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CHAPTER FIVE ( even the iron still fears the rot )
☆ content warning ☆ details of past child abuse, violence, victim blaming
CAN NARCISSISTS FEEL LOVE?
Natalie remembered asking an unassuming Spencer the question not long ago. She remembered the way he thought about it for a second, the little wrinkle between his brows making itself known.
Yes, he'd replied, although there was hesitation in his tone. But it's typically superficial.
Natalie remembered her confusion, next. If love can exist in such small and meaningless quantities, can it even be called love at all?
Spencer had smiled, ever so slightly, but he didn't answer the question, and she assumed it was because he didn't know the answer.
A distinct lack of empathy renders narcissists unable to develop meaningful relationships, he'd continued, but, if by chance they view the subject of their love as an extension of themselves, it's possible for it to be real.
Natalie hoped he was right.
James Blair had always talked about seeing himself in his daughter. Even as he placed a purple ring around her eye, he reminded her of their likeness.
She was an extension of him.
They'd been born with the same black hair, the same high cheekbones, the same deep-set eyes.
Natalie grew to hate the resemblance the longer she stared at it in the mirror. But even after putting gallons of bleach in her hair, the dark, creature-like shadow of her father continued to show itself in her reflection.
For the briefest moment after she opened the door, she could have swornshe saw herself standing in the center of her apartment.
"You're home late."
As if he'd pulled a trigger, she felt the familiar blood return to her upper lip. Quickly wiping it away with the back of her hand, Natalie sniffled.
"I didn't know you were... visiting."
(Was that was it was? Visiting? Or was it ambushing, or breaking and entering into a federal agent's home?)
