67. Stay Away From Me And I’ll Stay Away From You
CHAPTER 67
STAY AWAY FROM ME AND I’LL STAY AWAY FROM YOU
MARGAUX
I can’t wait until I’m single.
Out of this cage.
I’m a lovely person with a brain. Or at least I was.
I’m not lovely anymore. Or smart.
Now I’m just a shell.
Because I was locked up for domestic violence, there’s an automatic seventy-two hour stay-away order in place from the time I’m released from jail.
Meaning I can’t return to my own apartment or check on Sabre.
I do have the opportunity to arrange a police escort to pick up essential items, including medications and clothing, as well as my cat. But that requires Timmy to be present, or I’m not legally allowed to enter the premises.
I call for a police escort, and when the officer and I get there, Timmy’s not home, and the truck is gone.
“Sorry, we can’t let you in until he’s here,” they say.
“What about the truck?” I ask. “It’s my truck, in my name, and he’s taken it. And he has no license.”
“That’s okay, actually,” the cop shrugs. “We can’t do anything about that, because you’ve let him in the truck before.”
What the fuck?
“So, if you let someone in your vehicle, they can just… steal it sometime later? And you can’t report it stolen?”
“Pretty much,” he replies, nodding.
I sigh.
I’m literally in the worst place in the entire Cay, wearing only a sports bra and short shorts.
I don’t even have shoes.
I haven’t showered, my phone is dying, and I don’t have access to my wallet.
And now I don’t even have my vehicle for shelter and safety.
“What am I supposed to do?” I ask, desperate to know Sabre is safe and to make sure I am as well.
“You’ll just have to wait until he’s back,” the officer shrugs. “Anyway, we have to go so we can respond to something else. But just call us back when you need an escort and we’ll send someone out.”
As I think about how the rest of the day might play out, a chill runs through me.
What if it gets dark and Timmy’s still not back?
What if my phone dies?
I’m in an area surrounded by people doing hard drugs and committing violent crimes.
This situation could actually become even more disastrous than it already is.
I fill Alice in:
Alice:
This country is wild. They allowed a man with an active warrant to get you locked up and they didn’t take him in. Wild.
Press. Charges. Otherwise he’ll either kill you or take all your shit and leave you with nothing.
He’s proven that.
Me:
What can I press charges for, though?
Alice:
The many times he’s physically assaulted you.
Me:
This is all so insane.
Alice:
You say the doctor found a skull fracture.
Use that as evidence.
Me:
I guess I could retrospectively, but he’s been telling people I scratched him and showed them scratches, so he’ll try to paint me as the abuser.
Alice:
If he touches you again, call the police immediately.
Me:
Obviously yes. No question there.
Alice:
It’s why I told you to call it in earlier. He was just waiting for a chance to get ahead of the narrative.
You kept letting it go, because you were scared he'd get arrested.
A wild fear since he SHOULD be arrested.
Me:
Yeah.
Alice:
But then you let it go. And let it go. And let it go.
And now, he’s using it to his advantage.
So now you're stuck.
This is why it's important to establish the narrative earlier.
Go through texts. Look for photos and text evidence of abuse.
Because he’s had almost 24 hours to start the story and start writing.
At this point, you probably need a lawyer and can’t do it on your own, unfortunately. You’ve officially been taken in, and a case and story are being built.
Find one immediately.
Me:
Yeah, I will. Although the cop told me I likely won’t be convicted for this.
Alice:
You probably won’t be, but it’s still happening and is going to complicate things.
I’m sorry it’s happening, I really am. But I’m worried for you.
And these situations don’t like… get better with age.
My phone rings.
It’s Timmy.
I don’t answer, because that would be illegal.
Me:
He just tried to call me. Which is a trap, because I’m not allowed to communicate with him.
Alice:
Correct.
Don’t fall for it.
Me:
Ugh. If I had the truck, I could charge my phone.
If I had my ID, I could book a hotel.
Yet, because of Timmy, I have neither.
The sun feels relentless as I sit by the security shack pondering my options, my phone barely clinging to its last bar of battery life. The weight of everything that has happened presses down on me like the heat—the arrest, the stay-away order, the sheer audacity of Timmy taking the truck that I’m legally responsible for, and now being stuck here without shoes, identification, or any semblance of stability.
I lean against the wall, watching the bustling activity of the complex—the occasional car pulling in, tenants coming and going. The security guard eyes me with what I hope is sympathy, but I’m not counting on it.
Dennis, one of Timmy’s coworkers, arrives and chats away with the guard. I recognize him from the times Timmy insisted on dragging me to his job site—one of those guys who always seemed to have a joke or a laugh but never seemed too bothered by the seriousness of anything. Today, though, I’m grateful for his presence.
“Excuse me, Dennis, right?” I ask, stepping closer to him. He turns, his face twisting in mild confusion.
“Yeah?” he says.
“Hi,” I say, trying to keep my tone steady. “I’m Timmy’s fiancée. I’m in a bit of a bind, and really need to get in touch with him. Could you help me out?”
Dennis raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting this. “Uh, yeah. I guess. What’s going on?”
“I need to grab some things from the apartment,” I explain. “But I can’t legally go in there without him present because of the… situation. And he took the truck, so I’m stuck without anything.”
He nods. “Yeah, he said he had a meeting in town, so he’s not working today.”
I think about it, and realize he did mention having to go to some kind of food stamp eligibility course. Something where you go through the motions of pretending to be on the job hunt so that the government will keep giving you money.
“Could you maybe give him a call and find out when he’ll be back?” I ask.
Dennis pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Sure, hang on.”
He dials, and I watch as he has a brief conversation with Timmy, his face giving nothing away.
When he hangs up, he looks at me and says, “He says he’s on his way back now. Shouldn’t be too long.”
Relief washes over me, though it’s tempered by exhaustion. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” I glance at the security guard. “Would you mind calling me when you see the truck pull in?”
She nods. “I’ll keep an eye out for it.”