Nemesis
This story, Nemesis, is about toxic friendships—those bonds that drag us down while masquerading as loyalty.
Not every story from my new book: “Words by Baye, Art by Miki” made it into the final cut. This one didn’t, but it’s one I’ve kept close. I did this whole chapter on friendship, with half a dozen stories, but wound up cutting it. Might save it for another book. This story, Nemesis, is about toxic friendships—those bonds that drag us down while masquerading as loyalty. It’s raw, real, and something many have experienced but rarely discuss. Let me know if it resonates with you…
Nemesis
Do you have a person somewhere in your life that brings out the absolute worst crap you have embedded irretrievably deep inside of you? (Irretrievable by you, that is, because this person seems to access it easily!) The one that can trigger you in no time because you regretfully shared your core being with them at a time when you believed them to be a kindred spirit of a positive and eternal nature? And now, armed as such, has become a nemesis of your own making?
Someone who reminds you that no matter what you do, what you achieve, they will always at least believe and quite possibly have something they can lord over you?
They know your Achilles heel. They're the overseer at the mine where your kryptonite resides; they keep some handy and, on occasion (occasions that you have been able to reduce to rare but have not been able to eliminate altogether), will whip it out and deliberately debilitate you so thoroughly you'd cry if you didn't know with absolute certainty that your tears would lubricate the drill he uses to dredge up the kryptonite he's weaponized against you?
Do you have such a person in your universe? Not necessarily in your family but they can be. They certainly FEEL like family. You expect that shit from family. YOU might very well be THAT person to someone else in your family.
Feel me?
And you know what the really eff'd up thing is? (and if you have one of these people orbiting the Vessel you call "self," you likely know this sad fact already): They can and usually will only show themselves in their full glory when you beckon them. They're like vampires that can't really cross your threshold without invitation.
And you?
You're that asshole in the story who says, "shit, I have holy water, blessed by the pope even, and I got a bunch of crucifixes. Plus, I keep a wooden stake in my back pocket, so why should I be scared? Sheeeeeeeet! They should be scared of me!"
You've convinced yourself that you're too strong to be taken down by this paragon of pettiness, this dark competitor armed with the tools to awaken your own dark passenger, an ugly little pettiness that dwells within you, that despite all the growth and "soul work" you've been putting in over the years, will reveal it to be at least partially a façade this person can see through like plastic.
Because they know you.
Well.
They know that part of what keeps you afloat is knowing you are better than them, that you're outshining them, and that somewhere, they are watching you achieve this and that, watching your success, and gnashing their teeth.
They know.
They also know that if they lay in wait patiently, you will inevitably call on them or take their call. And when you do they will take you down a peg or three by holding up a mirror they keep on their persons that unerringly reveals the other you, the minor you. The you you keep to yourself. The one you wish you could eliminate permanently but apparently (and obvious to your nemesis) is an essential part of what makes the major you "you"”
The you they see is a fake, a phony, a liar. They see the "real" you beneath your righteous veneer. They see that raging, clawing, barely intelligible Baye that will reveal itself to be hellbent on outdoing them with the right provocation.
Yeah...I'm talking about THAT guy.
Spoke to him yesterday and by the time I was done (which required my hanging up on him not once but twice) I went to the bathroom and violently upchucked for 10 minutes. Then took a bath for an hour. And still felt like shit. Like I'd done something I deservedly hate myself for doing.
When I finally get to bed, Miki looks at me, concerned. "Are you OK? I heard you yelling. Who were you talking to?"
"Nobody," I mutter, already feeling the weight of the conversation.
She doesn’t buy it.
“It was 'him,' right?"
I nod, the shame creeping back in.
Miki sighs, her voice soft but firm.
"You need to stop talking to him."
"You think?" I snap back, but she’s right.
"Why don’t you?" she asks.
"Easier said than done."
Her eyes soften. "I hate the way you look after. Your voice sounds different when you talk to him. It's like you become someone else. Someone I don’t know. And it scares me."
I stay quiet. I know she's right.
I promised myself it would never happen again.
But I lied. Kinda.
I mean, the truth is, I hope to one day stop letting the vampire in.
This is by no means new. I've felt this way after clashing with him before, drained and defeated, petty and pathetic, and I've always come back for more, always opened my door and let him in.
And always promised never again.
Like an alcoholic that over drinks and does regrettable shit and promises never again, only to hit the bottle again the first chance they get. A poison they can't imagine themselves never touching again, though that would unquestionably be to his/her benefit.
Somewhere, my nemesis is laughing at this, and the thought of that makes me wanna barf again.
You got one of those guys?
——-
If you found something familiar in this story, you'll find even more in the full book. Words by Baye, Art by Miki is packed with impactful moments—stories that don’t sugarcoat, but dig deep into the truth of life and love. It’s THAT good, and it’s waiting for you.
Pre-order your e-book now (paper version available from 12/16)
