The Pursuit of Success, from a Supposed Narcissist

"You aren't a very nice person."

Jessica twiddled her thumbs, fidgeting. "And, well.."

"Please get to the point." I blinked. If it were anyone else, the please would've long ago been discarded. But it was Jess, and formalities had to be maintained. "What are you trying to say?"

After all, that was what childhood friends did.

"I don't like you," Jessica confessed. "And I haven't been liking you very much for a long time. I don't know whether it's your arrogance, unbridled narcissism, or overall obssession with success, but I don't feel like you're a very healthy person for me."

Healthy? I blinked again. Once. Twice.

Unbridled narcissism?

Arrogance?

It was a bad habit of mine, but I tended to bristle at the slightest criticism. Of course, Jess also tended to manuveur the criticism so it sounded nice and well-intended, but that didn't mean I liked it.

Twenty years.

"So..." I said slowly, tapping my fingers on the side of my coffee mug. The coffee shop grew smaller. It was a good trait of mine, my levelheadness. Or so I've been told. "Would you like to cut off this relationship and be on good terms, or would you like to part as strangers?"

We've been friends for twenty years.

Jess bit her lip, avoiding my gaze. Her non-confrontational personality contrasted with my stubborn own. "I'd like to stop this friendship. It's not very healthy for me, and-"

I raised a hand, causing Jess to flinch. "Stop."

I frowned, pausing. "If you flinch, people might think I'm hitting you. And we both know it's the complete opposite."

I almost let my sarcasm seep into my tone.

We had been more than friends. Best friends. One step shy from lovers, if you thought about it.

I've been told I'm a very bitter person. Oh, and petty. That, too.

"No need to explain. If you're cutting me off, then cut me off. You don't need to prattle on."

I sounded completely normal, as if I wasn't cutting off the only figure closest to a friend in the destructive patchwork that was my life.

Snip, snip.

Don't ramble.

"Alright, then." Jess finally met my eyes. "You know, Lin, you're a-"

"I told you, no need to tell me what I am." I smiled. "I already know. Well then, I'll be off."

Setting my coffee down, I left the café in a swift, decisive motion. As I opened the door, I heard Jess' mutter, "I was going to say important."

I didn't look back.

I couldn't afford to.

-

I didn't like showing weakness.

Jess had been correct in stating the fact that I wasn't a very nice person.

If possible, I would never show weakness. It would betray the indestructible persona I had compiled in others' minds, as well as my own. And this led me in doing some not-so-very-nice things, like cutting off friendships.

But if I cut things off, I would never look to repair them.

That was just the way I operated.

If I was right, I would be right.

And perhaps, yes, I enjoyed lording it over various snobs on various snobby occasions.

But if I were wrong, I would think about it for the rest of my life until I forgot about it. But they would always come back. My mistakes.

Almost like they haunted me.

That time I accidentally wore the wrong shoes? The time I acted standoffish and showed the correct person a wrong answer? Even the time I tattled and lost twelve friends in the span of half a year in eight grade?

All engrained in my brain.

When I returned to my apartment on 21 Erland Street, I collapsed. Almost immediately.

Collapses, whether due to exhaustion or stress, were a very real thing in my life. They were usually followed by an ear-splitting headache which would then be followed by extreme nausea. At worst, I would collapse for around half an hour, at best fifteen minutes.

Blackouts.

I trusted the wrong person.

Aileen Crawford, you trusted the wrong person.

Blackouts were then occupied by vivid dreams. Or nightmares. It would always be the same: star-spangled lights flashing in paradise-like environments, creating a sense of safety and security. And then a harsh jolt.

When the jolts returned, I opened my eyes.

I thought you didn't mind that I wasn't a very nice person.

Rather than moping around and fishing for compliments by bringing myself down, I tended to express myself in overconfident jokes that would be met with skepticism.

Perhaps I did believe that, in some ways, I was better.

In some ways, I really was superior, if you thought about it.

But Jess had been different.

I told you about my thoughts. You said it was alright.

You said that you would be there for me either way.

Liar.

-

Success screws people over.

This was a fact.

But I craved it.

The billionaires, millionaires that you see in magazines? I wanted to be one of them. A tycoon. A money machine that would own thousands of dollars in assets.

Perhaps this stems from the fact that I came from a wealthy family, but I loved it. A childish desire, from a childish person.

I wanted to be rich.

It hadn't always been that way. When I was young, I had dreamed of getting into Yale and Harvard and being an architect. But when I discovered that being one meant having to deal with numbers, the appeal faded away.

I was a smart kid.

I could play the piano, although not well. I was a good artist, although not good enough to be considered a prodigy. But the one thing that set me above the rest was my accomplishment in the language arts.

Of course, with my sky-high ambitions, that didn't cut it.

Success.

Grandma, when I grow up, I'll buy you a skyscraper.

Mom, I'll be a millionaire when I grow up, so watch me.

Dad, I'll make you proud and take over the company.

Nothing could cut it for me.

So I delved into my studies, hoping, praying, that if I did have a taste of the bitter drug, that it wouldn't be temporary, and that my pursuit of it wouldn't screw me in the end.

Jess wasn't the only loss.

Soon, I grew estranged from my former classmates, and distant relatives. But, ten years later, I made it big.

-

"Ms. Crawford, Ms. Crawford!"

Reporters swarmed.

"What do you feel about..?"

"How did Lin Enterprises make it this big?”

As I seated myself on the large press table chair, I waited for a chosen reporter to ask a question. It was an expected one, of course.

"How does success feel?” she asked, eyes wide.

I smirked into the microphone, chuckling.

“Honestly speaking?" I asked after a pause.

An enthusiastic nod from the reporter.

I sighed, smiling.

"It feels great."