I checked Hell Mail. No response (obviously). The calls ceased.
Still, I never went back to the room. Sure, I knew that if I went back to her room, I would know for certain that she read them, because Janet and her buddies had a knack for making up words as nicknames. They did that, or indirectly interjected words about things said or done in the middle of impromptu meaningless conversation [but for the sole purpose of saying what they wanted to say in ways that the only person to whom it concerned would understand it-and who too, was on the inside of the joke or conversation]. That was pretty much how we played this game-it protected everybody.
My curiosity and confirmation needed that she indeed intercepted and read all of my self-to-self emails (meant for her to read) wasn’t strong enough for me to want to wrestle with she and her friends in her world again.
Re-entering after all this time (especially in the middle of what she and Rene were publicly going through + considering all that she was covertly doing to me)—my being there this time around would be much bigger than confirmation of intercepting mere emails having being read of me talking tough to somebody with more power, money, and control than me. At this point, I was sure that her attraction, lust, and “insatiable appetite” she once had for pretty lil’ me was just another one of her many flings and a tale of a few months past called: “The Pretty Girl from the Concert Who I Almost Got And Three Months Later, Showed Up in my Private World And I Got Private With-But So Did My Man-So Now I’d Rather Kill Her Instead.” I didn’t think it was necessary to go back there. I would rather roll with the notion that I now knew she was indeed intercepting and reading all I had to say about this mess, just about as much as I felt she rolled with the notion that I may have played some part in Rene’s “skirt chasing” ways yet, here she was getting at, and interested in me. I felt it best to just leave us both at that.
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