Friend Request Intercepted (Excerpt Drop 11)

It goes down in the last 3 drops’ (9,10, and 11-and I am giving sneak peeks into those last 3). So make sure you are caught up on the previous full drops 1 though 8!

“Friend Request Intercepted”


and then found:


…I knew then for sure they would be traveling with me wherever I would go with my laptop.

And with a file named “nastysex,” looking for documents I would begin or oversee any

changes I made would certainly not be too hard for them to find…

My laptop was working normal again.

I could get into my Word files like nothing ever happened (again).

I sent Denise an email to the email account that she and I was using. Just to keep my meanness up, in the email I told her that I was going to make good a joke we had laughed about over the telephone, (about how I should sleep with Janet’s ex). I made mention in the email that-that was going to be my mission in life. I wrote that in the email just too infuriate Janet because I knew she was either watching, or would soon get her copy of it too-which would let me know (for sure) if she had access to our Denise and my email account (like I pretty much knew she did). By my mentioning something like that, I knew she wouldn’t waste any time making her presence known and responding to it (the next time I came into the room).

That afternoon (even without my going into the room), I guess after she got a hold of the email because she blocked me from using my Word program (again).

Later that evening, I walked into the room and immediately, the nickname “Quest” rolled down (which served as confirmation that she “overheard” and read what I said in the email about “mission” in life). She didn’t say anything to me, nor did they make any other jokes or carry on any other conversation. Everybody was pretty much talking in their private I.M’s, trying to figure out what they were going to do next. So I just logged out.

She was so predictable, but then again, to her-so was I (but in a different way).

To my advantage; this cat and mouse game that she and I played made her reveal things that she had no business knowing (without having my phone, computers and email accounts bugged).

To her advantage, she knew that no matter how mean to her I was being; it was forced-because she knew that if she opened herself up wide enough and if she whined and cried enough; I would be caught right back up into her trap and all her trappings, like:

Sunday evening, November 7th I came into the room around 5 or 6. By 7 p.m., I had been so tired and nodding that I couldn’t even hold my head up or keep my eyes open.

Out of nowhere and thrown right into the script, the one who I’ve had my nastiest sex with slid down and said to [me] while purposely neglecting to call out my name: “I would hate to lose my girlfriend. She is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I hope you aren’t upset with me because I would hate it if you hated me or were upset with me…

“How clever of her to start in third person and conclude in first person” I thought to myself. Even still, she melted my heart. I felt like such a fool for how I couldn’t help myself when she would be this way. I was just not strong enough to turn her away once I let her back in (and she knew that). I felt so bad for all the mean and rotten things I said over the phone about her-and how I had even gone so far as to say I wish she would just die: “Poof! And be gone” were my choice of words.

The thing I loved about her was that no matter what I did or said [to hurt her], she always had this way about her that could squash it in order to start anew. She was very forgiving of me and would put up with my ways in ways that I wished I could put up with hers.

I’m not that brand of forgiving, because I feel that people need to have enough self-control (or tolerance) enough to feel what they feel without stepping directly over into your space and in your world with anything cryptic, or having expectations of anything more or less than a conversation being had (about whatever it is they are feeling).

To me, that’s a tell-tell sign that if they can’t or won’t do that, or wouldn’t (because they don’t know you well enough); that’s a queue (and what should be an answer) for themselves: They have no right to feel what they feel anyways, which too, means they lack tolerance (of other human beings who too, make this world go ‘round) and more importantly, have no self-control. And in my world, if you crypticly express actions beyond what communication [would definitely cure], then you deserve to be taught a hardcore unforgettable lesson about either your intolerance, or lack of self-control (simple as that). And until then; you can’t have my time, my attention, my respect, my friendship, my kindness, my affection, or my love.

Her “ways” deserved to be taught lessons-badly.

My ways required better and less harsh reactions (to her ways)-but she didn’t care, she just wanted what was beneath my harshness and anger. Because she knew that I loved her too, and she also knew that I was a good friend to her-no strings attached. She held on to like holding me by the collar as if I made her promises that she was going to see to it that I honor and keep.

She could anger me to lengths unimaginable, but could be sweet-twice over that. And when she would be this way, it would melt my heart probably because if the shoe were on the other foot, she would have never seen or heard from me again.

I would have been so far out of the picture that she would wonder if I really ever came. I admired that about her, because it was another quality of hers that I lacked, yet in her-it was natural. For her to be as cruel and possessive as she could be, she was also raw and vulnerable. For me, (for whatever reason), if I was forced to be cruel to you, you could never get my vulnerability. That confused the hell out of me-those two totally opposite extremes [of how she was as a person]. And what I was inthe middle of doing-to teach her the biggest lesson of her life (and quite possibly-her career), she seemed to care more about holding on to me and what we shared than she did that and those things.

I never knew anybody like that in my life. (And it could be very well because she knew she deserved everything I was doing to her). Either way, I’m not like that…that brand of forgiving is not my bag. Because even despite of who she is, what she has, and all this love for me she claimed to have; if I had no idea that she had all these ties to me (that I could not undo), she would have lost me a long time ago. Knowing that (and considering the fact that she really didn’t need me a long time ago-even before I found out this hookup she had to me), the simple fact of the matter was—after knowing me, she simply wanted me in her life.

And considering all that (although I know “love” to be different than her brand of “love”); if that was the strength of what “love” to be different than her brand of “love”); if that was the strength of what “love” is, then—I’ll accept her brand of “love,” because she loved the fuck out of me-I must admit that. As well, she was accepting of taking her lesson like a fucking champ. I was witnessing that, too. It didn’t go unnoticed. That was as brave as her risking loving little ole me. Not even a non-famous average, regular, or broke motherfucker knew how to love me like that. She was rich and famous and certainly did not need me. But she was smart-she knew my worth therefore, she valued me like I already knew of my own worth.

She appraised that. I appreciated that. And because she saw the diamond in the ruff in me-even through all our beautiful, good, bad, soft, hard, and rough terrains [from ‘99-2005]; by 2006 and into 2013, I chose to see past a lot of the things she did to me-and we got along so good and amicably. Because she learned her lesson-she had an even greater respect for me (and she knows I stab in the front). So in that regard, I learned to be forgiving in another kind of way after all.

She began serenading me a song off her very first album called “Love and My Best Friend.” That really made me smile (because she knew I loved that song so much). And I thought that was so sweet.

We keep each other’s secrets hid. Go on to talk for hours. Never tired of closeness, only friends can share. We cross our hearts hoping to die. If fate, should separate us. What we have won’t ever change. Nothing can compare to-Love. And my Best Friend. Nothing better can be found. To make the world go ‘round…

a song off her very first album called “Love and My Best Friend” was her first choice and that really made me smile (because she knew I loved that song so much).

Then she posted lyrics to something she wrote called “Crossroads” or “At the Crossroads of Love.” The lyrics said something about wanting to turn away right at a certain point but not wanting to cross/staying and finding it hard to leave (something to that effect).

She said the lyrics reminded her of me-us.

We did this for hours-serenading one another. I was so sleepy and tried so hard to stay awake. She begged me to stay on because we were having so much fun.

We kept apologizing to each other through lyrics, rhymes and riddles. She started posting other people’s song lyrics that reminded her of me:

“Sweetest Taboo,” and “No Ordinary Love” by Sade and “Weak” by SWV. She then told me she was in a Brain McKnight kind of mood as she sent down the lyrics to “Back at One.” I smiled so hard, but laughed at myself, thinking about what a sucker I was for this girl, especially when she was like this. I felt like a kid on Christmas Day.

I sent down the lyrics to “Still” by Lionel Ritchie, “When U Cry” by SWV and “Crazy Love” by Brian McKnight.

We were back to talking dirty again, and back in love. I was wide-awake by this time and was happy as hell. I mean, I was singing my ass off: “Have you ever had something…that you just couldn’t explain? Huh? It takes your mind. And twists it all around. And all you could think about. Is this one thing? Well this is her; and Beauty is her name…” I was a Sisqo one-woman show. And I mean…I was shaking my head; closing my eyes, and typing like a lovesick puppy. I was so happy again-boy was I ever happy. The next thing I know, the room slowly cleared out-one by one-while I was sitting there just’a singing my ass off. She too just disappeared.

It was only about two people in with me when I opened my eyes fully as they stretched wide open when I looked at what was now an empty room. I was sitting there looking like some romantic fool singing my heart out in my virtual world; typing and leaning my head back with my eyes halfway shut-opening them to nothingness-not a soul around. This kind of thing had never happened right in front of my face. They disappeared for almost an hour and I was sitting there baffled-looking like: “Hey, who turned out the lights?”

Janet came back first, angry and mean all over again: “So Cinamon, what’s up with you and your girlfriend?”

I responded: “Uh, I don’t know, I can tell almost nothing from what I’m seeing all of a sudden. I think I’m about to go to sleep as I should have hours ago especially seeing as though my high is now blown.”

“Goodnight Cinamon…” she said, as if she didn’t even care.

When she said that, and put ellipsis behind it, I knew something was wrong. One by one, everybody came back talking around something that had just happened-I of course, was completely in the dark (literally).

Nicknames like: “MissPROJanet,” “TattleTale,” and “bigmouth” dropped down as they stood around and asked me: “How does it feel to be a welcome matt?”

They talked to each other about what a shame it was [about what they had just found out]. They talked about how pissed Janet was, as she had to stop what she was doing to catch the next flight to Chicago to “beat a court date.” Basically, they stood around talking about what a traitor I was and how could I be so “all about Janet,” and claim to love her and do what I had “just did.” I was so confused because they-Janet included-had the manuscript, and had known everything I had done thus far-none of which had anything to do with anything legal.

So for the life of me, I couldn’t understand what else different could have happened, and I definitely couldn’t understand what could have happened to force her to get on a plane to Chicago to “beat a court date.” Alls I knew is that whatever it was, it was damned serious and immediate, because nothing like this had ever happened.

I just sat there and listened to her employees gang up on me-feeling victorious, because whatever had happened, was just what they felt they needed for the big, “I told you so” that I never wanted them to be able to rub in Janet’s face. I was devastated because she was too, like never before.

I was so hurt and shaken, as if this woman and these very same people had never done anything to me.

As if it wasn’t because of Janet and them that my sleep is broken 5 and six times a night.

As if it wasn’t because of them that when I doze off to sleep, my body jerks as if I am falling off of something high up-constantly awakening me.

As if it wasn’t because of them that I lost any patience to do any of the things I used to do.

As if it wasn’t because of them that by the time she got through with me, I was down to a 1.40 GPA in college from a 3.3, and as a result; on academic probation-having to write appeal letters in order to keep my financial aid rolling in-the only thing that helped pay the bills in my household that since because of them I had to quit my part time job in order to remain stress free and to have all my time to myself to write a book to free myself from all of them.

As if it wasn’t because of her, my concentration is so terrible that I had to sit out of college (with only 26 more credit hours to complete) because I couldn’t even study and think straight.

As if it wasn’t because of her that my patience is short, I’m damned near ready to diagnose myself with some kind of anxiety disorder that I didn’t even have before her. My life ad a special kind of peace and contentment-moving at a pace that was progressively fine for me.

As if I’m not in a habit of thinking about any business I need to take care of that I may not want her to “overhear” that whenever I see a telephone at a restaurant or store, it feels like a fucking delicacy-like I’m some primitive life form excited to see some useful foreign object.

As if it wasn’t because of them that I’m set 1 to 4 months behind on certain bills for trying to combat her million-dollar ass from being forced to tell the world my story about all that I had been through with her only-necessary to free myself from her.

As if I enjoy paying $2.50 an hour to use computers over at the café [when I already got not one-but two computers of my very own] that I can’t use in peace and private-because of them.

As if it wasn’t because of them that I’m eating like a cow and sleeping like a bear all my days through like never before; and crying in spurts just out of the blue ‘til I can hardly breathe or see.

As if the stress and tension headaches I’ve had every other fucking day weren’t because of her; fucking up my spiritual, mental, personal, environmental, emotional, financial, spatial, educational, physical and eventually-my menstrual flow.

As if it wasn’t because of all of them, I lost the #1 luxury that other writers have: creating fiction characters and surprising the world with stories that may or may not be true.

As if I hadn’t always felt like her invading my privacy was such a shame considering how hard she and her family had always fought to save their very own. And how Michael was just in the news last week, trying to fight for his own privacy (once again) all the while, his baby sister was taking from mine at the same damn time. To hell with some stolen pictures, what he had stolen from him had nothing on what his baby sister was doing: stealing and taking from me…

Even with all that, I still couldn’t help but feel bad because I couldn’t imagine what could have just happened so late in the evening. All I could imagine was how she was already in the middle of working on her movie she was filming at the time and how I probably disrupted her flow, and they probably had to postpone her parts until she could return.

I felt so bad, that I was sitting there crying my heart out-imagining how she too, was crying hers out; hurt and upset that we were just serenading one another and proclaiming our love for each other and now this.

I felt so bad that I just sat there and let them throw darts at me and beat upside my head about how terrible it was that I hurt her that way. I was so desperate and wanted to know what happened that I didn’t even fight back this time. I just sat there like I deserved it and watched until I couldn’t listen any more.

I got off the phone to call Dana; she wasn’t there.

I called Denise in New York; she wasn’t there.

I called Shauntay-waking her up from lying next to her small child and husband.

As usual, she listened while I burst into tears because I couldn’t control myself or pull myself together.

I tried to explain while she tried her best to listen through my mumbling and crying.

She of course didn’t care about anything Janet was going through. The only thing she cared about reiterating was that it was exactly the fault of Janet’s, and whatever it was she was going through-she deserved it. Her other opinion was that they were probably trying to use reverse psychology on me, but whatever the problem was; she felt strong in her opinion that Janet deserved anything that was coming to her. I quickly got her off the phone when Denise clicked in and too, told her about what just happened. She mentioned (too) how much Janet deserved it, and how I had better not forget all that she had taken me through: “ No better for their asses!” she yelled repeatedly, until I fell asleep in her ear.

The next morning, I checked my Hotmail account and she had an email in there that she must’ve written at the moment she was tapped on the shoulder during our serenading session. It simply read:

Date: Sun, 07 November 21:56:29 EST


Subject: WTF?!?

WTF?!?!?!?!?!?!? >:(

…“WTF” in cyber world means “what the fuck,” and the >:( if you turn your head to the left, is a cyber-emotion of a frown at the brows, eyes, and pouted lips. She wrote nothing more or nothing less, so I knew then that there were no reverse psychology games being played and that something really did happen. I felt even worse. I couldn’t stop thinking about her and how many tears she was crying through the night. Although I was a day late, I replied to the email:

“I don’t know. I really don’t know-seriously. I gave all the abc’s and 123’s and I am clueless-I swear. I just don’t know. I guess right about now, it is almost useless trying to talk to you. I just don’t know. I really don’t know…”

Monday, November 8th, I entered the room and someone said: “Hello Cinamon.”

The nickname that the person hid behind was unfamiliar to me, but: “Hello Cinamon” was typically Janet-speak.

“Hello,” I responded. A couple other people just said “hi.”

“How are you?” asked [her?]. Then one of her other buddies reprimanded her by saying: “Stop it, you aint slick. Save it for OPRAH will you?” I guess that was Janet’s [and the others who spoke to me]’s queue not to talk to me.

The first someone started to debate back and forth with the person that came in reprimanding.

I just sat there and watched. Everybody stared at me like I had a bad case of the plague. Nobody joked, nobody insulted me, and nobody joked with each other. They all just sat there wanting me out of the room but wouldn’t say anything-so I walked out.

I figured that I shouldn’t even go back again, because I didn’t know what to do or what to say. I still did not know what happened. I couldn’t help but feel bad because this was one time I knew something really big had happened that shook Janet up well past a jolt, and I still didn’t know what that thing was.

By Tuesday November 9th, as bad as I wanted to, I made it through the whole day without going back although I didn’t know if now, even more than before, I could trust her after this incident. I was sure that even if not when they got a hold of the manuscript, this time-she had those people in her corner advising her against me. This time, what I feared after she had gone to her big meeting last time (about the manuscript), was actually happening this time. I felt like it was useless trying to talk to her. This was it-but I tried anyways.

I showed up in the room just to let her know that I was available to talk to her if she wanted me to. Familiarity does breed contempt. The more I would check in and lurk, the more her buddies felt more comfortable dropping down their many nicknames, jokes, rhymes and riddles to, at, or about me, family, friends-blah-(the usual).

Chris was first to start in with his shit. But before he began, they sent someone down to ask me where I was from (as if they didn’t know). Since I knew they were playing games, I gave them the ignoring treatment because they seemed so eager to get me to post where I was from (for some odd reason). It was almost like that was all they needed me to post in order to be able to manipulate and wiggle their way out of this madness that they created.

Next, Chris created something to say to me so that he could use my chat room nickname (as used on my bio page for her room) and as well, my real first and last name (in caps).

He said to me: “Alright Cinamon Brown/ANGELA SHERICE. Poof! Be gone!”

…trying to kill me softly with my own words that they “overheard” me say just the other day over the telephone after our big fight [about how I wished Janet would just die and “Poof be gone”].

Meanwhile, Janet logged into our I.M. (I was shocked because she hadn’t come in, in such a while).

She said to me: “Ignore him, he’s subliminal.”

“Subliminal? You mean, he’s irrelevant?” is what I normally would have said to her, but I was not in that kind of playful mood by this time and I was sure she wasn’t either. We had bigger fat fish to fry, so instead-I asked her: “Is that it?”

“Um yeah,” she responded.

Then she said: “I’ll TTYL,” was all she said.

“Alright then,” I responded.

We got quiet. I spoke up first: “Is there something you wanna say,” I asked.

“I miss you………” she said to me-like she was being held hostage by that satanic cult she spoke of on that July 10th day. Her use of the long ellipsis was her way of saying “I missssssssssssssssssssssssssssss youuuuuuuuu.”-expressed with as much yearning, emotion, and seriousness that she could convey in words.

Because her buddies had started in on me and she still hadn’t given me any clues as to what happened the other night (and the hell was going on at this very moment), I simply responded: “Oh. I miss you too. Is there something else?” I rejected her sentiment and neglected to reply sentimentally, so she either:

1) got defensive


2) she really was being forced to participate in all this mess by that “satanic cult” she spoke of…because she replied to my rejecting her sentiment by saying:

“You keep strivin.”

Regardless whichever reason, I replied: “I sure will,” I assured her.

“You keep strivin,” she reiterated, again. (In my eyes, #1 won. I took that as a challenge rather than the encouragement as a result of #2).

I logged out of our I.M and proceeded to watch them all clown around in the room.

One of them

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Author: OSFMagWriter

Spitfire . Media Maestro . Writing Rhinoceros .