarating like we're part of the crowd, but above it at the same time. Timmy cracks open one of the little bottles of fireball and hands it to me. The cinnamon whiskey burns down my throat, filling me with the giddy warmth that makes everything shimmer a little brighter. He drapes his arm around me, pulling me close and kisses me on the side of my head. Isn't this amazing? I love you so much, he murmurs against my ear, his voice low and sincere. It's moments like this when he's spontaneous, adventurous, and affectionate that make me feel like I've found my person. He brings out a side of me that I didn't know existed, one that craves fun and freedom, that feels carefree and uninhibited, with him as like anything if possible. I feel a bit like a naughty school kid sitting up here. But what's the worst that can happen? Someone asks us to hop back down from the utility box? No big deal at all. This is just silly, innocent fun, and I want to hold on to this feeling for as long as I can. We sit quietly for a while, content, just enjoying the buzz around us, then his voice drops to a growl. We're going to go home and you know now. The bluntness of his words sends a thrill through me. I love the way he's so direct about things, so matter of fact, and his confidence is intoxicating, a far cry from my ex who could barely say the words sex or fuck without blushing. But in any case, Timmy's openness makes me feel alive, as if I'm gradually shedding my inhibition. I wonder if old me, before I'd started reading and writing dark romance, would have been able to handle someone like him. Now though, I find myself grinning. Well, that sounds good, I reply, biting my lip, but we need to go to the store first. Timmy groans, rolling his eyes with playful exasperation. Do we really need to get more or can't we do without? A flicker of unease creeps in, but I push it aside. No, we need to get some more, I insist, keeping my voice light but firm. He lets out a theatrical sigh. Fine then let's go. He helps me down from the utility box and I laugh as I stumble slightly as I make my landing. Then he leads me to a convenience store where I buy overpriced things. Timmy's fun and spontaneous, but he wouldn't push me to do something I'm not comfortable with. The moment we step back into my apartment, things begin. We should do it without, he murmurs against my neck, his voice rough and persuasive. But the unease returns stronger this time. I don't feel comfortable doing that yet, I say, trying to keep my tone light. Come on, he pleads, sliding his massive hands over my hips. We need to. I told you, I got tested recently. We'll be fine. I hesitate, caught between wanting to please him and wanting to honour my own comfort. I don't know, I say I'd rather not yet. Oh come on, he pleads, it'll be so much better and I'll feel so much closer to you. It'll be great, both of us. No, I don't feel comfortable doing that yet, I say. I always feel awkward having this conversation, but it's important, and I stick to my gun. His face tightens with frustration. Come on, it'll be fine, he says. And before I can react, he does what he wants against what I said I wanted. The shock of it knocks the air from my lungs, and for a moment I don't know how to respond. But then he continues, compliments me, and afterwards keeps saying how good it was. He leans down to kiss me on the forehead. Later he's still buzzing. Margot, I still can't believe how fucking insane that was. You're incredible. I feel a weird combination of pride and something else. Despite the praise, the knot in my stomach lingers. I try to ignore it to focus on the good part, but something about the way he pushed past my boundary gnaws at me. An uncomfortable truth I don't want to face. I want to believe that what just happened is okay because we're in love and he would never hurt me. But part of me knows something isn't right. I told him no and he didn't listen. I wish he would have been a bit more respectful and taken no for an answer. And it's not like I was denying him completely, even though that would have been my prerogative to do so. I was just asking him to do it in a way that felt okay for me. It feels like he's putting his own pleasure or enjoyment over what I've expressed as important to me. See, it was so much better this way, he's saying. I give a quick smile and push the thought away. It's fine, everything is fine. I just would have preferred he respected my boundaries a little more, that's all. But even as I tell myself this, the uneasy knot refuses to untangle, sitting heavy in my chest, like a truth I'm not ready to conflict. My reaction to this chapter, so I still remember the first part, which was great, sitting up high on the main road and just feeling like part of the action and just having such a good time soaking in the energy and the way that Timmy made everything feel so fun and carefree, and like we were like school kids sitting up high, having such a good time. But then how pressured I felt right afterwards, and how the atmosphere completely changed and it became completely about what he wanted and how he wanted it. Um, I remember how I didn't feel like I had a voice and I felt overridden. And afterwards, like I felt a huge boundary had been crossed, but he said all the things to make me minimize it in my mind and second guessed myself. How I pushed it out of my own mind, like it wasn't really a big deal, even though I had this nagging feeling. Um, I was really uncomfortable, and I I remember thinking this isn't okay, but he was very persuasive and I let myself just be carried away with it. Um, someone got really mad at me in a review and got really high and mighty and said that Margot was a stupid girl and she effectively let Timmy essay her. I think that person needs to get down off their high and mighty pedestal and question their own condescending self-righteous bullshit. If this has happened to you, please know it's not okay and there are resources available to help you. It might be something worth speaking to a therapist or close friend about. I can only say from my experience that it did not feel good and I can still remember it viscerally. Um, I think if you've been through something like this, when it's happening with someone who you know and you feel a level of trust with, it makes it even more confusing to figure out what's going on in your head and it puts barriers up to be able to say no because you start worrying about offending that person and kind of gaslighting yourself. Like, am I being too uptight? Shouldn't I just go along with this? Wouldn't it just be easier to go along with it? Is it really that much of a big deal? All of these things that flood your brain. Having the benefit of time in hindsight, I can see how Timmy really did cross a boundary and it was only a sign of more things to come. Chapter 28 to Lofa later that evening. We get ready and head to Timmy's friend's club. It's been years since I've set foot in a nightclub, let alone an EDM one. Back on the East Coast, I'd only gone to a couple of clubs, and even then the relentless space, the swirling lights, and the pulsating crowd felt overwhelming. But I'm in Timmy's world now and I'm willing to give it a go. On the way over, Timmy brags about the club owner, Romeo, a supposed childhood friend to a prominent drug dealer in nightlife Pinkton of Dunset K. The whole story feels off. From what I've gathered, Romeo's at least 10 or 15 years older than Timmy, making it hard to imagine them a schoolmates. I brushed it off for now though, the way Timmy talks half of what he says sounds like it's been exaggerated or warped into legend. He tells me with unsettling pride how he has access to an endless supply of drugs through Romeo. Everyone in the club knows me, he says, puffing his chest out. I've even danced so long that once I dragged a couch onto the dance floor and slept right there, people just danced around me, and when I woke up a bunch of people were stroking my body. I laugh awkwardly, not knowing whether to be amused or disturbed. He takes it further though, and I've always got to jerk off like three times before I go to the club. Otherwise I'll like cover my pants on the dance floor. It's so stimulating. All the girls in their rave outfit. That part makes me scrim and I can't even hide it. That's a lot to me. Why would you say that to me? He just shrugs, like oversharing a second nature to him. Girls there all want me, but I've never taken any of them home. It's just dancing, it's a vibe. They're all going to be so jealous of you. I guess I feel relieved that he's not known for taking all the girls home. By the time we pull up to the club, an unmarked building hidden down a nondescript side street. I'm not sure what I've gotten myself into. The place looks nothing like a nightclub from the outside, designed to look more like a storage facility or some kind of office. A group of bouncers loiter near the entrance, adjusting their earpieces and sharing low conversations as they prepare for the night ahead. Without missing a beat, Timmy marches straight towards them, radiating the confidence of someone who thinks he's royalty. Let's go, he says, tugging my hand. The lead bouncer, a broad guy with tattooed arms, steps in front of him. Whoa, slow down, we're not open yet, man. You can't come in. Timmy puffs up his posture almost comically self-important. I know Romeo, I'm good. The bouncers exchange glances, one of them visibly rolling his eyes. Okay, buddy, still not open. Timmy scowls and points, pulls out his phone, shooting me an annoyed look as if this finer inconvenience is a personal attack. I'll call Romeo. I stand there awkwardly while Timmy dials, feeling the heavy weight of the bouncer's judgment. I'm starting to wonder if Timmy even knows Romeo that well, or if this whole thing is just another one of his exaggerated tales. But to my surprise, after a brief phone exchange, Timmy hands the phone over to one of the security guys. After a few twist words with Romeo, the bouncer hands the phone back, muttering, All right, you're in. Timmy shoots me a triumphant grin, but it's clear the bouncers are not impressed. The tension between them and Timmy lingers in the air like a dead smell. I happen to notice one of the bouncers is wearing a cat from a Samoan clothing brand I recognize. The bad vibes between me and the bouncers need diffusing, so I step forward. Are you Samoan? I asked, nodding towards his cat. He gives me a curious glance, taking in my accent. Yep. Oh nice, hello, Von from New Zealand. His face brightens, and just like that the energy shifts. We chat for a moment, exchanging friendly words about hope and the heaviness between us resolves. The other bouncers relax a little, more smiles now, and we slip inside finally past the awkwardness. The interior of the club is surprisingly cool. It's a cavernous industrial space with murals painted across the walls, giant surreal figures outlined with neon, their features glowing under the black lights. It feels otherworldly, like stepping into a different dimension. Timmy still basking in his self-appointed VIP status, leads me by the hand through the dimly lit room. The DJ is setting up, testing some beats that pulse through the space like an electronic heartbeat. This is my spot, Timmy says with a grin, looking around like he owns the place. I'm like a legend here. He breaks away from me to start dancing, slipping easily into a shuffle dance that's surprisingly good. I drop onto one of the couches along the wall and watch him. He's fully in his element, spinning, gliding, and twisting with a grin blasted across his face, the whole dark floor to himself. And even though I want to roll my eyes at how self-important he's been all night, I can't help but smile. There's something charming about how much fun he's having. As people start to trickle in, the space slowly fills with energy. The music grows louder, the bass deeper, and the lights flash in hypnotic patterns. I relax a little, reassured by the fact that Timmy's not seeking out drugs or even alcohol, just enjoying his dancing and the ability to share this part of his life with me. The vibe is fun and light, and I start to think maybe I've been too judgmental. Maybe Timmy's world isn't as sketchy as it seemed. When we finally get back to my apartment, Timmy grabs this giant stuffed caterpillar, one of the many items he's moved over to my place from Madden's, and starts wiggling it from one end, making it ripple like a battle rope at the gym. I burst out laughing, the sight's so absurd I can't help myself. My laugh echoes through the room, loud and unfiltered, but not that loud, or at least I didn't think so. But just a few minutes later there's a knock at the door. I open it to find a concierge standing there, an apologetic look on his face. I'm really sorry, but we got a noise complaint. That's the third noise complaint we've had this week. I've never had a noise complaint anywhere I've lived, and I honestly don't think we've been very loud at all. I stare at him stunned. We're laughing, we're not even listening to music. He shrugs helplessly, apparently so. I feel so deflated like a schoolgirl being told off for something trivial. This building is starting to suck with all these petty complaints, and they always seem to be coming from the leasing agent next door. She's had it out for me from day one and it's starting to feel personal. So weird considering she insisted I take the apartment beside her, not that I knew it at the time. Timmy now draped over the bed with a caterpillar on his chest gives me a lazy grin. Dan, babe, your life is so powerful it causes complaints, it's kind of hot. I roll my eyes but can't help smiling. It's ridiculous, all of it. But at least the night was fun, well mostly. As I sit back down though, a flicker of our knees return. Timmy's world, this club scene, these strange connections, it feels exciting, sure, but there's an edge to it, like I'm brushing up against something dark and I don't quite belong. He behaved himself tonight, but his stories, his connections, his reckless confidence, it all hints at a life I'm not sure I can keep up with. It's fun, but it feels dangerous too, like I'm teetering on the edge of something I don't fully understand. Maybe I'm overthinking it. Maybe I just need to relax, go with the flow. But as I look at Timmy spoiled across my bed, grinning like the world at his playground, that negative sense of being out of my depth lingers like a shadow, I can't quite shake. My reaction to this chapter, this was a really pivotal evening for me. Timmy was just so puffed up about how important he was at this club and how well he knew the guy who ran it. I was really skeptical because of the way the security team was responding to him. And I was actually kind of shocked when he got the owner on the phone and then he let us in. It put my fears that he was full of it to rest in the moment. In hindsight, it still confuses me. And I can only think maybe he sold drugs for this guy or something. It just doesn't make sense. It was a huge relief when I connected with a security team and the vibe changed. And it was embarrassing when Timmy was dancing around by himself. Then when we got back to the apartment and I got told off for laughing, it pushed Timmy and I together again. Like he empathized with me in the wrongness of receiving a complaint for something so stupid. It was a really confusing evening for sure. He got some kind of validation in my eyes through knowing people, and then we shared this experience where an anonymous neighbor was trying to mess with me. So yeah, very confusing. The leasing agent story continues to unfold. Um, it's gonna get really crazy soon, but still don't know what her intentions were with that whole thing. Chapter 29. If you think you look good today, you should see me. The past, mother. I have a fan club, you know. Me, a fan club, mother. Yes, so many men in this town would love to date me. Me, but you're married to dad, mother. Well, it's a nice confidence boost. It's why you should always go out looking your best. By the way, you need to get your eyelashes and eyebrows tinted. Me, why's that, mother? Well, yours is very pale, so you should get yours at past. Or any man you're with will look at a woman who does. The present. The way Timmy looks at me makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. When he says things like, I love how your pale eyelashes make your eyes look soft, and then when you add makeup, they just pop. They're so naturally beautiful. It's not just generic flattery, it's specific to me. It's the kind of compliment that sinks deep into my bones. He notices me in ways that feel personal, like he's seeing me through a lens that nobody else has ever looked through. I catch myself basking in it, craving his approval the way a plant craves sunlight. His praise is intoxicating and it pulls me closer into his orbit. When I'm done getting ready, my hair neatly styled, my makeup subtle but enhancing, I emerge from the bathroom feeling confident. His eyes light up the moment he sees me. Damn Mark, you're glowing, he lets out a low whistle, stepping closer. Look at you, babe, that lip gloss is next level. By the way, whenever my exes used to wear that shit, I refuse to kiss them. He plants a soft kiss on my lips, the sticky gloss, like gluing us together for a moment. But with you I love it, I still can't believe you're mine. The warmth of his words fill me, melting away the edges of any lingering self-doubt, making me see myself through his lens like a natural beauty. But then his own reflection catches his eye, and just like that his attention shifts. His grin turns playful as he straightens his posture and checks himself in the mirror, adjusting his t-shirt. I look so cute, right? You see it right? Look at my outfit. Everything matches perfectly. He turns to the side, tilting his chin up. Come on, tell me I look fucking great, don't I? I laugh, shaking my head. He's ridiculous. But part of me's a little startled by how much he needs to hear it, how he craves the same validation he gives me. You do look cute, I say, indulging him, very coordinated. He grins, yeah, I know. Then his gaze sharpens, excitement bubbling to the surface. Oh my gosh, babe, can you braid my hair, please? Just two braids using the purple hair ties. He grabs two small sections of his hair, holding them where he wants the braids to go, forward over my ears like this. I laugh again, shaking my head. You're a dog, I say. But there's a fondness in my voice. This is gonna look so good, he says with childlike enthusiasm. His eyes sparkle with joy as if the simple act of braiding his hair will somehow complete his entire persona. I fetch the soft lilac hair ties from the drawer and begin braiding his hair as requested. He sits fidgeting slightly with excitement while I weave his strands together. There we go, I say, securing the second braid. He checks himself in the mirror, tightening on the ends of the braids to position them just right. Then he grabs a cap and places it on his head, angling it backward. Perfect, he declares, grinning at his reflection. It's fun, a part of me feels like I'm back in elementary school, sitting cross-legged on the playground, braiding a friend's hair. Timmy's playfulness is infectious. Being with him feels like an adventure, like we're two kids lost in our own world. And maybe that's what this is, a secret world just for us. A love bubble where nothing else matters but the way we make each other feel. A world where his quirky demands and strange antics are endearing instead of suffocating. The way he makes me laugh, the way he fends me little bites of food and tells me to blow on them so I don't burn my mouth, it's also charming, sweet even. And when he holds me close and when he says you're everything I've ever wanted, it's hard to imagine a reality without him. But there's a nagging feeling in the back of my mind and not a bunnies that tightens ever so slightly each time I think too hard about the ways he needs me. The way his validation seems to hinge on my constant attention, the way his excitement for us feels so awe-consuming it leaves no room for anyone else. It's subtle, but I notice it more and more. How he seems happiest when it's just the two of us, how my world has quietly shrunk to fit inside the boundaries of his. Friends feel distant, whether by geography or by design, I'm not sure. But to me fills the void so completely that I tell myself it doesn't matter. This is what I wanted, right? Someone who sees me, someone who loves me without hesitation, someone who notices all the little things about me the way I always wished someone would. Maybe this is what real love feels like. Maybe the trade-off is worth it. Maybe a little isolation isn't such a bad thing if it means I get to keep feeling this way. As long as I stay on this good side, as long as I keep things light and fun, everything will be okay. Because when Timmy's happy, it's like the whole world is brighter. And when he looks at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, that's easy to forget everything else. So I smile back, I laugh at his jokes, braid his hair, and tell them how cute he looks in his cap and braids. And for now that's enough. It has to be. My reaction to this chapter. Timmy was obsessed with himself. There's no other way to put it. But in hindsight, I can say that deep down he likely felt the complete opposite. I'm the one braiding his hair, noticing the dandruff, how badly his hair was thinning, and I'm sure he was acutely aware of it too. I never said anything. I had no reason to want to make him feel bad. And by the time he had his cap on over the top, it gave him a distinctive look, maybe a bit eccentric, but very hemp. It's like he really wanted to stand out, and so he would do things that made him stand out in terms of physical appearance, things that he knew people would comment on, whether it was his glasses, the Superman cape, his um bones, his antlers, and now his braids. I noticed that he would overshadow and overpower me in a lot of ways, and this was just one of the ways he would do it. Almost like you look nice, but I look even better. And I'd never experienced anything like that from a partner. He was always so full of excitement he would make it seem more innocent than I came to find out it was. Underneath, I think he was harboring a deep insecurity that he hid through laughter and jokes and bragging about himself. Chapter 30 Out of the Frying Pan. The next day, I'd take him for brunch at one of my favorite spots that I visited before. It's owned by a celebrity chef who's appeared on a reality TV show. We share a gorgeous plate of jadori chicken as well as his famed hash browns and a couple of brunch cocktails. Timmy banters with the server, an alternative looking guy with piercings and tattoos. He's friendly, the conversation is funny. Then things get a little weird. I'm gonna take this car sign frying pan when we leave, Timmy announces, indicating the dish on the table in front of us. Okay, do what you gotta do, man, says the server, his eyes widening as if Timmy just ordered a spaceship off the menu. I think Timmy's joking, but as we pay up, he puts the frying pan down on his chair beside him. And when we go to leave he picks it up and walks out with it. Timmy, what are you doing? I whispered loudly. You can't take that. Shh, he says, You should be grateful I got this for your apartment. But it belongs to the restaurant. They won't miss it, he rolls his eyes. Beside the server said we could keep it. He gave me permission to take it. I think back to my time working in restaurants. That's not really his decision to make, Timmy, and besides, I think he thought you were joking. I know I did. He sighs as if I'm the most annoying drag ever. Just be grateful, Margot. I got you a frying pan for your apartment, for God's sake. Lighten up, you're always so uptight. I shake off my apprehension as we drive to the beach, helping by it being a gorgeous day. The sky is turquoise, the ocean is teal, and the sand is a warm and toasty golden brown. I watches Timmy runs into the water and floats for a while. The swimming time seems to lift his spirits again, and when he gets out of the water he's super affectionate. I feel relieved and I'm over the whole frying plant scenario. I just want to have a nice day with Timmy. When we get home, we just pay attention to each other. The rest of the day is really chill and fun and we spend most of it cuddling. At one point we walk down to the boardwalk and check out some surf shops. I laugh as Timmy picks up an ornamental conch shell in one of the stores and blows it. People gasp and look over in delight. Just another quirky thing that Timmy knows how to do. Later we return to my apartment and I drift off to sleep, safe and content with Timmy's strong arms, our bodies entwined, our hearts beating as one. I'm glad I just shut up about the frying pan and let the rest of the day move along happily. Still, I don't really like that he took it. But for now I'll enjoy this feeling and the memories we made and I'll worry about the rest another day. My reaction. So I didn't dwell on this too much when I recapped the previous chapter super early on, but this whole thing with the shoplifting started right back at Savors on the day after I met Timmy. At first I believed him and that it was all a mistake and oversight, and he just took the hydro flask and the sunglasses and forgot that he was holding on to them. But when we're at this brunch restaurant and he told me he intended to steal the skillet, and then he did, there was no way this was an accident. He made it sound like I was so uptight for having an issue with it, that I once again second guessed myself and felt like maybe he was right. It just seemed like part of Timmy's carefree nature, and he really leaned into the victimless crime angle. Sorry, Chef Liang Wong, he took your frying pan. What I came to learn is that this wouldn't be just a solo incident but part of a pattern. In either case, his entitlement to just take stuff didn't sit well with me. Chapter 31, kind or calculated. The next day, Timmy has more fun plans for us. I can't believe this is only day four or five of my time in Sunset K. We've already done so much together. What a whirlwind start to my time here. He has a few work errands to do, so we stop by the hardware store and I pick up some things from my apartment. He takes me to a couple of tourist destinations and we walk around a big clock tower and look at a pirate ship from a distance. I snap photos as we chat and laugh, and his company is a pleasant distraction from a couple of work emails that threatened to ruin my day. I still can't believe I'm not going to be working for anyone else in just a few days. Technically I'm on the clock now, but they don't expect me to do more than check a few emails here and there. They were lucky to have you, and the people who made that decision sound stupid. Timmy smiles at me, tenderly stroking the hair from front of my face. They're going to feel it when you're gone for sure, but that's okay, 'cause now you'll have a ton more time to spend with me. I will be writing though, I found, like it has to be something I treat as a real full-time job. And I'll support you every step of the way, he smiles, placing his hand on my lower back. He makes me feel safe and secure, reassured with even the most simple of gestures, how lucky I am to have met this incredible human. Later in the day he has a few hours of work to do, so while he tends to a condo renovation, I go to one of my favourite local bars for a martini while I get some writing done. The bartender makes me the wrong one, thinking I want some sickly sweep concoction instead of their signature olive wine infused dry option, and I end up with two martinis. I decide to take one for the team and enjoy them both. The setting is inspiring, a cute little bar tucked inside a trendy hotel with a pool right in the middle of their lobby. It's art deco and vibey and sitting there people watching inspires me through a few chapters. I feel warm and fuzzy and by the end of the second martini, and as I take my last sip, Timmy texts me to let me know he's done with work. I settle my check and wander back to my apartment, feeling light and free and like everything is exactly how it's meant to be. Later that evening, don't look, he says. Just keep watching the show. Okay, I grin. I'm tempted to sneak a peek as I hear him rustling around behind me, but I resist the urge and keep my gaze on the screen. Surprise, he says, grinning from ear to ear as he stands in front of me, his hands spread wide like he's just unveiled a masterpiece. I know moving and getting things set up can be stressful, so I wanted to make this feel even more like home for you. His tone is warm and gentle. I blink, taking it all in. Everything is perfectly arranged. While the apartment isn't exactly inspiring based on its layout, a narrow rectangle. He's managed to make it look like something out of a design magazine. I thought the initial setup had done had been pretty amazing, but there were still a lot of items to find homes for, and he's done it so I don't need to worry. The bed is still positioned just right to catch the soft light of the sunrise through the window, now with a cozy throw draped elegantly over the end. The pillows are positioned to create a fluffy back crest so the bed can serve as a couch, and the stuffed animals have been positioned across them thoughtfully as if they're acting out a scene. Even like books have been meticulously organized on a side table, almost like an artful display of who I am. Oh wow, this is amazing, I say, my heart swelling with gratitude. I can't believe how thoughtful he's been. Every detail from the throw pillows to the neatly organized kitchen counters and drawers seem to have been planned with me in mind. It feels like he's gone out of his way to make the space perfect. I don't even know what to say. Thank you, I turn to him beaming, and he leans down for a kiss. You can show me, he growls, grinning. There's a momentary flicker of something in his eyes, something so subtle I figure I'm imagining it. I just want to make sure everything's just right for you here. I know it's much more calming to have things uncluttered and less chaotic. You've mentioned having your friends help you set up apartments before, and I know you're far away from everyone you know except me. This way you don't have to worry about it. I really enjoyed doing this for you. His words are kind and reassuring, but there's a subtle weight behind them as if he's done me a favour I know over my walk. I'm too busy marveling at how perfect everything looks, how at home I feel in this space, I think too much of it. But over the next few days little comments begin to slip into our conversation. I spent hours organizing your apartment, you know, he says casually, a hint of pride in his voice. It's probably better if we keep things how they are. I thought about putting it there, but the way I set it up is better. And whenever I reach to rearrange something, even the tiniest amount, he'll appear out of nowhere, gently placing his large hand on mine saying, Don't you like it the way I have it set up? The way I arrange things is better. I'd put a lot of thought into it. At first I brush it off, still basking in how kind it was of him to have done all this for me, lending me his mattress, taking me shopping, arranging everything so I didn't have to worry about it. But slowly it's becoming clear that this isn't just about helping me. The apartment, the space that was supposed to be mine, has somehow become a reflection of him, his taste, his influence, his control. The entire bathroom is covered in soft violet towels and bath mats and poops because that's Timmy's favourite colour. The kitchen is covered in odd trinkets I never would have picked out for myself, and the bed, the centre of it all, is festooned in the ugly quilt that holds sentimental value to him, covering up the much brighter, more fun, more V duvet covered and picked out of the store. What I thought was an incredibly thoughtful gesture has strings attached, invisible at first, but now tightening around me. And yet part of me still feels guilty for even thinking that way, as if I'm being ungrateful for all that he's done. I realize I've mistaken his grandiose gestures of kindness for generosity and altruism, not seeing that it was always about Timmy, his need to control to claim the space as his own while making it seem like he was doing it all for me. It's not my home, it's his stage, and I'm just the audience, dazzled by yet another of his performances. My reaction to this chapter, Timmy having a job really helped to make him seem far more stable and responsible than he actually was. His boss seemed to trust him to go buy stuff, and he seemed to be taking real pride in his work. There's more to this as we'll find out later. He was so supportive about what was happening in my corporate job, the complete unfairness with which I was being treated by some not so nice people, it made me feel really close to him, and it was another thing that seemed to be validating us being so good together and working as a partnership in a team. In hindsight, it's funny looking back and thinking one of the ways I uh said I was going to be writing and that he needed to take it seriously. You'll find out why in later chapters. The way he decorated my apartment was really nice. I saw a picture of it the other day, actually, and it brought back how thoughtful he was about how everything went. And he took the simple items where the masks and made them into something truly special. His eye for design was quite striking. Again, it did feel like he was taking over my whole space with how he wanted it to be. And everything was bubblegum pink. But I've never had anyone other than my gay male friends take so much joy in designing my apartment, and it made it feel like he really cared about me. Chapter thirty two Derelict Manchild The next day. We walk over to Timmy's truck, which is parked on the bustling street that lines Sandspit Passage, a busy canal that cuts right through the heart of the resort strip. He grabs his giant coconut hat from the back, plopping it on his head with a grin as he spins around to face me. Fill me, he demands, standing outside beside the trucks as cars whiz by, his voice charged with sudden excitement. I have no idea what he's up to this time, and with Timmy guessing it's futile, but I comply, pulling out my phone, holding it steady as I hit the record button. And then right on the sidewalk as cars rush by, he yanks his board shorts down, revealing strikey underwear as he shakes his hips, grinning like a kid getting away with a prank. A few pedestrians glance over, looking both amused and bewildered, and a couple of drivers honk their car horns as they go by. Oh my god, Timmy, you're ridiculous, I'd say through my laughter, shaking my head as he wiggles his butt, the oversized coconut hat flopping with every exaggerated shake. He straightens up and snaps a few pictures of me sitting in the truck with my feet up on the dash. That's when I notice a big bruise forming on the underside of my thigh, a slightly painful but undeniable souvenir of the night before. It's weirdly hot, if I'm honest. Timmy's uninhibited personality carries over into the bedroom in the best possible way. Back at home a little later he makes me ramen. The aroma is incredible, the rich umami scent filled in the room as I take long soothing sips. He's gone all out, adding lots of extras like fish balls with the squiggly pink patterns that remind me of the movie Saw, as well as fresh cilantro and a ton of garlic, which he knows I love. I can't help but feel charmed by all the little touches. We settle on the bed after eating, laughing at some silly movie, and out of nowhere, Timmy turns to me with a strange coded pride in his eyes. I'm a man, child, he announces, beaming. Huh? Like we're gonna bar him. Yep, I am. He's grinning like he just won an award. I heard what you said, but that's not a good thing. Are you trying to say you're young at heart or something? Because that's not what that means. Yeah, something like that, he says with the tiniest hint of doubt. A moment later he continues. I'm also a derelict. He says it with gusto, as if being a derelict is something to aspire to. Um, that's a weird thing to announce. I squint at him, my head tilting like he's some rare species at the zoo. Pretty sure there's not a compliment. You know what derelict actually means, right? Yeah, yeah, sure I do, he explains, as if he holds a little known secret. People take it as a negative word, but it means someone who rejects society's norms, like the ultimate free spirit, not tied down. I don't think that's what it means. Yet does. He's not budging, but I know he's wrong and his insistence on his own personal meaning bugging me. Um, okay, let's Google this. I pull it up on my phone. Here you go, derelict, in a very poor condition as a result of disuse and neglect. As in the cities with derelict and dying, dilapidated ramshackle, run down, broken down, worn out, a person without a home job or property, tramp, vagrant, vagabond, down and out, drifter. Okay, okay, I get the fucking point, Margo, he snaps, rolling his eyes. You don't need to keep going. You think you're so smart, quoting a dictionary at me. I just threw in a way of putting positive spins on words that mean neglected, broken down, or without a purpose. It's like a counterculture thing, he shrugs, going against the masses. Everyone's working in offices, hating their lives. I get a job here and there just enough to live. I hang out outside, enjoy life, no rules. That's real freedom. And oddly, there is a bit of truth to what he's saying. After all, I did just leave the corporate world to pursue my dream of becoming a writer. But I put in years of hard work, hard work to get to this point. I saved, I budgeted, I planned. With Timmy, he it's like he just falls into whatever comes along, helping this person move, detailing that person's car. There's no strategy, no end goal, just existing, barely getting by. Went to the nude beach with two of my female friends, he says casually, leaning back with a self-satisfied grin, conversation changing course entirely. The wind gave me a partial boner, so everyone saw my massive dick. Um, goes to me, TMI, that's not something I need to know. Why would you tell me that? The man is full of stories, and I'm not quite sure why he picked this one to share with his partner. But I'm starting to question more than a few things coming out of his mouth. He shrugs. It's just a funny story. That you have your dick out around your female friends. No, I don't want to hear about your nude beach boner that you have out around other women. He scoffs. You need to light enough, it's not a big deal, I sigh. He shifts gears almost immediately, pulling a face and adopting a high pitched sing song voice. I kill you, he says, eyes widening the eye play as he leans in closer. I kill you. Damn, Timmy's on a real roll today. I'm not sure if he's trying to test me or if he really just doesn't have a filter. A lot of what he says is funny and has me crying with laughter, but today nearly everything he's saying is pushing my buttons in a bad way. I blink at him more shocked than amused. Timmy, that's a really fucking weird thing to yell, and I don't think you should go around saying that. Oh chill out, it's just a joke, he shrugs. You're right though, I probably shouldn't. I did get arrested for saying it at the beach one time. Made a terroristic threat, they called it. Cops were just mad because someone didn't get my sense of humor. You were arrested for making a terroristic threat, I asked, a little unnerved now, for saying that. Yeah, they said I was legit threatening to kill people. He laughs, not noticing my lack of amusement. Were you? No, of course not. It was just a joke, he laughs going. Everyone needs to lighten up. I sighed feeling exhausted by the seemingly endless train of questionable anecdotes and misguided brags. Timmy, I'm serious. Just stop saying it. It's only a matter of time before someone else takes it seriously, and then what? It's not worth it. Fine, fine, he says, putting his hands up and knock surrender. Then he grills, I kill you. Kidding, kidding, he laughs. I'll stop saying it, but you all need to chill out. Maybe it's my inner optimist, but I can't help but hope he'll grow out of this weird phase of say anything, no filter mentality. But every story, every bizarre moment has me questioning a little more. My reaction to this chapter. There have never been truer words, so I've learned, than when someone tells you who they are, believe them. Then every sense of the phase. This also extends to when they tell you what they're planning to do. The whole I kill you thing was so absurd that I just didn't take it seriously. Like, who says that, let alone who says it and means it? And he played it off like it was all such a misunderstanding. What I would come to learn is that he very much didn't say things by chance, as ridiculous or innocent or comedic as they may have seemed at the time, and as misunderstood as he claimed to be. That's it for this episode. I'll be back soon, and things are going to continue to escalate very rapidly. As always, feel free to reach out with your own story. Have you noticed behaviors that seemed off in a relationship that played them off or minimized them in the moment? Did someone cross boundaries with you early on in a relationship but then make it seem like everything was fine? In the meantime, like and subscribe to this podcast and remember it wasn't you, you aren't too much, and it was never your fault.