Beautiful Terror (Burn It All Down Duet #2)

43. Smirnoff Ice Excursions

CHAPTER 43

SMIRNOFF ICE EXCURSIONS

MARGAUX

I dial Timmy again.

He answers this time, on the third ring.

“Hey babe, I’m just heading back now. I’ll be back in like five,” he says, casual as ever.

There are voices in the background, a faint hum of conversation and what sounds like a cash register beeping.

My stomach tightens. Where the hell is he? To my knowledge, he has no money. God only knows what he’s up to.

Me:

I called again twice, and he finally answered and said he was on his way back.

There were voices in the background. Like he was in a store or something.

Which is weird, bc he has no money.

Alice:

The best possible outcome is he just walked there to talk to people.

The phone buzzes again. Timmy calling me this time.

“What are you doing?” I ask, the irritation already creeping into my voice.

“I was just at the store getting a Smirnoff Ice,” he says, as if it’s the most natural explanation in the world.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snap. “How did you pay for that?”

“Oh, I had a couple of bucks on my Apple Pay, so I used that,” he replies, sounding smug.

“ Fuck! You! ” I scream, and hang up.

My hands are trembling, my chest tight with fury. Of all the idiotic things…

Me:

Oh my god! He was at the gas station buying a Smirnoff Ice.

Because apparently he had a few bucks on his Apple Pay.

I just told him ‘fuck you’ and hung up.

Alice:

Yeah, that sounds like my ex. Somehow always had money for booze, but that’s an addiction for you.

I fire off a text to him:

Me:

You can’t help me pay for anything, but somehow you have money to buy a Smirnoff Ice? Take a long hard fucking look at yourself.

The minutes tick by, and there’s still no sign of Timmy.

My irritation morphs into a simmering rage.

Me:

If you’re not back in five minutes, I’m throwing your things out on the street.

Me (to Alice):

I’m so fucking angry.

Alice:

As you should be. That’s infuriating.

Me:

I threatened to toss out his things.

Alice:

You’ve said that a lot before. I don’t think he’ll believe it this time.

Me:

He has a shit memory. And I think he got someone to buy him the drink.

Because remember, he went and bought a big bottle of vodka and took my laundry money to pay for a couple of dollars of it.

Alice:

Also possible.

Timmy finally texts back:

Timmy:

I’m going to cry at the beach until my phone battery charges, and then I’ll be back.

Me:

Cry at how badly you treat me? Good.

I update Alice.

Alice:

Yeah, seriously. That’s proper reflection. But I doubt it happens.

Me:

He is weirdly reflective, promises to change, and then promptly reverts to past behavior.

A while back he told me to put him in a book where the other guys kill him.

Maybe I will.

He’s still not back, and I want to vomit.

My phone buzzes. It’s Timmy:

Timmy:

Take a life insurance policy out on me so I can kill myself and you can get money.

You should have me leave.

You can find someone better.

Me:

I should, and I can.

Timmy:

Yes, you can.

Me:

I’m glad we agree on something.

I fill Alice in.

Alice:

Yeah, I had conversations with my ex like that. I don’t like this guy.

I locate the near-empty vodka bottle and drink straight from it until it’s all gone. Because, knowing Timmy, when he finally returns, if there was still vodka in it he’d have either run off with it or poured it down the sink. So I’m spite drinking it, if you will.

As if on cue, Timmy arrives back at the apartment.

“Are you done being crazy yet?” he asks.

The audacity .

I ignore him, and instead turn on 90 Day Fiancé.

Clearly bothered by my TV choice, Timmy runs into the back room and closes the door behind him.

I switch the TV over to Family Guy , which he enjoys watching, and I’m sure he can hear.

Alice:

I think you need to get rid of him for good. He doesn’t seem to do anything to benefit you.

Me:

Yes, he’s making me worse. He literally said he wants to pull me up, not drag me down.

And I was like, you said that, but you’re dragging me down, bro.

I deserve a man who can take ME out for dinner, not suck my savings dry while he might sell one artwork one day.

Not to shit on artists because you’re a talented one. I think you know what I mean. Like nobody is hunting his shit down like he’s Picasso.

Alice:

That’s all he’s doing.

I know what you mean.

Me:

Well, I will utilize his ‘inspiration’ and write the shit out of it. My next book after this one is about reliving sexual assault. So, hopefully it will heal people. And then I’ll do one inspired by his bullshit.

The fucked-up thing is that he keeps telling his dad about my books.

And his dad knows I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him. So, he keeps buying my books. And I’m like, omg, how embarrassing. Stop reading my smut.

But apparently, he just started a random one. When he reads about the four dicks, he maybe won’t like me as much.

Alice:

LMAO. Yeah, his dad is in for a wild ride.