A To Z Reflections 2019 #atozchallenge

Congratulations to all those who completed the A to Z Challenge!

It was my fourth kick at this challenge and though I changed course part way, I sort of finished.

Sort of finished…

I fell to my “back-up” plan and posted old songs I haven’t heard in years according to the alphabet.

But I’m still going to give my four reflections on my A to Z Challenge experience today like other participants.

Reflection #1: NO more continuous fiction stories. The ones I wrote before worked out since I only had one character. I can’t post any old words just to keep up with a challenge – quality over quantity. But I will be continuing the story off-blog for my email subscribers during summer time;

Reflection #2: “One” word or shorter titles like What Sandra Thinks and The Dream Girl Writes are the way to go for these challenges. I truly enjoyed the lightness, flexibility and variety of their posts;

Reflection #3: If my posts are not prescheduled ahead of time, I’m not participating. I have yet to spend April reading other’s posts and not writing against the calendar;

Reflection #4: April is NOT a good writing month for me. Work deadlines, tax filing month and putting sweat into A to Z posts that are unrelated to my (many) unfinished projects is not a good leverage of my writing time.

Conclusion: I think it’s safe to say that 2019 might have been my last participation A to Z Challenge. But if you’ve never done it, I would strongly encourage you to.

If you didn’t participate but are curious to read the wonderful blogs of those who did, click here.

I’ll be using this as part of my summer reading list!


M xoxo


G is for “Got To Be Real” #atozchallenge

Got To Be Real


I know it’s wrong of me to laugh but I can’t help myself.

This is absolutely fucking ridiculous! What in the hell is Bobby thinking hiring this Jessica chick?

From the way Jessica is slurring her words, it’s obvious that she’s sloppy drunk. Why would I want someone who is fucking unstable as a publicist to help manage my public image? For Christ sake, she can’t even handle her own.

“Wow! Just wow! Is that how you’re supposed to answer your phone? For someone in our business, you are totally unprofessional!” I’m so shocked that my voice is almost a whisper.

And that’s when I hear a sharp gasp on the other end of the line.

Something tells me to brace myself for a verbal assault.

“Do you know what is unprofessional? Screwing around with your receptionist! To think that you had me believing that you were one of the good guys. But there is no such thing and you’ve proved it! I wasted 3 years of my life with you and I will never get them back. If you really loved me, you never ever would have done this! I know about her and I know what your folks said about me! You know what? All of you can just go to hell! My friends are right – you don’t deserve me! I don’t want you calling me, talking to me or coming near me. Do you hear me? I don’t want anything to do with you. Leave me the hell alone Bruno!”

She is out breath and almost hyperventilating. Listening to her painful rant makes my stomach flip but it’s only when she breaks down into uncontrollable sobs that my heart truly breaks for her.

She sounds like she’s on the verge of a breakdown and there is nothing I can do or say to let her know that I’m not the asshole Bruno that she thinks I am on the other end of the line.

I can’t stand it when a woman cries. A woman in distress has and will always be my kryptonite. All I want to do is sweep in and help but my hands are tied. The whole lack of professionalism thing is no longer on my mind.

All I feel is empathy for her.

I know all too well what feeling hopeless is all about. To feel hurt beyond repair and to be unconsolable…A lifetime ago long before Chelsea was around.

Suddenly, I hear a thud and from how distant her jagged words sound, I’m sure that she has dropped the phone onto the floor. I’m hoping that she hasn’t hurt herself and breathe a sigh of relief when I hear her voice again.

But through her sobs, she is talking to herself and says the most troubling thing…

© Copyright 2019 Marquessa Matthews. All Rights Reserved.

For my email subscribers, you already have the link to access Part 2 of this installment (which will be late).

If you are interested in reading the rest of this installment, feel free to sign up for my email list and I’ll add you to my private folder as soon as I can (depending on the time-zone difference)

Giving Up #atozchallenge

As of a few minutes ago, I’m officially up to date with Part 2 of my “F” installment for those who have access to my offline draft of my full A to Z Challenge story!

I’m not happy that I’m going to be on constant catch-up from this point on,  but that’s the way the cookie always seems to crumble with me and the A to Z. And visiting and reading the blogs of other A to Z participant blogs will have to wait until May when I’m taking a break.

Better late than never.

Last night, I was on the verge of giving up on this challenge altogether but when I started to re-read through the emails from some of my email subcribers, I’m deciding to tough it out, even if I fall way behind.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR SWEET EMAILS, you keep me encouraged!

Besides the usual challenges of life, I underestimated how hard it would be to write from two character perspectives in the same story.


If you have been following the Part 1’s my story on this blog, thank you!

If you just found my blog/A toZ and would like to read the story from the start, here is a link to the very first Part 1.

If you have not been reading but simply enjoying the links to the song titles, I hope they bring back good memories.

If you are on my email list and are reading the full draft off-blog, your feedback and encouragement have been awesome!


M xoxo



F is for “Fairy Tales” #atozchallenge

Fairy Tales


I’ve only been drunk once in my life and tonight is a perfect time try it for the second time.

Luckily, my scheduled days off have coincided with this shit storm around me and I plan on calling in sick tomorrow as a way to avoid Bruno for another day before Athena covers my next two shifts after that.

From my lack of response to his calls and texts, Bruno has mistakenly assumed that I want alone time since this is the anniversary week of my brother’s passing. To be honest, I had almost forgotten but I’m glad that he’s giving me space because I still don’t know how I’m going to deal with him and his cheating ass. Right now, I don’t want to deal with him, patients or anyone else. The only people I want in my chaos are Athena and Ella.

I never knew what it was like to have many friends growing up but I know that I’m blessed to have found these two ladies later in life. They are my Thelma and Louise who refused to leave me alone to wallow in my pity and misery. They are also more than willing to help me hide and forget everything for a while and the bottle of Bacardi 151 that Ella has brought over to distract me is doing the trick to numb out a non-drinker like me.

I’m lying on the floor in the middle of my living room with my eyes closed to stop the room from spinning. Though the room has stopped spinning, my head is now bobbing uncontrollably to the beat of “Love Is  A Battle Field” that Athena is blasting from the television and I can’t seem to stop.

“I need another drink!” Athena yells. I feel the whoosh of her skirt across my legs and reopen my eyes to see her hopelessly trying to recreate the dance break along with the Pat Benatar video playing from the YouTube stream. She outstretches her glass for Ella refresh her glass.

“No. You’ve had more than enough for now,” Ella refuses and flops down onto the couch with the bottle tucked between her thighs.

Watching Athena dancing is making me dizzy and I’m suddenly afraid that I’m going to get showered by the contents of her glass. I roll away just in time as Athena spills some onto the hardwood floor where I was just lying. Athena’s infectious giggling gets me going down a path where I can’t control my laughter at how stupid she looks.

Ella rakes back in the couch and shakes her head at both of us.

“Wow, I never realized until now what amateurs you are when it comes to the hard stuff.” Ella pours herself a shot and downs it like the “boss bitch” we see her as. “I’d love to join in on the inebriated fun but I’ve got to get back to the club before closing. You’re staying here with Kiki tonight right?”

Athena nods. “Yeah, Oscar’s working the night shift. Don’t worry, I’m not driving anywhere tonight.”

Without saying a word, Ella grabs Athena’s purse and takes her keys.

“Good. But I’ll hang onto these until I come back in the morning anyways.” Ella grabs my hand and pulls me up to a sitting position. “You’ve had it rough this week. This Bacardi will let you get all this shit out of your system so that you can slam the door on this asshole and start fresh.”

It’s kind of funny how Athena and I became friends with Ella. It was through a pole dancing class we signed up for. Actually, Athena signed up and forced me to tag along during her pre-Oscar “sexy self-exploration” phase because she was afraid to go alone. Needless to say, I couldn’t bring sexy back to save my life but after the very first class, I was ecstatic that I went. Besides Ella’s “I’m the shit” attitude, I immediately fell in like with her from the old music she played during her classes. It was almost as if she had stolen some of my personal playlists.

A few classes in and a few coffees later, we all bonded over our love of older music. Ella had a magnetism and air about her that is hard to describe. The few times she’s stopped by the hospital to see me, not only would men of all ages and sexual orientation stop to stare but so would their women.

And to be honest, I think that both Athena and I had a small girl crush on her at the beginning, you know the kind when you admire and would like to emulate at times. She’s like the big sister I never had.

“She can’t start fresh until she punches Bruno’s fucking lights out.”

We both stare at Athena with surprise. The booze is bringing out Athena’s aggressive side of her while I’m more of the sad sleepy type. She drops down next to me and lays her head in my lap.

Ella’s confusion is clear. “Wait. You didn’t confront Bruno yet?”

Before I can answer for myself, Athena chimes in. “Nope. It’s not like she can tell him that she eavesdropped on his conversation after breaking into his house and while hiding in his closet.”

“Exactly,” I nod.

At the sight of Debbie Gibson on the screen busting cheesy moves to “Electric Youth”, Athena stumbles to get up and starts dancing along miserably to the video again. Ella stares at her as if she’s trying to understand how Athena could be such a bad dancer. She squeezes her eyes shut to erase the sight and then turns back to me.

“Well, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Confront him or ghost him for a while, do what your spirit tells you to. But you’ll eventually have to talk to him when you’re at the hospital. That’s why they say don’t fuck your honey where you make your money. I did that once and I would never make that mistake again.”

My head is spinning again. “If you were me, what would you do?”

“Well,” Ella takes a small sip from her glass. “You know that I don’t give advice like that. Especially since I can flip from burn-down-your-house-Left Eye Lopes to Ice Queen in a nanosecond.” She gives me a hard look that burns into me.

“If you were a different type of woman, I would tell you to call Bruno out on his shit and then marry him.”

Athena’s head snaps to attention just as fast as mine. “Marry him? Are you insane?”

“No, I’m quite the opposite. Do you want me to sugar-coat what I’m going to say or should I skip the fairytales and be brutally raw? You decide.”

Athena and I exchange looks through our drunken mess.

“Raw,” we say in unison and buckle up for Ella’s ride.

© Copyright 2019 Marquessa Matthews. All Rights Reserved

For my email subscribers, you already have the link to access Part 2 of this installment.

If you are interested in reading the rest of this installment, feel free to sign up for my email list and I’ll add you to my private folder as soon as I can (depending on the time-zone difference)


D is for “Don’t Want To Be A Fool” #atozchallenge

Don’t Want To Be A Fool


Breaking into Bruno’s apartment is a very, very, very, bad idea but I’m doing it anyways.

I can just see the headlines now – “Crazy doctor arrested for breaking into her doctor boyfriend’s home to search for engagement ring”.

Technically, I have a key so it’s not really breaking in. At least, that’s what I’ve convinced myself of.

I’m just going to let myself in, look around a little and leave. No harm, no foul.

“Are you parked around the corner away from his house like I told you to do?”

Athena’s voice booms in my ear and startles the living daylights out of me. I’ve owned the hands-free earpiece for years but never used it until today. I’m sitting for so long in my car with my hands are gripping the steering wheel and I feel frozen to my seat.

Yeah, this is a bad idea. Everyone knows that curiosity killed the cat.

“Kiki, answer me!”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Remind me why I’m doing this again?”

Athena takes a breath and calmly reminds me. “Because you’re curious and hate surprises. Because you want to know why he’s acting weird. And because you want to know if he’s going to put a ring on your finger.”

“And where do I look first? Maybe his nightstand drawer?”

I feel like some kind of spy talking to her through the earpiece, like I’m in an episode of a television cop show where they are strategizing about their plan of attack.

“No, you stay over there way too often for him to risk an obvious spot like that. If he has a ring stashed anywhere in the house, he would simply hide it somewhere you never go. No offense but Bruno is one of those guys who are smart but really stupid when it comes to being creative. Check the freezer, his underwear drawer and the pocket of his favorite suit as soon as you go in.”

“Uh, okay, I can do this, I can do this…”

“You can only do this if you get your ass out of the car and into the house Kiki…”

Athena is right. I get out, hide my purse under the front seat and head towards Bruno’s place with his key already in my hand. As I walk quickly, the call-waiting beep comes through my earpiece.

“For God’s sake! I keep getting calls from a weird 332 area code.”

“Probably telemarketers. Just ignore it. Do you want me to stay on the line as you look around?”

“No. I can’t multitask like that. I’ll call you afterwards.”

“Okay. Are you sure that Bruno won’t be back until after 7:00PM?”

“That’s what he said. He and his partner are interviewing for a new receptionist at the clinic. With traffic downtown, he won’t be here before that time. Guaranteed. I’ve got a few hours but I don’t plan on looking around for that long.”

“Well, take advantage of the opportunity. I know that I would. Call me as soon as you’re back in the car.”

I figure out how to end the call by touching the edge of the earpiece itself and make my way to the front door. My hands shake as I let myself in. As usual, Bruno’s place is spotless. Everything is in its rightful place so I’m going to need to be extra careful with anything I touch. He could very well notice if I leave something out of place.

My first stop is the freezer. I sift through the frozen dinners, ice cream and veggies and find nothing. In the living room, I check his desk drawer and the storage section of the coffee table. Nothing. In the bedroom, I check both nightstands and then gently rifle through his underwear and sock drawer. I come up empty.

I slide the closet door open and find his suits. I shove my hands into all of the pockets and come up dry until I get to the very last one that he wears the most often. I feel something rigid and with one quick tug, I have a small square ring box staring back at me.

Oh. My. God.

I crack it open and the most beautiful diamond ring is sitting pretty and sparkly in the box. My hands are shaking so much that I always drop the box to the floor.

He’s going to propose. Oh my God, I’m getting married!

I’m excited but still have the wherewithal to take a photo of the ring to show Athena later. I admire it a little more before taking a seat at the edge of the bed to continue staring at it.

Bruno is an overall good guy. I can picture us having a better relationship than the one of toleration that my folks have with each other. We can be happy. When he asks, I can say yes. I will say yes. Yes. 

My heart is still pounding with excitement that I barely hear keys opening Bruno’s front door.

Who the hell is that? It can’t be Alice the cleaning lady. It’s not Friday!

Panicked and like a maniac, I jump up, smooth the spot on the bed where I was sitting and slip the ring box back into the suit pocket.

Shit, shit, shit! Maybe she switched her cleaning day?

The footsteps are headed in my direction, loud and fast and I’m stuck in the bedroom with no escape. My only option is to jump into the closet, close its’ door and crouch down in the corner.

I am so totally busted.

And now my nerves have got me wanting to pee…

If Alice catches me, I’m toast. And when she tells Bruno, he’s going to dump me.

I crouch as far back in the closet I can. My urge to pee slips away from my mind as I hear the fridge door open, close and then the cracking open of a soda pop can.

Alice helps herself to the fridge when she’s here? Okay.

But as the heaviness of footsteps get closer, I quickly realize that Alice’s barely 5’1 ft and 100 pound body wouldn’t make such noise.

It isn’t Alice in the house.

It’s Bruno and he’s home early.

And my cell starts to buzz with that stupid 332 area code number.

Shit.  I’m done…

© Copyright 2019 Marquessa Matthews. All Rights Reserved

For my email subscribers, you already have the link to access Part 2 of this installment.

If you are interested in reading the rest of this installment, feel free to sign up for my email list and I’ll add you to my private folder as soon as I can (depending on the time-zone difference)

C is for “Chelsea Rodgers” #atozchallenge

Chelsea Rodgers


I’m thoroughly enjoying being buried deep inside of Chelsea but from her lack of enthusiasm, I don’t think she feels the same.

And it’s killing my mood.

I’m trying my best to get her to come first but from the expression on her face, I know that behind her closed eyes, the only thing on her mind is going to the A-list event we’re attending tonight.

Actually, that’s a lie. About the event, I mean. We aren’t invited to the event, Chelsea is. Her agent scored her an invite and by default, I have to go too since I’m back in New York between concerts.

The first time I ditched one of Chelsea’s events was also my last. The paparazzi had a field day speculating about our on again off again relationship and rumors that we had broken up again started trending. Vania had royally cursed me out about all the time she had to spend spinning a story about me being under the weather. The truth was that I just wasn’t in the state of mind for a roomful of fake smiles, silicone tits and from on the down low celebrity men trying to get me on their team. No thanks on all accounts.

Instead, I had spent the evening rocking out on with my guitar to some of my favorite ’80s tunes and it was heaven. So yeah, it’s easier to go along with Chelsea to this event tonight to avoid a problem before it could even begin.

In life, sometimes you’ve simply got to do what you’ve got to do, even when you don’t want to.

Just as I’m about to give up on Chelsea and concentrate on my own release, the doorbell rings in the distance followed by a loud knock at the front door. I ignore it until I hear the creaking of an opening door open and a gaggle of voices. Startled, I quickly shift off and out of Chelsea’s body.

“What the fuck?!!”

Unphased, Chelsea rolls out from under me and pulls on her robe. “Don’t worry. It’s just the crew to help me get ready for tonight.”

“You let them have carte blanche to your place like that?”

“Of course. What’s the problem?” She glances down at my still-hard dick. “Sorry Baby. I’ll make it up to you later. I promise.” She gives me a quick kiss and with that, she disappears from the bedroom to greet them.

“Close the door,” I remind her and she leaves to me alone with my now semi-hard hard-on.


I grab my dick, unroll the condom I’ve got on and toss it into the trash. If it wasn’t for the fact that her team is just on the other side of the bedroom door and that I am more than pissed at the intrusion, I might have finished myself off. But the last thing I need is someone accidentally walking in as I jack off so I decide against it.

Carte blanche access is crazy and dangerous.

I’m going to have to talk to her about that.

Chelsea Rodgers, former model and current reality television star with her eye on the big screen, is my girlfriend…again. I first met Chelsea when she was the newest and hottest thing on the fashion runways. It was at one of those Victoria Secret type of parties that everyone in the industry goes to just to say that they went. She was tucked away in a quiet and I was attracted by the way she seemed to want to stay on the outskirts of the fray. I approached her and in talking, we discovered that we had attended the same New York high school but had missed each other by a few years. She was sweet and a little shy compared to most of the other girls at the party who bolded approached me.

We hit off. And I also thought that it was more than a coincidence that she just so happened to be wearing my favorite color (purple) and that she had the exact same name as a Prince song.

We dated for about a year before her career skyrocketed and she was in demand everywhere. I encouraged her to spread her wings and to think about herself first, not me. I’m not for holding anyone back from their dreams and I had my career too. But every few years, Chelsea and I seem to gravitate back to each other, maybe out of love and habit. But with each reunion, Chelsea is less of that sweet and shy girl that I knew way back when and much more of the strategizing woman she needs to be in this difficult business of crazy.

I lay back in the bed and listen to the chatter behind the door. I can picture Chelsea sitting like a queen bee in her make-chair in the other bedroom that doubles as her “get-ready room” while her worker bee entourage of hair, make-up and fashion people get her dressed. They will easily be at it for hours so I’ve got plenty of time on my hands.

But they have the worst timing. Twenty minutes more and we could have conquered round two in bed. I close my eyes, turn over and drift off into a semi-sleep.

On days like these, I thank my fucking stars that I’m a man.

To get ready, all I really need to do is roll out of bed, hit the shower, and throw on the Armani suit that Chelsea’s stylist picked out for me to match her dress.

After about an hour of dozing, I’m restless. I wrap my lower half in the bedsheet and make my way to the door to check out what’s going on.  Blond curly extensions are being installed to match her current hair color, face contouring is taking place and someone is taping her tits up to give her cleavage a little added “pop”. Her runaway modelling days are over and I totally get that she wants to catch the next wave of whatever is coming after all the reality show fame starts to wane. The need to be in the right place at the right time to meet the right people is what she’s all about since we got back together.

Been there, done that.

It wasn’t fun and I’m glad to no longer be in that position. I hate schmoozing with fake people in the industry and networking with a purpose. But I’ve got to support my girl and will do what I need to.

Chelsea spots me standing in the doorway and blows me a kiss.

“Baby, you had better start getting ready,” Chelsea calls out to me. “Go take your shower. I don’t want to be late.”

I nod and head to the bathroom, feeling all of the ladies eyes on my half-naked body. As soon I shut the door, I hear their hushed giggles and a return to their girl talk.

After an extra-long shower, my cell rings with Bobby’s ringtone. I wrap myself up in a towel and grab my cell from the bathroom counter.

“What’s up Niko?” Wherever Bobby is, the music is louder than a rock concert and he is almost yelling.

“Bobby? Where the hell are you?” Before he can answer, I hear the familiar sounds of whistling and the pulsating beat of the music. I already know where Bobby is. “A strip club? Are you looking to accidentally get married again? Or do you want to get drugged and relieved of your wallet for the umpteenth time?”

“Niko, Niko, Niko, don’t worry! It’s just a night out with the good old boys,” he laughs. “I’ve learned my lesson. Or should I say “lessons”. And I can’t get remarried when I’m not divorced from Betty Boop yet.”  Betty Boop was the stage name of the last “accident” Bobby had on a night out with his old crew.

“Are you drunk?” I ask out of concern. He has a tendency to overdo things when he isn’t babysitting me on tour.

“Not enough but I will be soon! But before I do, did you call Jessica?”

My mind draws a blank. “Jessica who?”

Through the din and roars in the background, Bobby sigh is clear. “Dude! The publicist in Cali I told you about! I gave you her number when we were in Minneapolis weeks ago.”

“Oh fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! No, I totally forgot.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re probably too busy doing just that to Chelsea.”

“Look, I’ll touch base with her right now. Thanks for reminding me.”

“Yeah, do it today. We need to lock her and her agency down because they are what we need. And we need a spin doctor in place if something comes up.”

“I know, I know. I’ll handle it. Don’t get too stupid with your old cronies, okay?”

“Who are you calling old?” Bobby laughs. “You know I will!”

I towel off, run some gel through my damp hair and get myself dressed in the suit that has miraculously appear laid out on the bed for me while I was in the shower. It takes me all of 15 minutes to get ready and make myself look presentable. I join Chelsea and her team in the other room and take a seat on a couch far from their madness.

One look at me and I can tell that Chelsea’s not impressed with something. “You’re not shaving? Those are her words but her tone nags with “you should shave.”

My hand immediately runs across the facial hair I have neglected to get rid of because I kind of like it.

“He looks hot with that short beard Chelsea! Makes him look even more hot and manly than he already is,” the nameless woman states as if I’m not even in the room, “I’m going to touch up his face a little as soon as I’m done with you.”

Chelsea raises her eyebrows as if she concedes and sticks out her long leg like Cinderella for one of the girls to strap on a gravity-defying heel. Chelsea wriggles her toes and then extends her other leg. I take my cell out and scroll through my cell for Jessica’s number.

I might as well get the call out of the way while I’m waiting.

It rings, rings and rings some more until I hear the beginning of a voice mail that I don’t listen to. I hate leaving messages because I always find myself rambling so I simply hang up. I scroll my social media feeds that my social media team now handles to check out what is being said about me in the latest Tweets and Instagram photos from fans taken at my concerts.

I’m so engrossed in some of the over-the-top sexy comments that some fans have left that I barely notice Chelsea get up from the chair and drop her robe to reveal her naked body to the entire room. With all of the quick changes on the runways all over the world, nakedness is second nature to her. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing but it’s her. Three women hover around her, holding the dress so that she can simply step into it and not mess it up with her make-up.

The make-up lady motions for me to sit and I follow her instruction. She slaps some barely-there foundation on my face and within minutes, we’re ready to go.

“You are both hot but together, you guys are smoking hot. I’m surprised that the paparazzi haven’t nicknamed you yet, like Branjelina, Bennifer, TomKat and now J-Rod. You know like…NiChe or Chelnik.”

Utter stupidities coming out of this woman’s mouth. Three out of those four couples are no longer together and one still has to make it down the aisle again…for the fourth time, I think? And is “hot” the only word in her Paris Hilton vocabulary? 

I want to kiss Chelsea but I know better than to lean in because she won’t want to ruin up her newly painted red lips.

Someone says that the car is waiting at the back entrance to Chelsea’s building so we head downstairs. As we exit the elevator, I place my hand on Chelsea’s lower back and she startles as if she’s taken by surprise.

“What’s wrong?”

“Sorry. Just a little on edge I guess. There are going to be a lot of powerful people at this event and I need to be on my best game,” she explains as I open her door and she slips into the town car. I slide in next to her and hold her hand.

“Don’t worry. You’re a go-getter and never fail to impress.” I squeeze her hand and then kiss it.

“Thanks Baby. You’re too sweet to me. And sorry about before…you know…” she says referring to when her team barged in.

“It’s all good Chelsea. And you’re going to make it up to me, remember?” I tease. Knowing that she’s nervous, I keep the conversation to a minimum until the town car stops at the hotel entrance to where the party is being held. The driver steps out, circles the car and opens the door for us. I step out and extend my hand for her to take.

“Are you ready?”

“I am. Let’s rock.”

© Copyright 2019 Marquessa Matthews. All Rights Reserved

For my email subscribers, you already have the link to access Part 2 of this installment.

If you are interested in reading the rest of this installment, feel free to sign up for my email list and I’ll add you to my private folder as soon as I can (depending on the time-zone difference).


The Secret Backstory #atozchallenge

*Long post alert*

Humdrum real-life incidents…

My fiction is often inspired by them and my A to Z Challenge will be no different. It will be loosely based on something that happened a few years ago.

I already gave the scoop to my email subscribers so now I’ll let you in on the secret backstory here.

The night before I was leaving on a vacation, I was rushing around doing some last-minute packing when I received a Whatsapp text.

The message simply said, “Hey Nia. It’s me, Anthony.”  Well, you know that my name is not Nia.

And since I don’t know anyone called Anthony, I simply ignored it and carried on with my business.

Around 2:00am when I was finally packed, I tried to get a few hours sleep before heading to the airport. But as Murphy’s Law would have it, sleep wasn’t in the cards for me.

Another text from Anthony came in, asking me if I was busy and why I hadn’t “hit him back up yet”, etc. Again, I didn’t answer. But when my cell kept beeping, I had no choice. I needed him to stop so that I could get some sleep so I texted back:

Me: You have the wrong number.
Anthony: Stop playin’
Me: I am not Nia.
Anthony: Come on Nia.

By now, you know that my sleepiness was gone and I was a little pissed. I decided to CALL Anthony through Whatsapp. Before I could say anything, he picked up, laughed, and said, “Why are you giving me such a hard time Nia?”

“Like I texted, I’m NOT Nia. And if you keep texting me, I won’t get any sleep before my flight in a few hours.”

Obviously, I didn’t have Nia’s voice so when Anthony started apologizing profusely, he sounded genuine and a little sad. At that point, I felt a little sorry for him. I told him that hopefully Nia didn’t give him a wrong number on purpose and that if she did, he needed to forget her. I also told him that if he and Nia were meant to be, fate would kick in.

Somehow, this led into a twenty minute conversation. It was pointless to try sleeping so I gave up, put him on speakerphone and started putting my make-up on.

I won’t go into the rest of the conversation because there was nothing much to it. It was twenty minutes max.

Did I ever hear from Anthony again?

Well, yes I did.

A few days later while I was relaxing on the beach, he Whatsapped to let me know that he had contacted a mutual friend for Nia’s number and that he was happy to say that he had been the one at fault. Anthony had input one wrong digit into his cell. I told him that I was happy for him and that was the end of Anthony.

To this day, I’m still not sure why he felt the need to follow-up with me. But that’s when it dawned on me that this type of random wrong text could eventually make a cute story and I’ve had the idea in the back of my mind ever since.

What if a wrong text or mis-dialed number between two strangers developped into friendship? And what could that friendship possibly turn into more? Kind of like when Harry met Sally but they didn’t really meet…

You know what I mean?

Anyways let’s see how this goes.

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M xoxo