The empowerment.

She is looking at me again.

I pretend to be oblivious to her staring.

I know what she wants.  Her desire makes me automatically reject her.

The longer I ignore her, the greater the impact. 

She will ask eventually....I anticipate it with a ballooning ego. 

In fact, I kind of want her to ask, in a smug kind of a way.  It gives me power.

I only know this power when I am with her. 

I am learning I have control over this power more and more.   

I taunt her by playing with my hair....wait for it, wait for it.... ‘Can I play with your hair?’


Without.  Any.  Hesitation. 

Hell, I don’t even look up at her.  Just, ‘No.’

My voice echoes in my head, ‘No. No. No. No. No. No. No.’

The look on her face causes my triumph to crumble.  My power weakens.

She quietly accepts my answer.  Head down. 

Sometimes she would beg.  Then I would get mad. 

I never apologized.

Not once.


I do not remember being taught to be her idol.  It was instilled regardless.

She learned it too. 

God, I hated that.

Her acceptance of the lesson took away all of my power and left me feeling guilty and defensive.

Suddenly... my hair, my height, my features, my intelligence, my strength, my health and my sense of humor were gifts that I was personally responsible for receiving. 

As if I created myself.

Her admiration and compliments landed sour or so she thought.

I remember the internal conflict.  I believed my need to be complimented was a weakness. 

I could not appear weak. 

To protect myself, I criticised her for even trying to compliment me. I had to reject her words in order to disguise my insecurities. 

I was empowered by manipulating her. 

I never said ‘thank you’.  Not once. 



I could out run, out dance, out do her at everything. 

I was taught to know this. 

I was expected to do things she was never asked to do.

I was expected to help with everything, know how to do everything and be the leader if the two of us were alone. 

It was subtle, or at least, well done, but, it was clear.

I was smarter and more able because I was not her.



‘Get up! God!  Get up!’   I am so embarrassed. 

‘Shit! You almost got hit by a car!’  Ugh.

 I walk away fast and furious only glancing back long enough to give her the stink eye. 

Why does she always fall down?  Why can’t she just stop doing that?

I just want to leave her there and keep walking.  Knowing I have to help her infuriates me.

I see the look on her face.

That face....the one that says, ‘It’s all good’. 

Her face hides any anger or sadness she may be feeling due to the pain and/or the humiliation I am forcing upon her. 

I know I am being a bitch.  I know I am being unkind.  I know she can’t help it.

I never let her know that.

Not once.


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