Everyone talks about this feeling where you're invisible in plain sight. How about when you're there, and they all know you are, but you are mute? Mute because you can't say a word without having rude remarks shot at you. You can't you hold a conversation because she has no fear of you; she dominates and she always will.
You have no power because of her. She has the power; but why? She makes you feel insignificant; a bystander of your own life. But she hides behind her own innocent façade that you wish with all your might would shatter; piercing her skin so we all could see the black blood ooze from her veins.
You know that there must be a reason that she's like this – no one could be naturally like this. You try to feel sorry for her; you tell yourself it will all cave in on her someday, but her wall holds strong, while you feel your picket fence rot into nothing. It becomes difficult to keep a straight face by her; inside you feel yourself wanting to explode, but you hold onto it; bide your time. You lock each thought into a box; saving it for a time when she relents. But slowly these memories begin to decay, like your will power. You start to forget why you ever felt this way. She drifts out of your life, and you're caught.
That conscience of yours weighs you down. In a way; you miss the effortless talk, the things you shared only with her. Through it all, you've forgotten what she put you through. All those petty spats; those misunderstood words; those bitchy, self-righteous remarks. To her, it must all seem like nothing. She has the power, her life goes on. You forget her black heart and gradually begin to forgive; and forgive; and forget. Meanwhile, her icy heart hasn't forgotten. And it won't; because there is no part of her with a conscience. With empathy. And perhaps, not even an imagination.
You vow never to be like her; but power is an amazing thing. It changes you. Not everyone deserves it – people abuse it. So do you. You jump at the opportunity; but you swear to yourself it will only be once. Then twice. Then thrice. It gives you such a rush; nothing matters anymore because you have power. You can't sleep, you can't eat. You think it's the adrenaline, but really it's your conscience banging at the door of the cell you've locked it in.
It feels like a heart attack; your feelings start rushing out. You realise that you're wrong. You've been wrong from the start. She has power, because you give her power. You bow down by her feet and beg her to let you kiss them. It's pride and stubbornness that keeps you down there; maybe even fear. You know that if you stand back up, you will have to look her in the eye. You feel like she's God and you've fallen from Grace. The other angels; once your friends look down on you. It's her influence; you don't know what to do.
You try to stand up; but avert your eyes. You're still not there yet. One day, maybe. But for now, you'll just have to hobble pathetically. You will get there. And it truthfully won't matter what everyone thinks of you when you do. You'll be free of her curse. Her eternal plague will no longer follow you through your life. I think I'm ready.