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Hold her? Even when we were involved, not once did I hold her. But I squash down that response. By tonight’s short evaluation, I’ve diagnosed Juliet as being a vulnerable narcissist with a borderline personality disorder. I still believe she has a deep-seated sense of shame that emerged during early childhood. Could it be she secretly feels guilty for what she saw? Or was her mother’s passing the one event that totally fucked her up?
In her own way, Juliet has a fragile self-esteem. The fact I haven’t succumbed to her spell has left her feeling disempowered. She also feels inadequate. When I walk out that door, she’ll be preoccupied with fears of rejection and abandonment because her charm no longer works. She can no longer control those she wants with the lure of her golden cooch. And to a narcissist, that is their worst fear.
She actuallycareswhat Dylan and I think of her. That’s what distinguishes her from being a total sociopath.
The problem is, now that I know what’s “wrong” with her, what do I plan on doing with that information? I could really crush her, but do I want to? By playing this game with her, I’m lowering myself to her level. I’m totally manipulating someone who could use my help. I suddenly feel like I’m kicking a defenseless puppy.
But when I think about Madison and how Juliet could have saved her, my emotions overthrow my conscience, and I know what has to be done. I must remind myself that a narcissist is always playing to win. And bynotplaying, but rather by playing her back, is how I win.
“Maybe next time,” I reply without emotion.
I need to leave her wanting and craving more because she’s too damn proud to beg. She replies as I know she would. “Okay.”
I stroll toward the door, going over my Psychology 101. Compliments are like food to starving narcissists. “By the way,” I say over my shoulder, “I’m still as intrigued by you as I was the day I met you.” This is true. But just not in the way she thinks I mean it.
Her cheeks flush, and she appears sated…for now.
She doesn’t reply and allows me to leave. I’ve stoked her self-importance. Therefore, she thinks she’s won. But she has no idea who she’s playing against.
She never did.
One month later
“Now remember what I told you?”
“Yes.”
“Say it out loud.” I adjust the volume on my Bluetooth to ensure I hear her properly.
“You’ll be gone for ten days, and you will be unreachable because you’ll be stuck in meetings all day.”
“Good girl.”
This past month has been trying, but in the words of a great woman, Maya Angelou, “All great achievements require time.” And there is no greater achievement than seeing Juliet become putty in my hands.
I’ve molded and manipulated her into whom and what I want her to be, and that person is somehow keeping Dylan away from Madison. She’s also no longer threatening to tell Madison about us because she’s under the pretense that she’s in control.
To achieve this power over her, I’ve had to continue lying to Maddy and see Juliet behind her back. Yes, I feel guilty, but that guilt has slowly been replaced with victory. I’ve finally won the game Juliet was so sure she’d win.
I haven’t done anything too deplorable, and not once have I touched her to get what I want. I have encouraged her to touch herself, but only when I’m gone, as I’m not interested in seeing that sight ever again.
From the time spent with Juliet, I have discovered that her addiction stems back to one person: Dylan Roberts. She is completely and totally infatuated with him, and has been since the day they met. Too bad his obsession lies with someone other than her. Juliet knows who that person is, and it haunts her every day. Because of that, she despises Madison. She always has. Madison has what Juliet wants—Dylan’s unconditional love.
It’s safe to assume that I was right, and she saw Dylan’s act of violence as an act of love. She didn’t tell anyone about what she saw because she was jealous, so from that day forward, she used sex to reel Dylan in. When that didn’t work because she still didn’t have Dylan’s complete affection, she used sex to control other men and women because the one person she wanted didn’t want her back. And like a complete and utter moron, I fell into her trap.
But not anymore.
She’s now filled with self-doubt over everything, self-doubt I planted.
Clearing my throat and squashing down my feelings of shame, I say, “Okay, I’m just heading to the airport now. I better run.”
“I wish I could come too. I’ve always wanted to go to Switzerland.”
I indicate to make a right-hand turn. “Maybe next time. Do you have anything planned for this evening?”
Her unimpressed sigh answers my question. “No. Dylan has to work late.”
“Check your emails,” I command, zipping in and out of traffic because I’m running late.
