NARCISSISM
Her Manipulative Games Never End
The petty interactions carry more meaning than they seem
“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.
