Beautiful Terror (Burn It All Down Duet #2)

128. Travel Ban

CHAPTER 128

TRAVEL BAN

MARGAUX

W hen I get back from my therapy appointment, Timmy is doing the dishes.

I contemplate how to approach him about how upset I am that we can’t 1) go on the show, and 2) travel.

I know it’s never smart to bring up any difficult topics because he’ll make me pay for it, but I’m so fed up by now. I have to say something.

And I decide to add in the part about how I’m feeling about his parents.

“Timmy, I need to talk to you about something,” I say, my voice low.

He pauses from his dishwashing activities and glances over at me, his body tensing as if preparing for a physical blow.“What now?” His voice is sharp. “And really? Do you have to have a conversation with me while I’m trying to do the dishes?”

The way he says it, you’d think I was interrupting him from performing brain surgery or launching a spaceship.

But I plow on ahead. I can’t stop myself.

This time, I won’t stop myself. I won’t hold back.

“Well, first of all… I’m getting the feeling your parents really don’t like me very much at all. But they seem to be in touch with all of your exes, sending them and their children gifts, lending Jennifer your car, talking about them as if your relationships with them all were just yesterday. They have a genuine affection for these women who you say are all awful bitches.

But when it comes to me, they—especially your dad—seem to have a real problem with me. Your dad called me a ‘volcano of pain,’ for god’s sake.” I roll my eyes. “I mean, I don’t know exactly what you’ve been saying about me, but I feel like they love everyone you’ve ever dated, but can’t stand me. That makes me feel like shit.”

“Really, Margaux?” He rolls his eyes. “I don’t think they’re in touch with any of them. I didn’t know they were sending gifts.”

“Well, your mom was talking about Victoria’s kids and sending them presents.”

“Oh,” he says.

“And the other thing…”

This is it… the big one.

I take another breath.

“It really bothers me that I just found out you can’t travel. It’s one thing that we can’t go on the show because of it, and that upsets me. But what’s even more upsetting is that you weren’t transparent with me—that you can’t travel, or that it would cost thirty thousand dollars to be able to travel overseas together. You know how important travel is to me, and I can’t even count the number of times I’ve mentioned going somewhere with you, and you’ve failed to mention that you can’t. And the reason you can’t travel—because you have a teenage child—you hid that from me too. And it’s a big deal. I might not have started dating you had I known any of these things.”

Timmy’s eyes grow dark and his body tenses further.

Without a word—and with eyes shooting daggers of hatred in my direction, he walks to the fridge. He picks up the sourdough starter, removes the lid, and then returns to the kitchen counter. He shoves all of the newly cleaned dishes into the sink.

My jaw drops as he pours gooey sourdough starter all over the clean dishes, undoing his chore.

It makes no sense, and only serves to anger me. It’s a punctuation, an advertisement of his absolute vindictiveness. The way that I can mention nothing for fear of upsetting him, because there will almost certainly be retaliation.

As I sit here in jaded semi-disbelief, I realize with chilling clarity that the thought I had the other day was accurate. This demon is so vile, so deranged, so self-serving, that if I was to die—whether by his hand or just randomly—he wouldn’t call the police straight away. He wouldn’t make it a priority to try and get me medical help, to make sure it wasn’t too late.

No, I can picture him walking around the apartment, assessing the value of items and deciding if any would be beneficial to him.

Deciding how to best position himself in the story, to garner the most sympathy and attention.

And I realize, again with a laser-sharp clarity that slices through my hazy brain fog, that he’s taken nearly everything from me.

He’s damaged, broken, slashed and shattered physical property, my mind—hell, even my skull—and the only things I have left are Sabre and my life.

And there’s no doubt in my mind he’s coming for those next.