Fake

It’s the perverse, dark satisfaction you feel when you see right through someone’s act – it’s a evil, delicious knowledge, of just knowing that you know this person is acting, and hamming it up. If you could, you’d watch the reactions of those around, to see if anyone is fooled, to nod knowingly at the other people who perceive the fakery. But you can’t, because you can’t look away from the slow motion train wreck you can see unfolding. And you know when the moment comes you’ll laugh and you’ll sigh and say “i told you so,” and then you’ll cackle evilly. Because you’re human, and humans carry grudges, and it’s marvellous to see the begruged spiral themselves out of control.

You want to say more, but can’t without saying too much. Suffice to say, there’s a cynical smirk on your face.