Beautiful Terror (Burn It All Down Duet #2)

23. Six Minutes 56 Seconds

CHAPTER 23

SIX MINUTES 56 SECONDS

MARGAUX

A FEW DAYS LATER

R eturning to Sunset Cay after meeting Timmy’s parents should have felt like a reset.

For the duration of the trip, while with his parents, he’d been… normal. Funny, sociable, polite. The kind of partner I could proudly introduce to people.

But back in the Cay, the Timmy I knew too well has returned—erratic, self-centered, and unpredictable.

He’s still riding the high of his family reunion, constantly replaying moments and basking in their praise. “Did you see how much Mom lit up when I walked in?” he says, not for the first time.

He’s stuck in a loop, clinging to the memory of his family’s acceptance like a life raft.

His tantrums have become an inescapable cycle, like waves eroding the shore—inevitable, relentless and draining. Every time he returns from running away, I know he’ll come back, more volatile than the last time, as if the sea whispers chaos into his ears.

I try to engage, to keep the peace, but the undercurrent of tension between us feels stronger than ever. Each time I try to hold my ground, or try to enforce some semblance of sanity, it’s like trying to build a sandcastle in the tide.

He’s relentless.

And somehow he always wins—not through logic or reason, but sheer depletion of all my energy to fight.

One morning, we head to the grocery store.

Timmy takes my hand as we browse the aisles and pick up a few things to supplement what’s already in the fridge at home.

“I know it hurts you when I run away,” says Timmy, out of the blue, “so I’m going to stop doing it. Because I love you,” he adds, “and the last thing I ever want to do is hurt you.”

When we get back from the store, out of nowhere, I find myself crying. Not because of something Timmy did—at least not directly—but because of everything.

The exhaustion of holding it all together, the constant emotional whiplash, the weight of his chaos pressing down on me.

Timmy looks genuinely puzzled, his expression almost childlike. “What did I do? Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know,” I reply, the words coming out between sobs. “But I just can’t stop.”

I message Alice, pouring out my frustrations like a dam breaking:

Me:

Ugh, I am having one of those depressive episodes where everything builds up and I can’t stop crying.

Sharing bc I know you understand.

Alice:

I’m sorry.

I've been feeling like that for a while. It's so frustrating.

Me:

Miserable. Sorry you’re feeling that way too.

I’m trying to explain to Timmy that it isn’t anything he did yesterday, per se, but words aren’t coming out of my mouth.

Which is unusual for me. I’m usually okay with words.

Alice:

Same, but sometimes when you're in a funk, it doesn't happen.

"I'm having a rough day. It has nothing to do with anyone or anything. I'm just sad today."

Me:

That’s a good one. Thank you.

Alice:

Yeah I use that a lot, haha.

Encouraged, I try Alice’s suggestion.

It seems to work, at least for a moment.

Timmy softens, his tone shifting. “I love you so much. I just want to be around you,” he whispers, gently stroking my hair. “I’m sorry you’re feeling this way. Why don’t you put on one of your shows, and I’ll watch it with you?”

For a brief, shining moment, I think maybe we’ve turned a corner and the rest of the day might go smoothly. Taking Timmy’s suggestion at face value, I turn on 90 Day Fiancé , grateful for the comfort of its absurd drama.

Timmy settles next to me, seemingly content.

Spending the day together snuggled up on the bed, watching shows that bring me relief and relaxation, sounds quite nice.

But exactly six minutes and fifty-six seconds into the episode, it’s like a switch flips.

“Nope! Nope, I can’t do this! I can’t watch this stupid show!” he yells, jumping up from the couch like it’s on fire. “I don’t care about this person on the TV!”

Before I can respond, he storms out the door, slamming it so hard the walls shudder.

It’s not even a particularly dramatic episode, but Timmy has decided once again that the show affects his emotions. He watches so much worse—constantly selecting movies with high conflict and drama—and is fine with it.

But because it’s something I like to watch, it’s therefore something he can try to ruin.

So he does.

I settle into the relative peace that always follows one of Timmy’s tantrums.

For all his bluster, his cooldowns usually involve sulking in a corner or at the beach, away from me.

I text Alice to fill her in.

Me:

Well… I tried that.

It worked initially.

He kept saying, ‘I love you so much and I want to watch all your shows with you and just be around you.’

So I watched exactly 6 mins and 56 seconds of my show and he had a tantrum and stormed off bc he didn’t like the show.

I’ve never met anyone who has literally had tantrums about Machine Gun Kelly and reality tv. I’m hoping it’s a passing phase.

Alice:

Sorry I don't want to laugh, but what a dumb turnaround.

That wasn't even 10 minutes, my dude.

Me:

Oh, I find it amusing. Less than 7 mins.

Amusing. Painful. All of it. Oh well. I can only change myself, right?! At least I’m not crying anymore.

Alice:

I’m such a dick, I'd be yelling after him like a gaslighting frat boy.

“Awww, c’mon, babe, it was only 7 minutes. Can't handle it? It's not that bad!”

“Mikey made it through the whole season and we all know he's a codfish.”

Me:

Well, in the grocery store he said he would stop running off. So that lasted like an hour all up. TV show 7 mins.

Alice:

What a child. My ex would even pretend for me.

He watched like 3 episodes of Downton Abbey because I was into it, and, like 4 days later, followed up with "what was that kinda boring British show? I might wanna watch more."

Me:

I was like, ‘Dude, you watched for 6 minutes and 56 seconds and he yelled, ‘I don’t care about this person on the tv,’ and sprinted away.

Alice:

B- lying, babe, but I like the effort.

Call me someday when he's yelling in the back so I can yell, "I don't care about this person in the room."

What even is the goal of that?

Now we're both not watching TV.

We're both watching YOU now.

I laugh despite myself. Much better than crying.

Me:

Lol yeah.

Maybe that’s the point.

I mean I can watch reality tv and see the beach.

So life isn’t that bad.

Alice:

Too bad he can't see that. What a moron.

I'm absolutely blown away.

Like, my boyfriend takes care of me because he makes more than I do and I feel bad when I make him upset.

But here isn’t the gorgeous paradise experience I’d hoped for. Here, I feel like I’m a guest in my own life, navigating a landscape that shifts beneath me every time Timmy decides to blow up over something inconsequential.

The whiplash of going from his gentle, loving words to his volatile outbursts is exhausting. It’s a rollercoaster I never signed up for, but one I seem unable to step off.

And yet, amidst it all, Alice’s humor and empathy feel like a lifeline.

She reminds me of who I used to be before this constant chaos became my new normal.

For a fleeting moment, I let myself hope that maybe, just maybe, I can find my way back to that version of me—someone who didn’t measure happiness in stolen seconds of peace but lived it fully.

But as the door slams again, another tantrum echoing in the distance, I wonder if I even remember how to start.