17. Oh Becky, Youre So Fake aka Compassion in Retrograde
CHAPTER 17
OH BECKY, YOU'RE SO FAKE AKA COMPASSION IN RETROGRADE
DEX
M argaux’s phone lights up, and I’m relieved to see Alice’s name on the screen. Alice—the blunt, no-nonsense roller derby friend Margaux desperately needs right now. Someone who isn’t afraid to call things as they are.
Her messages aren’t sugar-coated; they’re real, raw, and exactly what Margaux responds to.
Alice doesn’t dance around the issue of Timmy’s abuse. She’s not pushing Margaux to leave outright—that would backfire—but she’s planting seeds, asking the tough questions, and reminding Margaux of her worth.
She’s doing something I can’t—providing honest, non-judgmental friendship without triggering Margaux’s defenses. And I’m grateful.
I see the small relief in Margaux’s body language as she types, laughing softly at Alice’s dark humor. That tiny flicker of light in her dimmed eyes makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, she’ll find her way out of this mess.
And I’m grateful. Watching Margaux pour her heart out to Alice gives me hope. At least she has someone other than Timmy in her corner. It’s like observing a drowning woman finding a lifeboat.
But then there’s him. Timmy.
Through the camera, I observe as the smug bastard walks into the room and immediately zones in on Margaux. He’s like a predator who knows exactly where to strike to cause the most pain.
“You have butthole eyes,” he sneers, smirking at her like he just said something clever.
Butthole. Eyes.
Of all the things to say.
It was mean when it was said about Pete Davidson, a cruel barb referencing the appearance of his eyes due to an autoimmune disease.
And when said about Margaux, it makes absolutely no sense at all. He’s just hitting her with low blow after low blow.
At least he hasn’t turned on her about her lazy eye—I know how she feels about that. If he went there, I wouldn’t be able to restrain myself.
Timmy would be dead meat, never mind the consequences.
I clench my fists so tightly my knuckles crack. That’s the kind of insult a 13-year-old bully would throw around, not a grown man. He thinks it’s funny, but I see the way Margaux flinches.
She shrugs it off, tries to laugh along like it’s no big deal, but her fingers tighten around her phone. She’s holding herself together by a thread, and he knows it.
The things I want to do to Timmy in this moment… they’d land me in prison.
But it’d be worth it.
He doesn’t stop there. Later, he throws a marble at her, laughing like a hyena as it bounces off her leg.
Then he rolls into her, over and over, his weight crushing her small frame while he cackles like a lunatic.
Margaux finally has enough and shoves him off the bed. The sight of his pathetic two-hundred-pound ass hitting the floor gives me a twisted sense of satisfaction.
“You suck balls!” he yells, like the man-child he is.
Margaux doesn’t respond. She’s done. For now, at least.
I wish she could see how much better off she’d be without him if she left him for good.
Alice is a lifeline in Margaux’s storm.
But then there’s Becky. Oh, Becky.
Becky, who Margaux considered almost family, now ostracizing her. And now, when Margaux needs support the most, Becky sends a cold, self-righteous message banning Timmy from the event and essentially shunning Margaux by association.
Becky’s message is cold, impersonal, and—I’m sure—devastating for Margaux:
Becky:
Margaux, you have put me in a very uncomfortable position.
Your partner is not welcome at the event in Montana.
Margaux doesn’t need judgment masquerading as concern, but that’s exactly what Becky delivers.
Her face crumbles as she reads it. Another person pushed away by this relationship—which is to an extent fair—but the way Becky went about it was absolutely rotten.
Chastising Margaux. Making her feel worse . Making her feel more trapped, removing her access to an entire community unless Margaux lives her life on Becky’s terms.
I watch as Margaux blocks Becky on social media, her face a mix of hurt and anger. She doesn’t deserve this. Becky’s petty power play is the last thing she needs right now.
Margaux doesn’t deserve any of this.
And it pisses me off.
Becky isn’t just a bad friend—she’s a jealous, self-absorbed coward.
Instead of reaching out to check on Margaux, she’s made the situation all about herself. About her responsibility to ‘the group’, her need to ‘protect her community’.
I can’t let Becky’s betrayal slide.
So, I start planning. Something subtle, something that will gnaw at Becky like she’s gnawed at Margaux.
First, I hack into Becky’s Instagram account. Nothing malicious—just a little creative chaos. I add cheeky captions to her latest posts:
A photo of her at a vineyard:
‘Drank six bottles and still can’t figure out why I’m the worst friend ever! Cheers! ’
Her smiling selfie:
‘When you isolate your abused ‘bestie’ further and put her in greater danger, but still think you’re the good guy. ’
Posing with a cup of coffee:
‘Sipping on hypocrisy’ #GlitterGaslighting #FakeGrowthFairytales’
Another selfie, this time holding a self-help book:
‘Writing my next bestseller: How to Make Your Friend’s Abuse All About You. Pre-order now! #UnicornEnergyButMakeItToxic ’
A pic doing community service:
‘Helping others while I quietly dropkick my closest friends into emotional isolation—multitasking queen! #BlessedAndToxic’
Summiting a hill in Montana:
‘Climbing mountains, burning bridges, and shaming abuse survivors #TrailBlazingToxicity #BackstabberInBoots’
A sunset:
‘My toxic traits shine as brightly as the scenic views I’m pretending to enjoy! #ToxicAF’
Okay, maybe I’m doing too much. But I can’t stop. I’m just so furious on Margaux’s behalf.
So I’m not done yet.
Next, I set up a fake profile for a competitor in her field. Someone who seems poised to outshine her in every way—younger, smarter, more accomplished and more attractive. I fill it with fabricated achievements and photos that make this fake rival look like the most successful, charismatic person Becky has ever encountered. She’ll stew over it for weeks.
Finally, I reroute her favorite wellness spa’s promotional emails to her spam folder. It’s petty, but it’s satisfying. Let her miss out on all her exclusive sales and VIP invites. Spam subscriptions mysteriously appear, and her inbox floods with emails from religious organizations and multi-level marketing companies.
It’s petty, but it’s satisfying. Let her feel a fraction of the insecurity and betrayal she inflicted on Margaux.
In a way, I might be projecting some of Timmy’s behaviors onto Becky, because it’s less dangerous to get revenge on her than Timmy, and I need an outlet.
I have to stay grounded, keep my emotions in check. This isn’t about revenge, although that’s deserved—it’s about Margaux. It’s about giving her the space to see Timmy for what he really is and to find her strength again.
Margaux is teetering on the edge, and any wrong move could push her further into his arms—or isolate her even more.
So every move I make is calculated. Every message, every hack, every nudge—it’s all designed to shift the balance of power.
Timmy thinks he’s in control. He’s wrong.
He doesn’t know it yet, but his days of hurting Margaux are numbered.
I lean back, watching the pieces fall into place. This is a game of strategy, and I’m in it for the long haul, doing what little I can right now to make her world a bit more bearable.
Because Margaux deserves better.
And one way or another, I’ll make sure she gets it.