Beautiful Terror (Burn It All Down Duet #2)

141. Why He Did It

CHAPTER 141

WHY HE DID IT

MARGAUX

I ’m on the phone with Alice, and for the first time in ages, it’s not just messages back and forth—it’s an entire video call.

Her face fills my screen, bright and animated, a reminder of what life used to feel like before everything crumbled around me.

It’s refreshing, liberating even, to talk like this. No Timmy hovering in the background, no need to keep my voice down or guard my words.

But the conversation? That’s another story.

“I can’t believe Dex,” I say, my voice tinged with frustration. “What the hell was he thinking?”

Alice tilts her head, her expression calm but curious. “Think of it this way—what was he trying to accomplish by doing it?”

“I don’t know!” I throw my hands in the air. “Reading my innermost thoughts so he could be a predator, just like Timmy?”

Her brow furrows. “I understand why you’d think that. But I’m wondering if—in his case—he was just looking out for you in his own way. A creepy way—nobody’s debating that—but maybe it came from a place of care. He had the chance to look at info on anyone in the world, and he chose you.”

“Sounds unhealthy. Like a stalker-y obsession.”

“Again, fair,” Alice says, her tone measured. “But what if he legitimately cares about your wellbeing?”

“I’m sick of everyone playing devil’s advocate!” I yell, the frustration bubbling over. “I’m so sick of my world being tilted on its side. There are so many lies, hidden agendas. I just want to feel validated. To feel comfortable in my own skin. I can’t handle all the deception. I just want honesty and truth.”

“It’s going to take a minute, babe,” she says gently. “You’ve spent basically eighteen months in a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. Give yourself some time to heal.”

“I hate this healing advice!” The words burst out of me, my voice louder than intended. “Sorry, I’m not mad at you,” I say quickly. “It’s just that everyone’s saying it. What does it even mean? I’m not supposed to date because I’m supposed to be ‘healing.’ But I can’t afford some fancy healing retreat. I’m doing the same shit as before—just without Timmy to interrupt me. And it’s lonely.”

“What do you want to be doing?”

I shrug. “I’ve thought about taking a trip.”

“So take a trip!”

“I might.” I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. “But I don’t know… a trip won’t solve everything. I’m listening to self-help podcasts, reading, writing. My latest book is making good progress. But what else am I supposed to do to heal? I’m too old to reinvent myself, aren’t I?”

“Nope.” Alice shakes her head firmly. “And nobody’s asking you to reinvent yourself. This isn’t about becoming a whole new Margaux. It’s about figuring out who you are now, after everything you’ve been through. Who are you, Margaux, in this moment ? As an individual, unattached woman. As a human being.”

“But I know who I am! I’m me !”

“You’re underestimating the shit Timmy put you through,” she says, her voice soft but unwavering. “Having someone like him around you, day after day, in your ear, wears on you more than you might ever realize. It literally changes your DNA. You’re the one he did it to, but sometimes it’s easier for someone on the outside to see.”

I slump back in my chair. “So what does that mean? I’m so frustrated. I don’t know what this healing process is or how long it’s supposed to take.”

“Think about the progress you’ve made already. Are you still on eggshells all the time?”

I consider her question, and then shake my head. “Well, no. I’m still having crazy dreams, but I don’t wake up screaming anymore. And I feel comfortable planning my day. I take myself out for lunch sometimes, and I’m learning not to be anxious just because I’m leaving the house. That was a big thing with Timmy—every outing was scary because of how he might act. Now I just have to worry about how I act. And I’m usually pretty well-behaved.”

Alice laughs, and it’s a warm, reassuring sound. “That you are. See? This stuff takes time. There’s no timeline for grief—as cheesy as that sounds. Because that’s what this is. You’re grieving. You get to grieve. You get to be selfish for a bit. Take the class, listen to the podcast, watch the show.”

“Oh yes. I’ve been binge-watching everything he would have complained about me watching. And that is a massive list, I’ve barely made a dent.”

She grins. “See? That’s self-care. You get to watch what you want without feeling guilty. You get to listen to what you want, eat what you want, wear what you want. Be who you want. And he no longer gets a say in how you live your life.”

“Right?” I say, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “I guess I’m slowly starting to do those things without remembering how he would’ve made me feel for doing them. At first, that was all I could think about—how he’d react, even though he wasn’t here anymore. It was like he was controlling me from afar.”

“That’s because he was,” Alice says, her voice firm. “His claws were sunk deep into your psyche. That shit takes time to unravel, but you’re already doing it.”

I let out a long, deep sigh, the kind that feels like it’s expelling years of tension.

Alice is right. She’s always right. She’s been through this herself, and she’s come out better and stronger on the other side, yet still very much herself.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “I’ll never stop thanking you for being there for me through all this shit.”

“Anytime,” she replies, her smile soft and genuine. “Truly. I’m just so glad you got out.”

And for the first time in a long while, I feel glad too.

Maybe healing isn’t a destination, but a journey. Maybe I’m finally on my way.

And maybe Dex did some wrong things for the right reasons.

Perhaps he deserves a second chance after all.