S1E11: That's Not What Happened

You were there. You saw it. You know what happened.

"That's not what happened."

The first time he rewrote reality in front of her face. It won't be the last.

TRIGGER WARNING: The gaslighting is huge in this one.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:08

I'm Heidi Stark. This is Pretty Red Flags Podcast Episode 11. This podcast is three things in one. A true crime podcast because these things really happen to me 99.99% of the way they're portrayed in these books. An audio book because I am reading this duet chapter by chapter. And survivor testimony, because this survivor is sharing her testimony, including what happened beyond the page and after these books were published. And a lot has happened since then. If you're enjoying this podcast, please like and subscribe and share with your friends. It means a lot. And I will be moving soon. I'm hoping to go somewhere where the echo is a little bit better with the microphone, so we'll see how that goes as well. I appreciate your patience in the meantime. When we left off, Timmy's behavior is increasingly spiraling. Margot is developing an ick, his boundaries are becoming limitless, and his irritation with her is starting to show. But he's mixing the bad times up with enough good that Margot's beginning to feel upside down and sideways. Chapter forty nine dentical horn. It's starting to get heavy, this strange, chaotic dynamic with Timmy. Every time I buy something for myself, I feel the tugging obligation to buy for two. At first it seemed like a sweet gesture. It's not that he demands it, 'cause Timmy rarely asks for anything outright. It's the way he looks at me when I have something and he doesn't. A flash of need followed by that wide grin when I give in. He's always so appreciative, his eyes light up like a child at Christmas, and he'll rat me in his big arms, pressing kisses to my forehead. You're the best, my love, he murmurs. And in those moments my doubts float away, carried off by the tide of affection he pours over me. But each little expense is chipping away at my savings, and I can feel it, subtle but insistent. I didn't budget for this. When I moved here, I imagined my expenses would be manageable, just me living on my own terms, maintaining my corporate job. I never planned to be thrust into unemployment, let alone also financially responsible for another grown adult, or while trying to build my fledgling audit business. But Timmy has a way of turning everything into an adventure, convincing me that it's fine to split a plate of fries of share a beer. It feels romantic, like we're a team, and it's not like he's pushed me at trying to order the most expensive items on the menu or anything like that. Except I can't help but feel twitchy. There's something in the back of my mind, an old memory stirring. Years ago I had a friend who played the same game that accompanied me to restaurants and bars, insisting they didn't need anything, only to end up sharing half of mine because of course I'd inevitably offer them some rather than have them sit there watching me eat and drink. Or worse, I'd cave and buy them their own just to avoid the awkwardness. And here I am again, buying for two, convincing myself it's not a big deal. It's not just the money, it's the slow erosion of a boundary I swore I'd never cross again. I told myself I wouldn't let someone moot shop me, not like before, and yet here I am tangled in the same web. The difference this time? Timmy isn't just a sudden Timmy isn't just a friend crashing on my couch. He's the man I love, the one who says all the right things and makes me feel special in ways I've never experienced, and that scares me. After the work call is over, Timmy busies himself decorating my kitchen with the random trinkets he revealed on the beach. It's all stuff he brought over from Matty's, things that are either bizarre or useless, a spice organizer that looks like it belongs in the 1970s, tiny plastic animals, random shells, and of course the miniature skateboard. I cleaned everything really well, he says proudly, as if he's just performed some grand act of service. I smile, but internally I'm cringing. The last thing I need is more clutter. Still, it's a sweet gesture in its own strange way. He's trying to make this place ours, filling it with things that make him smile. And I love him for that, even if I plan to discreetly disinfect everything later. For lunch I whip up my famous potato salad, my go-to recipe for barbecues and gatherings. The smell of garlic, capers, and freshly boiled potatoes fills the apartment. As I mix everything together, Timmy sneaks over, dips a finger into the bowl, and takes a place. Oh, that's delicious, he says, grinning at me like a kid who's just stole on a cookie from the jar. I'm so glad I'm with someone who cooks. Same, I reply, smiling back. In these moments I feel the warmth of our connection. It's not all bad. We share these little joys, me through food, him through spontaneous affection. He likes to share food plates with me and feed me, so we have our potato salad from a shared plate. Blow on it first, it's hot, he'll say when he puts a spoon near my mouth for me to take a sip of one of his soothing broths. I don't want you to burn your mouth. They're such simple gestures and they're touching. A little weird, I suppose. I know it gives some people a major ick, but when he feeds me it makes me feel like he really cares about me. There's a gentle tenderness about the way he does it as well. But then mid-dishes something shifts. He grabs my brand new chef's knife and with no warning stabs it through a lemon and into my new wooden cutting board, splintering it down the middle. Timmy, I exclaim, heart racing, you just ruined the cutting board and probably damaged the blade. Why did you do that? He shrugs, a smug grin on his face. Because it looks cool. I stare at the ruined cutting board, stunned. He pulls out his phone and snaps a picture, uploading it to Instagram without a second thought. Can you please be more careful with my things? I say, trying to keep my voice steady. Just don't go around stabbing stuff, okay? It's unnecessary. He freezes, the grin slipping from his face. His expression shifts, darkening, his jaw tightens and his nostrils flare. For a moment I think he's going to laugh it off, but his eyes narrow, locking onto mine with an intensity that sends a chill down my spine. It's just a stupid fucking cutting board, he growls, his voice low and sharp. He yanks the knife out of the board with a jerk, the blade clattering into the sink, making me wince. I know without looking that one of my new dishes now chipped as well. You care more about that dumb piece of wood than you do about me, he matters, his tone bitter. I stand here frozen trying to make sense of the situation. All I ask was for him to be careful with my things, and now it feels like I've insulted him in some irreparable way. The shift in his murder is sudden, unpredictable, like the sky before a storm. I feel trapped, boxed in by his anger and the physical presence of him standing between me and the door. I put it down to a joke. Nobody would react like that to such a small thing. He was just playing a part, acting in a role, and I'm the one misinterpreting it, because nobody sane would ever act like that. Fuck it, he snaps, and for a moment the room feels like it might explode. But then just as quickly the tension dissipates. He picks up the remote, plops down on the bed, and acts like nothing happened. So what should we watch? he asks, smiling again, as if the last few minutes didn't just unravel me. Later he finds Saber's banana bed and plops it on my head, laughing at how ridiculous I look. He snaps a photo and shows it to me. I'm laughing, a goofy grin on my face. I hate people touching my head, putting things on my head. But with Timmy, I don't seem to mind as much. He's giving me acute attention and it reminds me of the day he put the octopus toy on my head and leaned in for our first electric kiss. It's absurd, but it makes me smile. He's back to being silly again, calling me into his whirlwind of nonsense. He stands across from me, a goofy grin plastered across his face, one hand holding a baby pacifier while the other clutches an oversized baby shark toy. His body is a strange contradiction, a large, fully grown, shirtless man with childlike enthusiasm. He places the pacifier between his lips and lets out a high pitched chuckle, totally lost in the moment, completely aware of how ridiculous he looks. I snap a picture and he cocks his head to the side, eyes growing large in mock surprise, as if he's the star of a show that's both hilarious and completely baffling. And then he yanks off his pants and wraps his giant caterpillar around himself like a diaper. Take another picture, he says, muffled by the passive lower. In this moment he seems to relish the attention, a combination of childlike wonder and unabashed silliness. He's enveloped in being the center of attention, even though it's only us, embracing his inner man child to a degree I've never seen. Then he takes it a step further. He removes the caterpillar and places the baby shark toy down on the bed, then picks up his dear skull with the antlers attached, and then he places the skull on himself, the white bone stuck against his skin. My mind races at the absurdity of this. He has a way of challenging the bounds of comfort and normalcy, all while maintaining a career smile that invokes both laughter and disbelief. Take a picture, he says his voice playful yet daring, as if he's presenting some kind of avant-garde art piece. So I do. He runs around naked and keeps getting me to snap pictures of him placing his hands above his head in the shape of devil horns. He's excitable and definitely experiencing some kind of mania again. So I just let him do his thing and laugh because some of his antics are quite funny. I'm obsessed with cuddles and sex and ice cream. He says it with such joyful abandon. You definitely are obsessed with those three things. I smile, you speak the truth. And none of those are bad things. In fact, they're all wonderful things. He loves to make us special ice cream Sundays every night and we sit in bed and he spoon feeds me while we watch movies. Dentical porn, he yells at one point. Excuse me? I quirk a brow at him, thinking I misheard him. You mean tentacle porn? Randomly came up in conversation the other day. He hadn't heard of it before, and so it explained what it was. He seemed fascinated, instantly googling it and bringing up some on his favourite porn site. Note pear exclaimed Sproutley. Deep throat dentical porn. It's like tentacle porn but with dentists or vehicular dentical porn, which is all of that, but it happens in a car. I laugh and shake my head. He's on one of his rolls where he just says weird shit, and that's fine, he's making me laugh. It's one of his quirks. Be careful having that on the bed, he says, pointing at my laptop at one point. The computer will heat up. It'll get brain damage, just like a brain. There are forty eight hours in a day, he announces a while later, cracking up his own comment when he realizes his math is off. His antics are funny and he has the funniest way with words, I can't deny that. But beneath the laughter are not tightened in my stomach. He's unpredictable, swinging wildly between moods, playful one moment, angry the next. I have butterflies, but not the good kind. Frantic heavy winds beat against my ribs, signalling that something isn't right. My heart races, a persistent gnawing dread creeping through my veins. I can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. I don't know what, but I can feel it in my bones. It's like I'm living on a knife's edge, never sure which version of Timmy I'll get. And the more I laugh with him, the more I feel like I'm losing tiny pieces of myself along the way. He curls up beside me in bed later, spurning me and whispers into my ear, I really care about you, Margot, I just want to be close to you all the time. His words are sweet, but they also feel heavy, like an anchor sinking into my chest, entangled in him now, deeper than I ever intended to be, and I'm not sure if I'll be able to pull myself free. My reaction to this chapter, Timmy's frenetic behavior is becoming more alarming. What he did with the knife and his rage at me having a problem with him damaging my chopping board, damaging my knife, damaging my dish, just because he thought something was fun. And also in hindsight, especially given things that will continue to happen in the book and beyond, the way that he stabbed the chopping board with that knife is quite frankly chilling. What was at first funny and quirky, and his behavior is now becoming a little insane, frankly, by this point. There was a certain ability to curb it before, but he's seemingly increasingly out of control and increasingly entitled. But it's preying on my sense of not wanting to be uptight. Maybe this is how everyone else is. Maybe I've always been the problem and I do really need to lighten up. Chapter 50 Sharks Everywhere The Next Day. I have my period and I'm feeling slightly uncomfortable, but pain relief is finally starting to pick in. Timmy's being super attentive, cracking less silly jokes, and seems genuinely concerned about making sure I feel comfortable. When I told him about my endometriosis diagnosis, he was tender and caring and seems to have taken it to heart, making sure I'm equipped with drinks and snacks at all times, including a warm and comforting aromatic froth and rubbing my lower back to soothe my pain. He even suggests I pick a show that will make me feel better. I'm assuming he's not wanting to do anything intimate, so many guys don't when it's that time of the month. So I'm surprised when he gets a mischievous gleam in his eye and turns towards me. So you wanna And we're gonna fade to black for this podcast. Under the hot spray of the shower I lean into him, the water pouring over us. Timmy tilts my chin up, his gaze soft and sincere. I care about you, Margot, he says. I really feel like we're meant for each other. His words sink deep, filling me with warmth. And in this moment under the cascading water I believe him. As we step out of the shower, he picks up the towel from the bed, scratching it up and tossing it into the laundry basket. He pauses for a moment as if considering something. You know, he says his voice thoughtful. I've never really been into that. Into what? I asked, curious. Doing that when someone's on that time of the month, his expression softens. But with you it's different. I don't mind at all. I just want to be close to you. His words wrap around me like a warm blanket, making me feel cherished in a way I've never felt before. It's as if every experience with me is new for him, something profound and meaningful. Then with a grin at the equal parts playful and wicked, he murmurs, I'll put a baby in you, by the way. It comes from nowhere, totally unexpected. The intensity in his gaze sends a shiver down my spine, and to my surprise the idea stirs something deep within me, something unexpected but undeniably real. I don't know if he's being serious or just playful, but either way he's just activated a part of me I thought was long buried. This man really is full of surprises. My reaction to this chapter, it was longer. There was obviously a scene that I didn't read aloud, but Timmy had this way of telling me I'm not like all the other girls, that he wanted to do things with me that he didn't want to do with anyone else. Whether it was kissing me when I had lip gloss on or being intimate at that time of the month, he would emphasize me the things that he wanted to do with me. It was strange, but who doesn't want to feel special? Who doesn't want to feel like someone loves him so much that they view them differently from every other person I've known before? And as for the baby comment, it came out of the blue. He told me he had no children. This is gonna get darker as we learn more about Timmy. Chapter 51, Girl Running. I can't stop thinking about Margot, worrying about her. She moves around from place to place what feels like every couple of years, and I can't help but sense she's running away each time. It looks glamorous and nomadic, but her life hasn't exactly been stable. But there's a certain freedom in that. She's doing something not a lot of other people do. She keeps getting involved with these dickets though. I don't think she purposely goes out there trying to find losers, but I do think she's eating prey. Because she's a genuinely kind individual and empath, and I get the sense that she overanalyses her pursuit of flaws. When she started dating the special agent, I felt a sense of relief. I always imagined her being with some kind of law enforcement guy, the good kind though, because there are plenty of assholes there too. But I might be biased because of my own line of work, not that I'm on that side of the law. I'm more comfortable with the idea of her being with someone a bit nerdy, maybe a software engineer, an architect, something like that. But I know she wants and needs to feel protected. I would protect her with everything in my bag. I'm trying to do what I can from afar, but it's never going to be enough. Chapter fifty two The Numbers Game Timmy kept slipping out to smoke cigarettes, leaving the apartment to get down to the sidewalk. Each time it pulls at me in a small, uncomfortable way, like a stone in my shoe. There's something unsettling about the fact he needs to leave the building entirely, pacing back and forth under the palm trees and street lights at hot hours. I don't want to be that person, the one who makes smoking a deal breaker, or someone who doesn't trust their partner whenever they're not in the same room as them. But it bugs me, especially in the middle of the night. When I'm done with some emails, I decide to head down to join him, hoping it'll make their smoke break seem less distant. But as I step onto the street, I see him standing with the blonde girl. She's leaning toward him the way people do when they're locked into good conversation, the face tipping up with laughter that I can't quite care. Then just as she leaves, something strange happens. They both make a gesture like they're minding sending a text. It's subtle that synchronized, like an unspoken agreement. My heart drops. The scene feels oddly intimate, like the kind of exchange it shouldn't be happening between strangers that aren't wanting something more. The thought slithers into my mind before I can stop it. Did he just get her number? I try to shake it off, but the way it makes my stomach churn makes it impossible. Did you get that girl's number? I asked when he sees me, my voice sounding more accusatory than I intended, but I can't help it. No, why would you say that? Then he says his face twisting in offense. I cross my arms, the knot and my chest tightening. Why were you talking to her? He exhales a cloud of smoke curling away into the night. It makes me feel better about myself to talk to strangers, he says, rubbing the back of his neck. When I walk past people, I feel like they're judging me and assuming the worst. So I go out of my way to chat, and when I get a good reaction, it makes me feel okay again. The vulnerability in her words catches me off guard, tugging at my heart. I feel bad for him and want to comfort him. It must suck to feel that way. After being with a huge introvert for more than half a decade, I'm not used to someone striking up conversations with strangers, regardless of gender. If someone as outgoing as Timmy, I'm gonna have to get used to it and trust him. Still, something's still not sitting quite right, and the image of him and the girl lingers in the back of my mind like an itch I can't scratch. I sigh. That's rough, Timmy. I'm sorry you feel that way, but why did you both gesture like that? It looked like you were pretending to exchange numbers or text each other. He shakes his head, frustration flickering in his expression. I don't know, I didn't get anyone's number. Why would I? I've got you, we have so much sex I couldn't possibly be looking for any more. My dick is about to fall off for real. He shoots me a grin, but there's a flicker of something beneath it. Impatience, maybe, or the hint of a performance. And besides, I really like you, why would I fuck that up? His answers reassure me, at least on the surface, but that tiny gesture between them keeps playing on repeat in my head. I guess she might just be one of those people that gesticulates freely when she talks. I do that too, I tell myself. But that was so oddly specific. May maybe I'm reading into it. Later in the evening the thought still gnaws at me, small and persistent like a splinter. You're sure you didn't get her number? I have to ask, hoping I'll feel better if he reassures me one more time. His smile drops, his features darkening. Oh my god, you're still going on about that? His voice sharpens. Can you please just move the buck on? His reaction stings. I'm sorry, I've ground back, my cheeks deading with shame. I just can't stop thinking about it, and I'm trying to be open and honest with you rather than me being upset and you not knowing what why. He sighs deeply, rubbing his hands down his face like I'm exhausting him. Well, you need to get over it, he says flatly. I didn't get anyone's number, I wouldn't. I nod, trying to believe him. Promise? Yes, Jesus Christ and I go, please just stop. If I knew you were going to be this jealous and insecure, I never would have pursued anything with you. Okay, sorry, I say, his words landing like a slap, sharp and stingy. I sink back onto the bed, disappointment hanging heavy in my chest. I hate that I let this spiral out of control. I should trust him. He's right, this kind of paranoia isn't me. I just thought I saw something, but I guess I was mistaken, I mumble, my voice small. Let's just watch a movie. Emmy softens at least a little. Yeah, let's do that. He pulls me closer, his arms strapping over my shoulders as if to seal the moment shut. He's attentive for the rest of the evening, skipping the rest of his smoke breaks for the night. I don't bring it up again, and I try to let it go. As we sit there though, the gnawing feeling in my stomach that won't entirely fade. I already feel like in act and about it. I'm disappointed in myself and hate that I mentioned it more than once. He told me he didn't get her number and I need to trust him. Besides, he makes sure I'm always with him. He takes me to work, he calls me during breaks on the rare occasion he goes without me. He texts me whenever I'm out of his sight. Hell, he never even lets leaves me alone in the apartment more than a few minutes, barging in when I shower or use the bathroom. There's logically no time for him to cheat. And he's always saying how much he loves me, how great things are between us. He asked me to marry him because his feelings are so strong. His logic makes sense. Why would he fuck this up when we're having so much fun? I need to calm down, swallow my doubts. There's no way he got that girl's number. I'm just being jealous and insecure and weird and I'm sure it's wildly unattractive. I need to nip it in the bud now, because that's not the type of person I am. Maybe I'm just acting this way because I care so much about him. Maybe it's just fear, fear of losing something so special. But deep down a small voice whispers, that hand gesture wasn't nothing. You saw it, you saw. I'd push it down, forcing myself to breathe through the anxiety. Enjoy this, enjoy us, I remind myself. Because most of the time us is pretty fucking awesome. He makes me laugh, he makes me feel adored, he's different from anyone I've been with before, and I need to focus on that. I can't let my mind ruin something that could be beautiful. I snugglos closer to Timmy, bearing my doubts deep. Tomorrow I'll be better, I'll be calmer. This isn't who I am. Everything is fine, it has to be. My reaction to this chapter, in hindsight, I'm 99.99999% sure that he'd got that girl's number, that he was being sketchy when going out for cigarettes. Timmy was desperate for attention, and it didn't really matter who it was from as long as someone realized he existed and was acknowledging him in some way. He was charming, he was a flirt, and he liked to stand outside in the middle of the night. Cigarettes would have become a huge point of consternation in our relationship, especially the late night ones that he just had to have, no matter where we were. This really preyed on his ability to make me feel like I was. A problem, like I was insecure that he was innocent when really I had a lot to worry about when it came to me. Chapter fifty three twenty one Dex It was only when she turned twenty one that I began to see her in a slightly different light. She was suddenly mature, beautiful. Not that she hadn't always been beautiful, but I guess I'd never looked at her like anything more than Danny's kid's sister. But something about the night of her twenty first, maybe it was the way she looked in her fold gown that set off her red kit. I'm sure that had something to do with it, but she was just so happy, full of joy really coming into her own. And it stirred feelings inside of me that I didn't expect. But out of a healthy respect for her and her brother, I stayed away. I didn't want to come off as some old creep. And if there's one thing about me, I'm loyal as fuck. Sure, her brother and I have had our issues. It's funny looking back, because I was always the bad one in our duo, the one voted most likely to end up with a mugshot. Danny was always more flashy, a real salesman who presented himself as a squeaky clean family man. But we ended up falling out. He wasn't who he pretended to be on the outside. He's a serial cheater, among other things, and seeing it devastate his family really rubbed me the wrong way. But even though we don't really talk anymore other than shooting each other a Facebook message or a quick text to say happy birthday each year, I still respect the guy in a few ways. Even though she's beautiful, intelligent, funny, there are so many women out there who aren't his little sister, so out of respect I'll stay away. But it doesn't matter I'll ever stop thinking about her. Chapter 54, Budster. Timmy's words catch me off guard. I don't think he'd like me if I didn't have a big you know, he says out of nowhere, frowning. Sometimes I think you just want me for you know. I blink, startled by the sudden insecurity woven through his voice. It's not true, I say, though his words linger in the back of my mind. I wonder just for a second what things might look like if that part of our relationship weren't so good, that he didn't make me feel so desired, so close, so alive in those moments of intimacy. It's undeniably a core part of our connection. When his hands are on me, I feel worshipped like a goddess. But we still have that spark without it? I like to think so. There's more to Timmy than just the way he touches me. There's no way this is a simple case of being digmatized. Here's his sense of humor, his unpredictable creativity, the way he draws attention to the little joys of life. He makes me laugh until I can't breathe every single day. And sometimes when he's kind, really kind, feels like I'm the only person in the world who truly matters to him. And yet there's a nagging part of me that wonders if the intimacy weren't as electric, would I still feel the same pull toward him? Maybe, I think probably. But I don't have to answer that question because right now that part is incredible. It's everything I never thought I could have. It makes all the complications feel distant, at least for a little while. You're so silly, I say, playfully poking at him in the ribs. There are a million things I love about you. You make me laugh every day. I love the way we explore the world together. You're my best friend to me. His expression shifts, softening as his eyes glisten with satisfaction. He tilts his head slightly, wearing that same goofy, contented look that cats get when you scratch them just right. It's adorable. The way he leans into praise, basking in it like sunlight, melts something inside of me every time. I've never met anyone who thrives so fully on admiration and validation. I know that's part of why he wears the ridiculous costumes, a superman cape, the bone necklace, the oversized sunglasses. It's all designed to catch attention, to draw compliments from strangers. I understand the game and part of me even admires it. He knows what he needs and he seeks it out unapologetically. But I wish he could see that he doesn't need any of that with me. He's enough just as he is, without the gimmicks, without the theatrics. He didn't need the validation of the world when he is me. And yet maybe we all seek affirmation in our own ways. I can't fault him for being human. The next morning he's practically glowing. He makes breakfast grinning from ear to ear. Last night was incredible. He gushes, his excitement infectious. Fuck, Margot, you're so amazing. His words fill me with a kind of pride I hadn't felt in years. It's the same sensation I used to get when I won an award or an ace test, like I'm being recognized for something extraordinary. And the fact it's coming from Timmy, the man I love, makes it even sweeter. You're so talented, he continues, setting a plate in front of me. Smart, sexy, funny, everything I could ever want. I'm the luckiest guy in the world. I smile, feeling like I'm floating. His adoration is like a drug, and I'm completely hooked. So now everything is perfect. Timmy's blood feels all encompassing, like a wave that carries me away from all my doubts and fears. As long as I have him, I can believe in this version of us, the one where we're happy, where we're enough for each other, where nothing else matters. But somewhere deep down I feel a flicker of unease like the tide could shift at any moment. For now I push that goal aside, for now I bask in the warmth of his love. My reaction to this chapter, Timmy had this ability to time intimate moments and compliments and praise around his bad behavior. It left me feeling tripped up, and it was always easier to relax into the good than dwell on the bad. In hindsight, it was intermittent positive attention, bread crumbing, just enough to suck me back in every time and distract me from the bad. Chapter fifty five Fake Futures Timmy's excitement's contagious as we drive toward Darren's apartment. The car hugs the curves of the mountain road, the scenery shifting from dense jungle to sweeping views of the ocean below. The breeze flows through the open windows, warm and salty, carrying the scent of frangipani and wet earth. I'm excited to meet the friend he's mentioned at less a thousand times, the one he used to live with. They seem really close, so of course I want to meet him to learn more about Timmy from him. During the drive, Timmy excitedly talks about our future together and how we're going to meld our creative enterprises, my books and his clothing lines. It's going to be so amazing, he says, griffing the wheel, his voice brimming with optimism. Just picture a huge office in a trendy warehouse. Open board plans, big windows with views of the ocean. Your office is right next to mine with a sliding door, so I can shut it if you start annoying me. I laugh, imagining it with him. It's hard not to get swept up in the way he describes it. The effortless success, the creativity pouring out of us, the life we'll build side by side. His voice is like a soothing rhythm, painting a future I never dared to believe I could have. We'll have an amazing team, he continues, and we'll treat them so well. No bullshit like those corporate jobs. We'll design, create, live, you know. I'll be really, really happy. He paints a compelling picture describing the finest details of our office space. Sounds really cool. And then he goes into more detail about his plans for his clothing brands. The way he's talking is a visionary. He has a main umbrella brand mapped out along with smaller brands that fall within it. He wants to sell off some of the smaller brands as they become popular and keep the main one, as well as any that become more like passion projects, his babies. It sounds idyllic and his enthusiasm and creativity are contagious. I picture myself surrounded by books with assistants handling my marketing, my social media book signings, everything I never have time for. And Timmy's energy feels unstoppable, as though his clothing brands are already a hit, as if the world is just waiting for us to seize it. It's easy to fall into his dream to imagine us thriving, building something meaningful while the world unfolds around us like an adventure waiting to be had. I've never been in a relationship with someone who can visualize the future with such passion and excitement, who wants to plan a future where both of us can live out our dreams. And where we're so successful, we're able to turn our efforts to helping others, to building community. As we reach the peak of the mountain range, the road levels out, and Timmy points out landmarks from his past. His stories are as colourful as ever. See that hill over there? That's where we ran away from the cops on our dirt bikes. There's a fence now, probably because of us. I grin, shaking my head. And that street over there, he points at a dusty trail. That's where I drove my truck down covered in mud, and a whole row of guys came out to cheer me on from their balcony. They thought it was the coolest thing they'd ever seen. I notice how every story seemed to cast him in the starring role. He's always a hero, the one being celebrated or admired. It's endearing even if it feels a bit self-indulgent, but that's just Timmy. He loves attention and I don't mind giving it to him. When we finally pull up outside Darren's place, Darren is already waiting for us, standing by his front door, ready to go. He's a big guy heavily tattooed with a round belly that stretches his faded t-shirt. There's a gleam in his eyes that makes me weary, but his grin is wide and warm. Hey, sweetheart, Darren greets me, wrapping me in a big bear hug and planting a kiss on my cheek. Been hearing a lot about you. I force a smile, a flicker of unease stirring in my chest. I remember what Timmy told me about Darren, the volatile temper, the history of physical abuse with his previous partner, the drug use. But Timmy insists Darren is a loyal friend at Teddy Bear most of the time. I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt for now. We drive Darren to a friend's place where Timmy helps them chop down trees that threaten the house's foundation, using the two chainsaws he brought with him from Naddie's place. The air smells of sawdust and green wood mingling with the delicious aroma of pork roasting on a spit. In the courtyard the atmosphere is laid back and jovial. Timmy stays close to me making introductions, his hand resting protectively on my lower back. I start to relax a little, letting the warmth of the evening and the camaraderie around us sink in. Darren surprisingly abstains from drinking or drugs, saying he's taking a break. I try to take his presence at face value, but I can't quite shape the feeling that there's more to him than the friendly facade he's presenting. He seems to be observing me from a distance, silently scrutinizing me as if he's trying to get a read on me. But I guess that's normal, trying to figure out what would make one of your best friends propose to someone in such a short time. When the night begins to wind down, I glance at Timmy. Are you sure you're okay to drive? I ask, eyeing the empty shot glasses scattered on the table. Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine, Timmy waves off my concern. Darren gave me a thump, so I'm good. My stomach tightens. I'm out of my depth with drive shore, tried a few things before it Timmy moves through this world like a seasoned pro. Still, his driving seems steady as we wind back down the mountain, and I let myself relax a little, lulled by the night air and the south the engine humming beneath us. Timmy pulls a clear plastic bag with white powder from his pocket and shakes it at me. What's some? he asks with a mischievous grin. I hesitate, but the unease that's been lurking all evening bubbles to the surface, and I find myself curious about how it would affect me. Maybe this will take the edge off, maybe it'll help me feel more in tune with this wild, carefree life Timmy seems to navigate so effortlessly. Sure, they say forcing a smile. I tapple a little onto my hand and snort it, the powder burning slightly as it goes up my nose. Almost instantly my nerves melt away, replaced by a buzzing sense of euphoria. I feel light and invincible, as though the world has cracked open just for me, revealing endless possibilities. Timmy glances at me, his grin widening. Oh, we're gonna have some amazing sex tonight, he whispers, and I believe him. And he's right. When we get back to the apartment, it's wild, passionate, and overwhelming. He explores every inch of me, rush being me like a goddess, and we lose ourselves in each other in the heat and intensity of it all. It feels like nothing else matters, like this is what life is supposed to be. Messy, chaotic, exhilarating. Timmy's unpredictability makes everything feel more alive. He's a storm and I'm riding away with him, unsure where they'll take me, but exhilarated all the same. As we lie tangled in the sheets afterward, Timmy kisses my shoulder. You're incredible, Margot, he murmurs, his voice soft with affection. I'm so lucky to have you. I smile, basking in the warmth of his words. In these moments it's easy to believe in a dream to sell, and easy to imagine a future where it's just us against the world building something extraordinary together. But somewhere deep inside a small voice whispers that maybe I've drifted too far offshore. Maybe I'm in deck of waters and I realize. But I push the thought aside, determined to let Timmy lead the way. This is his world after all, his sunset can, and I've chosen to follow him into it. My reaction to this chapter, I didn't know what future faking was back then, and I'm a really strong visualizer. It's why I think I enjoy writing and reading. I see things and I imagine them so vividly and richly, and it's like Timmy could do that too. And he used these images to create a facade of the near that hit how shitty everything was down below, just under the surface and extending into forever. He painted compelling pictures that it was easy to get wrapped up in. I since learned that this comic this uh is common behavior and that narcissists are extremely skilled at doing this to sell you potential rather than letting you see what really is now and what is probably never going to change. Meeting his best friend was a little bit intimidating, but he was really kind to me. He was really card, he wasn't under the influence of any substances, and he just seemed interested in getting to know me. Um he was a little bit creepy, but nothing over the top. Chapter 56, unintentional boner party, the past, me. My grandmother emailed me to tell me that my father made sexual advances on me when I was younger. Therapist. Do you have any memory of that? Me, no, he never would have done that. Therapist. Well then don't let your grandmother screw your memory. The thing with memories is that they're very malleable, and if someone gets something like that into your head, you could start to believe it, even if it's not at all true. In that sense, memories are very easily manipulated. The present. The ridiculous noise complaints from my neighbor kept coming. The concierge knocks for the second time this week. I opened the door plus, throwing on a polite smile. Sorry to bother you again, he says, glancing nervously at the apartment behind me, noticing Timmy in the back corner. But we've received another complaint, this time about the TV volume. We were just watching a TV show on my computer, I explained, truly surprised by his visit. The volume wasn't even loud. I understand, the concierge says, lowering his voice as if trying not to set up a bomb. But the building has quiet hours and the sound carries easily within the balcony doors open. I'm so frazzled by these complaints that by now every time we watch TV I'm on edge. The computer's volume doesn't even go up there high. I nod, feeling weary but compliant. Okay, sorry, we'll turn it down. But before I can close the door, Timmy appears behind me. His eyes are dark with fury, he's already bristling, ready to fight. This is fucking insane. He snaps at the council. She pays how much for this place, and now we can't even watch TV without being harassed. I press my hand lightly against his chest, try to steer him away from escalating the situation. It's fine, Timmy, I say, we'll just turn it down. I don't mind watching things at a lower volume because we can still hear it if we try, but really it is a bit ridiculous. Even though this apartment is new, they don't seem to have done a great job with the soundproofing, and if the balcony door is open, noise travels. While it's a bit over the top, I tend to be compliant and laid back, and so I just figure we'll turn the volume down a bit, no big deal. Timmy, on the other hand, is furious. He yanks the computer remote from the table and cranks the volume back up. There. That's what normal people do when they pay a ridiculous amount of rent, they watch TV however the fuck they want. Timmy, look, just don't worry about it. I don't want to make this into a big deal. I take the remote from him and he sighs as I turn the volume back down again. He glares at me but doesn't argue further, his jaw working as he silently fumes. For the rest of the night, Timmy finds it impossible to relax. His behavior is like a pressure cooker, hissing quietly just beneath the surface. He's pacing the apartment, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Every time I hear someone walk past in the hallway, my stomach twists and knots, worrying it's going to be the clock to us' knock on the door with another complaint and anticipating Timmy's reaction. The next day Timmy is still restless, but he seems happier. We manage to have a quiet day with no complaints. In the evening I watch him walk to the balcony completely naked, his swinging in the breeze. I don't think much of it at first. We're high up on the twenty third floor, the balconies are petitioned enough that privacy isn't usually a concern, and Timmy's just being Timmy comfortable on his own skin. I've never seen someone do more helicopters of pure joy on their face. In fact, I don't think I'd ever seen a guy do a helicopter until I met Timmy. But then I see him peering around the edge of the balcony, craning his neck to where the leasing agent's unit is located. Suddenly he's having a conversation. Oh hello, I hear him say his tone a little flirty. Timmy, I call uneasy, what are you doing? He grins over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with mischief, saying hi. I inch closer, dread pulling in my stomach. Yeah, I'm buck naked out here right now, I hear him saying, his voice low and casual. Enjoying my evening, just enjoying the breeze. What the actual fuck, how creepy? I freeze, horrified. Timmy, I hiss, get in here. But he just laughs. Well, she's really hot, your neighbor, he notices. He finally starts to head back inside, grinning like a kid who's just gotten away with something naughty. I think I've got a bonus from looking at her. Because he's completely naked after all, I can see he did not in fact have a bonus. But the fact he said it out loud makes my skin crawl. The words hang in the ear, vulgar and disrespectful, both to me and the woman next door. Are you fucking kidding me? I hiss, what the fuck is wrong with you? Get your ass inside, that's so gross of you to say. Why are you being like this? He finally steps inside, but not before shooting one last glance toward the neighbor's unit. Where she go say hi and steps, the grin still blasted across his face, making it sound like the neighbor hinted that she wanted late night visitors. Oh for the fuck's sake, stop, I plead, stop being disgusting. He rolls his eyes, but then he stops. My heart feels heavy, sick with embarrassment, and horrified by the fact that my fiance's curving at my next door neighbor like some lecherous drunk standing on a street corner as underage girls walk past. It makes me feel gross and unwanted, and then I feel silly for being jealous. She is pretty, but it doesn't sit well with me that he was looking at her in that way, and then had the gall to tell me about it. Gross. We put on a movie, but I can't shape the nausea swirling in my gut. I eventually fall asleep, curled into myself, trying to make sense of the man lying beside me. The man who oscillates between sweet and unsettling at the drop of a hat, still sick to my stomach about the interaction. The next day he's making breakfast. I feel the need to address the situation. Dude, you literally went outside naked and told my neighbor you were naked. No, that's not what happened. He shakes his head and goes back to cooking. Yes, yes, it is. And then you came inside and announced to me that she was hot and was giving you a boner that made me feel weird. I didn't like it. That's totally not what happened. I just went outside and we had a conversation, that's all. I feel dismissed and breakfast is ready. I'm distracted by this fascinating meal of ex Benedict with a curdled holidays creation that's strangely delicious. A little later I'm at my computer when my phone buzzes as the property management company when my stomach lurches. I have a feeling I know what's coming, and I reluctantly answer. This is Trinity, the property manager for this building. The woman on the other end says her tone sharp. We've received some complaints about things happening in your apartment. My stomach said screw that. Oh really? Like what? I asked, trying to keep my voice steady as my heart bumps in my chest. Well, it was reported that someone was howling at the moon like a wolf from your balcony at about three in the morning. I'd blink, confused. I'm sorry, but I was here all night and I didn't hear anyone doing that. It's true, but as the words come out of my mouth, I can't help but think it sounds like something Timmy would do, given his obsession with wolves and other creatures. It's possible we did it once I'd fallen asleep, but I would have thought a loud wolf howl would have woken me up. And despite me saying his interaction with my neighbour, I feel defensive, Timmy. I'm sick of being picked on at this place. I feel like the clock usually is used as some weird 24-7 babysitters to make sure adults make no noise at all across the building. Well, that's not all, she adds. Her voice stiff with disapproval. Your uh male guest conducted himself in a lewd manner towards one of your neighbours who is one of our employees. She sounds pissed and defensive right back at me. My stomach lurches, my heart racing faster. Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, I stammer mortified. I'll make sure that never happens again. I think of all the employees I've protected in my previous HR roles and how it feels to have to deal with a situation like this. And now a guest in my apartment, my fiance, is who the complaint is about. How ironic and awful. I hang up the phone, my cheeks flaming, and I look at Timmy, who's relaxed demeanor shifts the moment he sees my face. Who is that? He looks concerned. What did they say? You look upset. The property manager, I say, holding my arms. They said you stood on the balcony and held it in the moon like a wolf at three in the morning. What? He scoffs. No it didn't. It's so stupid. Men are really coming after us. Well I told them you didn't, 'cause I don't remember hearing you do that. He nods, seemingly satisfied that I came to his defence. Good, it must have been someone else. I frown. They also said you behaved in a lewd way. Timmy's expression darkens instantly. What? That bullshit. I didn't do anything like that. I did not act in a lewd way. Well you did go out there naked and tell who you were. I gestured in the direction of the apartment next door. No, I didn't. Shakes his head, Adam. Well you were naked out on the balcony, I reminded him carefully, and you did say you were naked loudly. I mentioned it right before breakfast, remember? That's not what happened. He snaps. His face suddenly contorts with rage, his voice rising. Don't twist things around. I said hello and told her to have a nice night. That's it. A throw in my brow. Yeah, you did, I say. And then you loudly said looking at her, gave you a boner. We had a little argument about it. That's not what happened. He says, No, no, no, don't rewrite history. He shakes his head with vigour, his mouth twisted in a scowl. That's not what happened. There's no way she could have seen my penis, and I didn't talk about it at all. I just said hello and I hope she's having a nice night. I shake my head, the memory clear in my mind. I don't know why he's so adamantly denying the truth. No, Timmy, I was right there. You said you were naked, and you said you said she gave you a boner. I remember because your comment upset me and we had an argument about it. His eyes blazed with fury, his breath quit me. No, no, I didn't. Stop saying that. His voice turned sharp. You're remembering it wrong. I flinch away, my body curling inside itself, the intensity of his anger hitting me like a way. Listen, I don't think you went and poked your penis through the bars of a balcony or anything, but I'm telling you what I saw and heard. You did hell tell her you were naked and you did make a comment about her giving you a boner, which I remember because the comment really upset me. It made me feel sick and it still is. Nope, you're wrong, he said, his voice raising, his face twisting into a deeper scallop. I would never have done it. This place is crazy. They're trying to come after you with all these noise complaints, and now you're making things up, and my things up. Don't you add to it by believing your stories and making things up yourself. You were just drunk and you don't remember shit. The force of his denial is unsettling. He's not just lying to me. He's rewriting the truth in his own mind, convinced that his version is the only one that exists. I know what I saw, but the force of his conviction makes me second guess myself. Maybe I am remembering it wrong. I did have a couple of drinks before it happened. I decide not to push it further, it's just not worth it. He already seems elevated about the whole noise complaint situation, which really is quite ridiculous. And this seems like a bridge too far. Maybe when he's calm and the situation is being resolved, we'll talk about it again. Okay, I say softly, let's just forget about it all right. How about we go take a shower and go enjoy the rest of our day? He nods, but his body stays tense, his mind is still clearly spinning with anger. His words needle at me, even though the events remain clear in my mind. I remember the tone of his voice, the angle of his nakedness as he stood on the balcony. Very specific memories. It's like he's trying to rewrite his history to fog my mind with allegations that because I'd had a few drinks, I was imagining things that weren't favorable to him. But deep down I saw what I saw, and I very much remember how the interaction made me feel sick, and like maybe I don't really know who Timmy is the way I thought I did, the way he values and thinks about women, the way he values and thinks about me. As the day progresses, we can't stop ruminating on the phone call I received. He turns toward the wall that separates our apartment from the leasing agents, pressing his ear against it as if listening for movement. His breathing becomes heavy, and then slowly he drags his fingertips along the wall. His intensity is unsettling and my body starts to tingle uncomfortably. She's going to pay for this, he growls. His voice is low and menacing, a dangerous undertone rippling through his word. Over the course of the day he just can't seem to stop thinking about it. I try to distract him with TV and movies and food, but he keeps coming back to it. I'll climb the fucking building if I have to, he sees at one point, one balcony at a time. I've done it before. I don't care that we're 23 floors up, I'll be like fucking Spider-Man. And when I get to her, I'll drag her across the room with one hand and slit her fucking throat and enjoy the sight of her writhing in pain for what she's done. That bitch is gonna bleed out. A shiver runs down my spine. Surely he's not serious, he's just venting, right? Timmy, please, I whisper, this isn't work it. We can just like move or something. He glances at the wall between my apartment and the leasing agents again, his breath ragged. That bitch is gonna get what's coming to her. Mouth pinched into a tight scowl. Again I try to distract him, but his eyes continue to be locked on the wall, his lips curled into a grimace. She has to pay, he mutters, for everything she's done to you, to us. Later he rages, his upper arm is once again pressed against the wall, his ear cupped against it, listening for life on the other side. His breath is ragged. She will not do this to you. I will kill the dumb bitch. I shiver. Surely he's joking, not that it's at all funny. I don't know if I've ever seen someone so angry except for in horror movies or some kind of true crime documentary. Talk about dramatic, but it seems like something that can be fixed without what seems like parko war and murder. Uh thank you for being protective of me, but that's a bit over the top. For all that she's done to you. He's speaking slower than usual, deeper, done to us. Babe, calm down, I plead my voice soft. Seriously, let's just move, find somewhere else with better soundproofing. Clearly this building sucks. We can find something else where people don't complain at the smallest thing. She has to pay for what she's done. His voice is low gutil. Can you please calm down? I'm upset too, but we can't do anything about it right now. Look at what she's done though, he says. You've moved all the way over here, up and changed your life, and she set you up. She put you in the apartment next to hers and she's making noise complaints against you to laugh at. He has a point. That is pretty shitty of her. I don't know what she's playing at, but it's nothing worth causing violence over. In a twisted way it feels nice to have this kind of alpha male protection, even if it's also terrifying at the same time. A more hinged individual would surely recommend complaining to her manager or the parent company. But I feel like because of his inappropriate behavior the previous night, they now have legitimate cause for complaint. He's so angry though, it's not the time to bring that up that it's now his fault we can't rectify the situation properly. I get why he's mad to a point, but now he's put us on the back foot, weakening our position by dangling his bits in her direction and telling her who was. Come on, baby, let's just watch a movie. I try to distract him to change the topic. Just relax for a bit, okay? Movies generally seem to distract him as long as they're ones he likes. He excels sharply and the fire in his eyes dims slightly. Fine, he mutters, but we're not done with this. He collapses onto the bed, the remote in hand, his expression still tight with anger. As he flips through the channels I sit beside him, my mind racing. I try to steady my breath to tamp down the fear corn up my throat. His anger seems so over the top, so disproportionate with what's happened. His words, his threats, they hang heavy in the air. I want to believe he didn't mean them, that he's just blowing off steam. But the way he said it so cold and deliberate leaves me with a knot of unease in my stomach that refuses to unravel. And as we sit here watching the screen flicking with the beginning of another movie, I can't help but feel like a fuse has been lit, and I've no idea when or if it will burn out. My reaction to this chapter, this one gives me chills. I was afraid um he is, you know, 200 something pound guy, six foot two plus, um, literally scraping his hands against the wall and just his voice changed and his face changed, and it almost felt like he was acting apart because the first time he'd really done that, and they'd never experienced it before. So it's like my brain was trying to simultaneously take in what he was doing and make sense of it and not doing a very good job of that. It was definitely my first experience of extreme gaslighting as well. I didn't know what it was. I'd heard the word banding around a little, but it wasn't a great concrete example of gaslighting in action. I don't know what is. A thing happened in front of my face, it was seen by others, validated by them, and then he told me it didn't happen. And my brain questioned it. He was so compelling, so adamant, had so many excuses lined up, and you know, came at me for being the one in the role. I ended up doubting myself. But I don't feel foolish because I can see how expert and how adept he was at making the ridiculous thing normal and at making himself seem like an innocent victim that everyone else was always out to get that this was just another attack against evangelic behavior. It was easier to quiet the nagging voice in my gut, the call into my brain, and go with his simple explanation. This was going to be the first of many audacious examples, but this was the first experience of gaslighting that I really ever had, and it will forever be seared in my mind. That's all for this episode. Next time, interactions with the neighbor are going to reach a whole other level, trigger warnings away for sure. As always, I'd love to hear from you whether you've been in a similar situation or what stood out to you about this episode. Remember to like, subscribe, and share with your friend. And in the meantime, remember it was never you, you're not too much, and it wasn't your fault.