Beautiful Terror (Burn It All Down Duet #2)

50. This Should Be Fun Living With A Loser

CHAPTER 50

THIS SHOULD BE FUN: LIVING WITH A LOSER

MARGAUX

I nfuriated, confused, and exhausted, my logic goes south.

I shove on my flip-flops and storm out of the apartment, past the security shack, and toward the beach. The night air is thick with humidity, and the distant sound of crashing waves does nothing to soothe my nerves.

When I get there, I spot him immediately. Timmy sits at a picnic bench surrounded by a group of people who live in the nearby tents. He’s wearing my hat—the one my sister just sent me all the way from New Zealand. The one that actually means something to me.

The audacity.

He sees me approaching and grins, as if this is some big joke.

I force a smile at the others and give them a small wave. “Hi,” I say politely, masking the fury simmering just beneath the surface. Some of them wave back, oblivious to the storm brewing.

“Hey, babe,” he says casually. “We’re just hanging out, enjoying the night.” He turns to his so-called friends. “Told you she’d come find me.”

My anger ignites.

Timmy gets up, walking toward me, but I’m already too far gone

Targeting the brim, I smack the hat off his head. “Fuck off!” I snap, my voice cutting through the quiet night.

The group falls silent, the tension thick as I glare at Timmy. My fingers are trembling with rage—not just because of the hat, but because of everything. The danger he’s put me in, the absolute disregard for my feelings, and the sheer idiocy of sitting at a picnic table with strangers at 3AM like it’s happy hour.

He looks stunned for a moment, and then his expression shifts to one of indifference, like he’s already dismissing my outburst.

I don’t wait for him to speak. I turn on my heel and storm back toward the apartment, my heart pounding in my chest.

As I walk, I dial Phil’s number to vent and let him know what his son is up to.

“Hello?” his mother’s voice answers, soft and groggy.

“He’s out at the meth tents at three in the morning,” I say, my words sharp and clipped.

“Oh…” She pauses. “That’s no good. He needs to grow up. Here, I’ll put Phil on.”

Before I can respond, a voice calls out from behind me. One of the men from the picnic bench is pedaling toward me on a bike.

“He’s been sitting with us, telling us how you’re his rock,” the man says, as if that’s supposed to make me feel better.

I stop and turn to face him. “Well, if I’m his fucking rock, why is he out here at 3AM, sitting at a park bench with strangers instead of being home?” My tone drips with sarcasm and frustration.

“Yeah, you’re right,” the man replies. “If I were with you, I would never leave you alone in the middle of the night. Your man should be spending time with you, not us. I would never treat you that way.”

“Exactly,” I snap, already exhausted by this unsolicited commentary.

The man circles his bike around me. “I have the day off, by the way,” he adds.

“Good for you,” I mutter, rolling my eyes and walking faster.

By now, Phil is on the line. “Did you hear that?” I ask.

“I did. What’s going on?” he asks, his voice steady.

I take a deep breath and explain everything—the missing hours, the picnic bench, the company he’s keeping.

“That’s no good,” Phil replies, his disappointment evident. “Put him on the phone.”

“No, I walked away,” I explain. “This is incredibly unsafe, and I’m going back to the apartment. I just wanted you to know what your son is doing, and that he’s putting himself in danger.”

“I see,” he replies. “Let me give him a call and talk some sense into him.”

“Good luck with that,” I say.

Phil sighs. “Okay, well, thank you for letting me know. I’ll see what I can do.”

I hang up just as I reach the safety of the apartment complex. My heart is still racing, and my mind is spinning with everything that just happened.

I update Alice.

Me:

So I guess I have a date if I want it.

(I don’t) but Jesus.

His dad is going to call him.

But he didn’t answer my 21 or so calls, so good luck to him.

Alice:

This is such a fucking trip, girl.

And not healthy for you.

Me:

I wanted to punch him in the face, but I just smacked his hat.

Alice:

He knows he can do whatever he wants.

Me:

Not any more.

Alice:

What are the consequences?

Me:

He can move out and live with his new friends.

I’m sure their tents are palatial.

Alice:

You’ve said that before, friend.

Many times.

Me:

I know. But he didn’t leave all night before.

I check Find My iPhone, and see that Timmy has now migrated to the store. The store that isn’t open. It’s where a bunch of the drug users hang out at the bus stop at all hours. What the hell is he playing at?

Glancing at my phone, I’m reminded that I now have him saved as Person Who Behaves Like a Loser and I Deserve Way Better.

I send a screenshot to Alice:

Me:

You can see I’m trying to tell myself what to do by the way he’s saved in my phone.

Alice:

Yeah. But you need to actually do it.

Me:

You’re right. There’s no reason.

I’m just really annoyed and sad.

And I feel like I need to do something.

Alice:

I know.

Inaction is the hardest action.

Me:

I'm not a violent person, but I wanted to punch his face so bad, but I went for the hat.

I told his dad I did that, and even he seemed on board.

Alice:

If you must do something, coordinate with his parents to send him home.

Me:

Yeah that’s a good idea

Alice:

They've grown up with him. They know what he's like.

Me:

Yeah.

Previously, he’s even said these tweakers are like, ‘You should be home with her, not here with us.’

But he doesn’t listen to me or them. What a fucking nutcase.

His therapy appointment is in 6 hours, and I’m meant to drive him to it.

How am I meant to concentrate on writing steamy romance novels with all this nonsense going on?

Alice:

It’s impossible. You need to find a way to make time for yourself.

By the time Timmy returns to the apartment, I’m waiting for him.

“You fucking left in the middle of the night and went to meth tents!” I yell the second he walks through the door.

“They’re nice people,” he shrugs, as if that excuses anything. “They’re way nicer to me than you are.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I yell back. “Go enjoy your life in a tent with your fake friends from the beach, then! They’re literally your only ‘friends,’ and it’s because they don’t even know you! Give them five minutes and they’ll figure you out.”

He stays calm, his demeanor infuriatingly composed. “See?” he says. “You’re so fucking abusive. Listen to you. You’re exactly like my ex.”

I laugh bitterly. “Well, maybe she was sick of your bullshit, too!”

His composure cracks. He flinches, his expression hardening, and then he smirks, looking smug. “Wow,” he whispers. “I see you. Here she is. The real Margaux.”

“This is fucking insane,” I say, throwing my hands in the air. “ You are fucking insane!”

“That’s it,” he snaps. “I’m giving away the mattresses and the TV. I’m done.”

“Fine,” I reply, my voice flat. “I’ll just go buy new ones. I don’t need your hand-me-down shit, anyway.”

He narrows his eyes. “None of your friends are real friends, by the way,” he says. “They’re just people you cover the tab for at bars.”

I roll my eyes. “What the actual fuck, Timmy? You’re the only person I cover the tab for at bars.”

“You have such a drinking problem, Margaux,” he says, ignoring me entirely and heading toward the fridge. “Hey, I’ll let you keep the mattresses and the TV if you give me a hard seltzer.”

The irony of his accusations contrasted with his actions is not lost on me.

“I don’t want your things, Timmy,” I say, exasperated. “I don’t care what you do with them. And you’re not having a seltzer.”

He glares at me for a moment before retreating to the back room.

I think it’s over until he suddenly bursts into the hallway, sprints to the fridge, grabs a hard seltzer, and runs back to the room, slamming the door behind him and locking it.

“Stealing a seltzer that I paid for with my life savings is more loser behavior!” I yell through the door.

“Fuck you!” he screams back.

Me:

He just came out and STOLE a SELTZER

Alice:

Seltzer?

At least make it something worth it.

Grab some Jim Beam.

Me:

I can’t stop calling him a loser, because he won’t stop acting like one.

Ugh. And comparing me to his ex the way he did.

Some of the things she told me she did weren’t okay.

But I’m sure she was sick of his nonsense at some point.

Alice:

Probably. People do drastic things when pushed to drastic limits.

Me:

Yeah. Ffs I live in Sunset Cay!! I can see the ocean from my room. This should be FUN!! I’m going to ignore his bullshit and be my normal self.

I’m entering my delulu phase.

Alice:

I think that’s where you’ve been, honestly.

Me:

Yeah. Maybe I’m un-deluluing.

Alice:

I hope so!

I glance at my phone again, his name still saved as Person Who Behaves Like a Loser and I Deserve Way Better.

It’s time to start believing that.