NARCISSISM

Her Manipulative Games Never End

The petty interactions carry more meaning than they seem

Claire Franky
4 min readNov 24, 2023

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Photo by Giorgio Trovato on Unsplash

“Look how cute it is!”

I lifted my heavy eyes to look at her again. “Yes, it’s cute,” I huffed out.

It would be cuter if you went home.

She beamed at me with that twinkle in her eye. That twinkle that appeared when she knew her game was working — that she was getting to me.

I kept a blank expression while swallowing the bile that filled my throat. A common reaction my body had to her presence.

That and the strong urge to guzzle moonshine.

“Bip,” she said as she tapped me on the nose with the pink stuffed bunny she held in her hand.

“Now where shall we put it?” She asked without waiting for an answer.

“I’ll find somewhere for it,” I replied.

Like the flames of hell.

“Nope. This spot is perfect,” she said over me.

She waltzed across the nursery to the white, engraved crib.

“I just washed the sheets,” I stated, knowing she had just licked her fingers after eating.

Yuck.

She didn’t speak.

Looking over her shoulder, she kept her eyes locked on mine as she ran her hands across the crib sheet from bottom to top. She stopped when she reached the white stuffed bunny that I had bought and placed in my daughter’s crib earlier that day. Picking it up, she said, “I don’t like white. It’s so boring for babies.”

My fists clenched at my sides, willing myself not to throw a bookcase at her.

She held the white bunny to her chest, laid the pink bunny she had bought in its place, and strode across the room. Reaching the wooden dresser, she yanked open each drawer.

How normal to go through someone’s drawers. Do you want to sift through my purse too?

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice losing its composure.

“Just looking,” she snapped at me as though I had inconvenienced her.

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