Malice

I’m no good at being the sidekick. All my life, I’ve wanted attention and lots of it. And I do what I have to in order to get it. So when I introduced a friend to my social circle, and they all went gaga over her, it was kind of hard to deal with. I mean, here she was with the exact same problems that they’d all told me to get over a few months ago, and they were coddling her like she was the most precious thing in existence.
I tried, though. I really did. I let myself be relegated to supporting cast. I listened to their problems, comforted them and healed them, and watched as the instant they didn’t need me anymore, they forgot all about me, and went back to worshiping at the altar of their fickle goddess, who didn’t give them what I gave and yet held their adoration like no other. Those who had once sought me for solace, entertainment, or as someone with whom to sate their lusts while they waited for something meaningful to come along turned to her with love in their hearts. And I couldn’t even hate her for it. It wasn’t her fault, after all. She was just being herself, and outside the gatherings, the tales of her conquests, the sight of those vying for her attentions, we got along splendidly, sharing ideas and enthusiasms.
I tried not to bring it up, because every time I did I could see her guilt at something she could not control, and I came to feel the bad guy for it. And not just the villain, no I was quite fine at being the villain, but being the bad guy of the situation? That I could not stand. The more I tried to suppress it with her, however, the more it came out in the snarky comments, the vindictive jabs, the complaining to mutual friends and people who didn’t even know her.
Until I saw it. The way to fix all that had been going wrong. The way to make the situation into one at which I could apply my expertise. So I wasn’t the villain? I would make myself one. I badmouthed her. I played cruel tricks and toyed with her emotions. I tried to rally our friends against her, all the while making my efforts so very obvious. And it worked. Like a charm. No longer was I the sidekick. I was, clearly and incontestably, the villain of the show, once good but turned bad by the various pressures and little nothings, oh how sad. I had a decent backstory, a motive, and a first-rate understanding of the rules and workings of villainy. And I was great.
They still talk about me even today. The one who went bad. I am a legend there. The warning story they tell to newcomers. The fear that keeps them on their toes. What does it matter that I am alone? I won. That’s all that matters, really. I won.