47. Desperella
CHAPTER 47
DESPERELLA
DEX
I sit in the shadows of Margaux’s chaotic life, watching Timmy swirl around her like a toxic hurricane. She’s the kind of woman who deserves the world—yet here she is, tethered to this sinking ship of a man.
Today, I’m watching another chapter of the Timmy Show unfold.
Margaux, ever patient, plays Mario Kart with him, her laughter genuine despite her exhaustion. For a while, it’s a moment of peace. But of course, Timmy can’t just let her have that.
He berates her and demeans her. Margaux handles it with her usual grace, though I can tell she’s biting back a sharper response. When she finally snaps—as any human would—he uses it against her.
I roll my eyes. Really, Timmy? A video game? This is the hill you choose to die on?
She doesn’t know I’m watching, but I wish she did. I’d give anything to remind her of her worth.
Timmy’s pathetic attempts to tear her down don’t define her. Hell, he’s not even near her level.
When Margaux vents to Alice later, it’s clear that Timmy’s antics are wearing her down. But it’s when he sneaks out late at night—leaving the door ajar and putting her beloved cat, Sabre, at risk, not once but twice—that my blood boils. Sabre is family to her, and the careless way Timmy disregards that makes me want to wring his neck.
Luckily, Margaux finds Sabre and brings him back, but the damage is done. She texts Alice, venting her frustration, and I see her resilience crack, just for a moment.
But then, as always, Margaux bounces back. She’s remarkable like that.
Even after Timmy’s juvenile attempts to rile her up with his antics—wrapping himself in a curtain like a six-foot-two burrito or threatening to eat a shell he brought her—she finds a way to laugh it off. She shares the absurdity with Alice, turning his chaos into a running joke.
Then there’s her .
He torments Margaux with this nasty, thin-lipped slut.
I’m not a slut-shamer—I’m pro sex-positive women, and it’s not about that at all.
But a woman who will willfully sleep with a guy who’s in a relationship? Gross.
And her, specifically? She’s fucking disgusting. She looks like if syphilis was a person.
Desperella.
Let’s call her that because she doesn’t deserve anything better.
She’s the type of woman who clings to men like Timmy because she can’t find anyone better.
The kind of woman who thrives on crumbs of attention because that’s all she can get.
Desperella is the type who floods her Instagram with grainy bikini selfies with her legs spread wide apart, captioned with generic quotes like, ‘Catch flights, not feelings,’ while spending her evenings furiously scrolling Timmy’s Facebook profile, looking for breadcrumbs of validation.
She’s the girl who still thinks posing by a waterfall, contorting her body to show off her thigh gap makes her mysterious and edgy, her followers a trail of low-value men who want her for nothing other than her easily accessed vagina.
Her idea of flirting? Sending five emojis in a row to see which one gets a reaction.
And let’s not forget her signature move—posting throwbacks with captions like ‘Wish I could go back to this day ’ when Timmy is tagged in the background. It’s all so transparent, so painfully thirsty.
Desperella is nothing compared to Margaux.
Margaux is leagues above her—whip-smart, beautiful, and magnetic in a way Desperella could never fake. Witty, smart and kind, with a fire in her that no amount of Timmy’s bullshit can extinguish.
While Margaux spends her time creating, building, and shining, Desperella lives for the drama, hoping Timmy will throw her another morsel of attention. She’s a moth circling his flame, oblivious to the fact that she’s only getting burned.
It’s infuriating to watch Timmy weaponize her existence against Margaux—his pathetic attempts at triangulation leave Margaux doubting herself. It makes me want to break something. Or someone.
He keeps Desperella dangling just enough to make Margaux feel like she has something to prove—when in reality, Margaux has already won in every conceivable way.
Desperella is a footnote in Timmy’s sad little saga.
Margaux is the whole damn story.
“If you think so little of her, why did you even put your dick in her at least twice?” Margaux asks, her voice sharp, cutting. She deserves answers, but Timmy dodges and deflects, as always.
“She’s nothing,” he snaps, and I almost laugh. Of course, she’s nothing— nothing compared to Margaux . But he still keeps her lingering, a tool in his sick game to make Margaux feel small.
And Margaux doesn’t deserve to have anything to do with either of these two trainwrecks. Maybe they should go off and kill each other in the sunset.
Maybe that’s their sad and demented Thelma and Louise of it all.
When Timmy’s insecurities rear their ugly head later, accusing Margaux of cheating, it’s almost comical. His jealousy is absurd, unfounded, and dripping with irony—Margaux is so used to it that she doesn’t even flinch.
The audacity of a man like Timmy to accuse Margaux of anything, while he entertains the lingering thirst shadow of Desperella, is laughable.
Late at night, Timmy storms out again, leaving Margaux to pick up the pieces.
She messages Alice, making jokes to mask her frustration. But I can see it in her eyes—she’s tired. Exhausted from scrambling to hold everything together while Timmy tears it all apart.
I can’t stand to see her like this. She deserves someone who sees her for the powerhouse she is, who loves and worships her.
Someone who would never let a pathetic shell of a man like Timmy come close to dimming her light.
Someone like me.
Though at this point that seems self-serving, and my priority is her being safe. Protected. Okay.
What I’d give to make sure Margaux is okay.
But she’s not. She’s still in the clasp of this butthole. And he had the audacity to call her butthole eyes, when her eyes are some of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen?
She’s captivating. She’s marvelous.
And he’s a sloppy, overconfident tool who peaked in high school and thinks he hasn’t aged a day.
The charisma of a middle-aged white man who thinks he’s hot shit will never cease to amaze me.
I mean, to be fair, I’m a middle-aged white man—but I don’t act anything like him.
I never would.
He’s of a certain persuasion.
Gives his voting papers to his daddy—which I believe is illegal—and lets him vote for whoever he thinks his son should.
Talk about a fucking muppet.
I know, without a doubt, that must have given her the major ick when she found out. Because it’s so counter to who she is as a person.
I’m getting worked up now, and I’m tempted to spy on him again.
To see what his shallow pea brain is doing.
To see how he’s tormenting Margaux this time.
I’m sure he’s looking at porn. I pull up his screen and—sure enough, he’s watching ‘ BBC gang bang with blonde slut’ —because that seems to be his therapeutic go-to.
What a fucking douche.
I hate this guy so much.
And I can’t wait to snuff him out to make the world a better place.
It’s too early for me to act beyond what I’ve already done.
But one day, Margaux will realize her worth.
She’ll see through Timmy’s games, and when she does, I’ll be there.
Ready to remind her of what it feels like to be truly loved.
Ready to show her that she was never the problem—she was always the prize.