54. House of Plenty （of Cockroaches）
CHAPTER 54
HOUSE OF PLENTY (OF COCKROACHES)
MARGAUX
T immy huffs from the other side of the bed, his arms crossed like a petulant child as he watches my fingers fly across the keyboard. “All you do all day is sit and watch TV and talk to your friends.”
I quirk a brow, incredulous. “Oh yeah? Funny, I thought I didn’t have any friends.”
He doesn’t miss a beat, his tone sharp. “You don’t even want to go swimming.”
“You’re right,” I reply coolly. “I’ve hardly been swimming in six months, even though I live right on the beach. Want to know why? Because I’ve been so depressed from dealing with your behavior.”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, there’s silence. Then, in a voice tinged with self-pity, he asks, “What am I meant to do?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I shoot back, my frustration bubbling over. “Maybe work and generate an income? You’re a grown-ass man. A physically capable, creatively talented, two-hundred-pound grown-ass man. So do something with that.”
“What the fuck ever,” he mumbles, shaking his head as he stomps to the fridge. He grabs random items—steak, mandarins, and a Gatorade. “I’m going to see Uncle,” he tosses over his shoulder before slamming the door behind him.
When he comes back, I’m livid.
“Timmy,” I snap. “You need to make sure things are good here first before you run off to seek adoration from people you barely know. I’m paying rent. You’re not. And while it’s nice of you to give away food to random people, that’s one less meal for me.”
“You scratched me the other day,” he says, pointing to a faint pink mark on his torso.
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have given my antibiotic cream to some random guy,” I shrug, unbothered.
“His finger was falling off!” he yells, defensive. “I had to help!”
“That’s not your problem, bro,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “Send him to the hospital.”
“I’m a nice person,” he protests. “I help people.”
“Well,” I counter, my voice cold, “maybe you should start acting like a man and stop acting like a baby.”
Me:
Ugh. He just took a steak and mandarins and a Gatorade to our neighbor.
He’s nice, but he needs to stop giving our shit away to make himself look good to other people.
Alice:
Seriously. It isn’t a house of plenty.
Need to make sure your own household is taken care of first.
I tell her about the anonymous messages outlining his behavior.
Alice:
Girl. That is all red flags.
He does this to everyone.
If you kick him out for real, he’ll find someone else.
It’s what he does.
Timmy sits on the edge of the bed, his face twisted in frustration. “Why are you so mean to me?”
“Because I’m sick of you wasting my life savings because you’re so lazy and refusing to get a job. And you don’t seem to value anything I do. Go find another woman whose money you can absorb.”
His lip trembles, and he begins to cry. “I can’t take much more of your resentment,” he whispers.
I update Alice.
Me:
He’s crying because I told him the truth.
Alice:
Resentment is built, not manifested.
Me:
I have so much. At so many people, and I wish I didn’t.
And I didn’t move here to develop more.
Alice:
No. But if you keep him around, you will.
She has a good point.
I sigh and nod my head.
Which must aggravate Timmy, because he lunges for my phone, yanking it from my hands and scrolling through my messages.
“What are you looking for?” I ask, exasperated. “I’m not talking to any guys behind your back, and I’m only describing your behavior to my friends. What you’re doing is invasive and gross.”
He doesn’t respond, but his face darkens as his eyes skim the messages between Alice and me.
Finally, I manage to grab my phone back.
Alice:
There is no positive outcome to your relationship with him.
He will give you nothing, enrich no part of you, honor none of the things you ask, and will offer you no genuine respect.
A tear rolls down my cheek. Her words hit like a gut punch because they’re true.
I know she’s right.
But I just can’t break away.
Not yet.
Me:
I love him.
Alice:
It may be romantic, but love is NOT all you need.
Love is a good building material. You don’t only need bricks to build a house.
Me:
I wish he did. That’s my problem. I’m deluded.
Alice:
You are. Because love is a powerful drug. It's what compels parents to lift cars off their children.
It's what blinds people to flaws.
It is a substance that blinds you as much as you want to be blinded.
If you are willing to see nothing, love will show you nothing.
It's how parents defend children who are bullies.
How partners stay with abusive people, or people who commit crimes.
The tears come harder now, flowing freely.
And her words are exactly what I need to hear.
Me:
Crying.
Alice:
I’m sorry. I don’t want to be the reason you’re upset.
Me:
He is. You’re not.
You’re just helping me to see.
Alice:
But I wish someone had told me that love isn't enough. That it's great, but you need more.
You need someone who can reliably pull the cart of life with you, not someone happy to let you carry the whole load.
Me:
I just feel so dumb.
Alice:
You aren't dumb, you're hopeful.
Love and hope work together to make 2 halves of a pair of rose-colored glasses.
Me:
I was in a perfectly ‘fine’ relationship for 6 years and he was emotionally shut down and I never got to be me and we were not intimate ever.
And enough was enough, and I left and I moved here.
My friend was like, ‘This is your moment—move wherever you want.’
Alice:
And you did. Why waste another minute of building your paradise being held back?
Me:
And I move here. And I love it here. And then she deserted me the moment I said how Timmy behaves. I flew to Montana to attend her event and wasn’t allowed to come.
Alice:
I cannot even get into her weird thinking. But the original sentiment is right. You're in Sunset Cay.
I say call his parents and arrange his going home with them directly.
Have 1 of them come out and collect him.
Me:
I’m 99% sure he’s going to grab my phone out of my hand again and I don’t care.
And I agree with you.
Alice:
He probably will.
It’s been his habit.
Timmy comes back into the room, oblivious to the turmoil.
“You want something to eat?” he asks, as if the past half-hour hasn’t happened.
“No,” I reply, my voice distant.
He lingers, clearly uncomfortable with my silence. “I’m too scared to be around you,” he finally says. “You might hurt me.”
I scoff. “Yeah, Timmy—you’re terrified of me. That’s why you throw cockroaches at me and yell insults every other day.”
Me:
I can’t believe this is my life.
Alice:
Call his parents and arrange for him to go home with them.
It’s time.
Me:
You’re right.
Alice doesn’t need to say it again—I know this chapter of my life needs to end.
It’s time to rebuild without Timmy holding me back.