by Nicole Hite
"But you lied about having a MyFace account."
"What did you ask me? Do you remember?"
"I said, ‘you don't have a social media account’?"
"I do not, Dean has a social media account. That's not exactly lying," he grinned.
"You’re pushing the limit with that one, buddy. You knew exactly what I was asking."
"True, but I still needed to find out what your motives were. I'm not the only liar here, Heidi."
"Why did you take it to that level with me? Were you just fucking with me?"
"Hell no. First off, I knew it was you by then, and I was really attracted to you. It was an accident. I never allow myself to get carried away like that. Trust me, some of the girls push, but I never give in. You. You were different. Besides, you were catfishing me too, and I wanted to know why.
“You are exceptionally bright, Ariel. If you think my motives were strictly menacing and insufferable, then write the article your boss wants. Be the hero, but deep down, you know I am a good guy.”
“You could’ve been honest with me from the get-go. Now, I don't know who you are. At least I told you what I was doing."
"Only after I forced you to tell me," he seemed aggravated at this point.
"Were you just doing this to heighten my ego? To make me feel better about my boring life? Glass houses, Owen."
"I never hurt anyone in this process..." he trailed off.
"Just me..."
Ariel stood from her seat and left without another word. Tears flooded her eyes as she ran for the exit. How could she have been so stupid? Now what? How was she supposed to write a hateful article about a man she was so clearly falling for?
11
"To whom it may concern."
For the next three weeks, Ariel didn't hear, speak, or interact with Owen, or ‘Dean.’ ‘Heidi’ had been deactivated and tossed in the digital trashcan, never to be heard from again. A part of her still thought of Dean from time to time, until reality hit that it was Owen deceiving her the entire time. It was unforgivable. Or was it?
Sitting at her desk, she stared aimlessly at a blank page, ready to have words splashed across its white surface. The only problem was, when she went to type, she came up empty handed. The only thing she could think of was Owen. How desperately she missed him. Had she misjudged him and his motives?
"Knock. Knock," Sam joked as she entered her office.
"Hey, Sami," she stated in a miserable tone.
"Jesus, kid, you look like shit."
"Thanks, Sam. Not exactly the love and support I need right now. Wanna go outside and come back in with a better line," Ariel said in a pissed off mood.
"What crawled up your ass and died?" Sam growled. "Still mulling over Owen, I mean Dean, I mean Owen?"
"I'm torn, Sami. I don't know what to do," she cupped her face in her palms. Weeping, she glared at Sam, "If I write a bullshit story for Vivienne, she will think its gold plated shit. On the other hand, I would be dragging a good man's name through the dirt. He doesn't deserve that. On the other hand, if I write the truth, she will probably fire my ass. What do I do?"
"Who says you have to be the one who makes that decision?"
Ariel looked up from her moist palms, grinning from ear to ear. "Sami, you are a fucking genius!"
"Well, you know. I always thought so. It's about time you noticed," she grinned, giving her best friend a wink.
Ariel moped through the hallway making her way to her apartment. Today was the day the article would be published, and already she felt the need to apologize to Owen.
She hadn't seen or heard from him in over a month, and yet she missed him more now than ever.
Walking up to his door, she hesitated as she went to reach for the handle. Shaking her head, she turned on her heels, retreating to her apartment.
"Ariel?" Owen's masculine voice echoed down the hallway. "Did you need something?"
"Cup of sugar," she joked as she noticed the Empire Magazine in his hands, immediately changing her mind.
"How did you get a copy of the story?" Ariel asked, down casting her eyes.
"Sam delivered me a, hot-off-the-press issue," he strained to make her eyes meet his.
"Well, I'm sorry," Ariel stated feeling ashamed.
"Why? This is amazing. Did you mean what you said?" Owen questioned.
"Wait, what? I thought you would be furious at me for outing you?" Ariel's eyes shot up.
"What are you talking about? If by expressing your real feelings, and going with your gut is outing me, then baby, you did a bang up job."
Snatching the magazine from his hands, she flipped through the pages to the article titled, "Falling for a Catfish."
"I'll be damned," she let out an airy laugh. "That crazy bitch."
"Did I miss something?" Owen looked confused.
"Not. At. All," she beamed.
Reading the article to herself, she felt giddy all over.
* * *
What makes a good romance story worth reading? Love? Passion? Deception? Or, all of the above. But is it really deception if you fall for your catfisher? I started to question my morals when I reached out to a gentleman known around the romance book community for his dashing looks and even charming personality. We shall call him, "James".
Never once did I think "James" would approach me dead on. He was persistent, aggressive, and nearly charmed my panties clean off my body. But, could I really blame "James" when I was catfishing him as well?
We played the game of bait and catch until reality collided with our fantasyland. I tried desperately to find flaws in my target, but all I found were noble efforts of a man who had been scorned himself. His only crime was telling women how deserving of love they were. See, "James" has a heart. I know, shocking.
Let's try a little experiment ladies. Hold out your hand in front of your face.
For every "yes" you answer, put a finger down. Ready? Has anyone ever put you down for your looks, even when you didn't deserve it? If I'm being honest, one down for me. Have you ever felt verbally, mentally, of physically abused by a man or woman to a point where you start to question whether it's worth it? Two fingers down. Have you ever put yourself down? Three fingers down. Have you ever thought about taking your own life? Four fingers. Have you thought to yourself, no one will ever love me or appreciate me for me? That's five big fingers down.
Now, let's try another experiment. I want you to unfold those five fingers one at a time for all the things you think are a "yes". Do you want to be desired? One up, ladies. Do you want to be appreciated? Hell yes we do! Two up. Do you want to be complimented? On a daily basis. Three up. Do you want an attractive man flirting with you, telling you how beautiful, stunning and funny you are? I do. Four up. Finally, do you want to know how truly worthy you are every day?
That's five excellent reasons why I feel "James" is not a catfisher, but the type of man most women desire and need.
Almost 85% of women in relationships today are not told on a daily basis they are beautiful, intelligent, and desired. Almost 95% are not told they are loved on a daily basis. That is unacceptable in my eyes.
As a society we are trained to throw shade at anyone who is deceptive. I would agree; I was highly skeptical when I made contact with "James". I immediately chastised him, and labeled him a menace to society. How could he be so conniving? How could he manipulate these women? How could he live with himself? Well, I reached out to a few of these ladies to get answers.
* * *
ARIEL: Do you believe "James" is who he says he is?
BERTHA: Not at all. I suppose, in my eyes, it never really mattered. I've been in and out of physically abusive relationships since I was sixteen-years-old. "James" was the first man to look at me for the women I was, and not just a piece of ass to kick around. Looks are merely disguises in the grand scheme of things. It was his words that mattered, not the pictures. I thank him every day because I would be dead if it weren't for him. He showed me I mattered
, and this world cared if I was here or not.
Things were really dark for me for a long time. I thank my lucky stars every day for that man.
* * *
ARIEL: Did "James" ever pressure you to send pictures, meet, or talk sexually to him?
SUSAN: Oh, God, no. He is too much of a gentleman to insult women like that. That's what drew me to the group. Here was a man who cared about what we, as women, had to say. He never made fun or belittled us, unlike some of the men who had previously been in the group. He protected us, if anything. He protected me.
* * *
ARIEL: Did you ever try to make a move on "James"?
TERESA: Lord knows I tried. I tried hard, but he really was a gentleman to everyone. He took my advances in stride and instead turned them into something positive. If he rejected me, I was devastated, yet he was always there to reassure me I was a wonderful person, and the right man would come along. He told me daily, which is what every women needs to hear.
* * *
See, Ladies, there are plenty of fish in the sea, but only one good catch meant for you. "James'" only fault, was trying to help these women find their worth. It's clear why I fell for "James." He was the perfect catch, yet he
wasn't meant for me. He was meant for the world. For these women. For anyone who needs reassurance of what strong, wonderful, sexy, beautiful women they are. For that, I thank "James." Because of “James,” I met the love of my life. I just hope my love will forgive me for not seeing it sooner.
* * *
"So you love me, huh? Owen gloated.
"Oh shut up," she grinned.
"Why did you think I would be mad at this?" he gave her a questioning glare.
"It's actually a funny story."
* * *
"ARIEL. SOMEONE GET ME ARIEL, NOW!" Vivienne screamed from her corner office.
"I'm right here, Harper. Did you need something?" Ariel looked at Vivienne annoyed.
"Yes, where is that damn article you promised me? I need to send it to press tomorrow!"
"Yeah, about that," Ariel looked down at her messenger bag contemplating what her next move would be.
Vivienne extended her outstretch palm, "Well? Where is it?"
"Look, Vivienne. I can't do this. I wrote your damn article, but I'm not sure if I want to give it to you."
"Why the hell not?" Vivienne fumed.
"Because it's a lie. It's everything you wanted and more, but it's a complete and utter lie. As a professional, it rips my heart out that you want to publish this. This paper was built on the morals and standards of great women - women who shattered the glass ceiling, and ate the pieces for breakfast. I truly feel if you publish this, it will only be a setback for us."
"What the hell am I supposed to publish then? Ari, you are a goddamn professional. When I ask you to write a fucking story, you write a fucking story. Don't give me this glass ceiling bullshit."
"The way I see it, you have two choices," Ariel stated as she slammed two manuscripts in front of Vivienne. "You have a lie, and you have the truth. I'm not making the decision. If you want to set us back a century, by all means, let that be your funeral. On the flip side, if you want to empower women, and show them they aren't just pawns to be played with, give them the truth. Either way, I don't give a flying fuck."
Turning on her heels, she made her way toward the exit.
"Ariel Summers," Vivienne shouted before she crossed the threshold.
"What?" Ariel said with a new found confidence she didn't know she had.
"You got balls girl, but I'll be the judge on what the truth is."
* * *
"You walked out on her?" Owen asked looking alarmed.
"I walked out. I'm not exactly sure if I have a job anymore, to be honest," she looked troubled.
"Was it worth it?" Owen looked concerned for her answer.
"Without a doubt in my mind," she stated as she reached up to take his lips captive.
Looking closer, Ariel saw a side note at the bottom of the article she hadn’t seen before.
Side note from the Editor & Chief, Vivienne Harper: Since our installation in 1955, Empire Magazine has been the foremost women’s magazine, bringing you the most up to date content first. In 2016 we will be launching a new, and enhanced website to take the empowerment of women to the next level. The next time you share this article, use hashtags such as #CATFISHED and #EMPIRE to show the world your support for our amazing team of writers.
Ariel was stunned at, not only the article choice, but also Vivienne’s comments. Viv had always been a pushy, brutal…well…a bitch. It was nice to see she had self-assurance in her as a person, and as a writer.
To know her words had resonated so profoundly with Viv, made her grin like a goon. Because of Vivienne Harper, she had the best happily ever after a girl could ask for.
"So you love me?" he asked like a giddy teenager.
"I confess, I do love you."
"Promise?"
"Cross my heart."
"I love you too, sweetheart."
Sneak Peek at #Lucky
“Never again,” Sam quietly mumbled to herself, pulling out the stool from under the bar. She tossed her purse on the beer stained bar, as her worn body collapsed on the seat. “I can’t believe him, and Maggie, no less! Come on, how unoriginal,” she mumbled to herself.
“The usual, Sami? Mike said, tossing up a high ball in the air and catching it before it slammed on the countertop.
“Better make it a double tonight, Mike,” she huffed from under her hands now covering her face. She raked her hands across her expression, hoping she didn’t have to explain herself yet again. “Add a shot of tequila while you’re at it.”
“Damn girl. Bad night?” he asked, pouring her shot hastily, letting the dribbles land on the bar.
“Mike, you would say I’m an attractive girl, right?” she begged for a positive response. Mike was always brutally honest. She adored him for that.
Mike and she had been friends since childhood, but they were practically brother and sister – him being the older brother she never had.
He wasn’t bad on the eyes standing six-four, and build like a fucking freight train. To the average onlooker, Mike looked more like a bouncer then a successful Irish bar owner.
His sleeve of tattoos bulged under his black, v-neck shirt as he placed the shot in front of her.
“Sami, would you like me to be honest, or lie to make you feel better?”
“Honest. No, lie. No, be honest,” she chuckled indecisively. Throwing back the shot, she flipped the empty glass upside down, and slammed it on the counter. Mike plucked the glass up, and replaced it with her double seven and seven. She saw what Mike was trying to do. She scooped out the excessive use of ice and glared at him to fill that bitch up with more whiskey. “Seriously? Do you really want to fuck with me tonight?”
Throwing her a dirty look while pouring more liquor, “You’re a tiny thing; you could easily stand to eat a few more burgers. Your boobs may be too big, but then again, I love them. Your ass is perky and tight, while your smile might be your best asset, along with those eyes and blonde hair. Although, right now, I would rather see those pearly whites instead of this sad bullshit in front of me. Give Daddy a grin.”
Sam threw her head back laughing at Mike’s analysis while clutching her stomach. He was being nice implying that she was that skinny. Truthfully she could stand to lose a couple pounds, but she did love her curves – plenty to grab. She definitely needed that, especially after the night she had had.
“I never want to hear you say ‘Daddy’ again,” she gave him a smirk. “It gives me the willies. Besides, I don’t want to think of you that way, slugger.”
“What? You don’t like these pecks,” he glared at her while flexing his pecks through his shirt. She could honestly see his muscles jumping up and down as he went to town trying to embarrass her, like always.
“Sweet, baby Jesus. Stop. Please, I beg of you,” she bello
wed as she shielding her eyes with her hands.
“Then tell me what’s up with you. Cory not hitting it out of the park lately?” he joked giving her a raised eyebrow.
He was such an asshole making baseball jokes. She had been dating Cory for years, lovingly standing by her man as he tried to climb
the baseball ranks to his dream of joining a Major League Baseball team. The problem – he wasn’t that good. He thought he was the tits, if you asked him. On any given day he would ramble on about how he played ball with the likes of Ortiz and Rodriquez. Realistically, he played for a minor league team, not actually with the Boston Red Socks. Chicks loved him though, when he threw the professional names around. Girls flocked to him like flies to shit, and that’s exactly what he was – shit. She hated him and for her to hate someone took a whole hell of a lot of anger.
“What the fucking fuck, Mike. Can we not? I don’t want to talk about that asshole. Hit me with another seven and seven, please?” Cory was the last person she wanted to talk about right now. He had ruined everything she had built over the years - even if she was bored with him after the first three months of their relationship. She, too, was a giggly girl, flocking to his side as soon as he dropped the MLB bomb.
Sami was a naive kid when she met Cory in college. She was flattered that the Cory Banks wanted to be her boyfriend. All of her friends were getting married, and already having babies, barely out of college - she was left in the dust. It seemed like the natural progression for
their relationship. That, and she felt like an old maid even at twenty-one, if you could believe that. She thought he had everything she was looking for in a future husband. He also had impeccable bone structure. They would have had beautiful children.
It wasn’t until he started to make unplanned “training” trips three months into their relationship, that she was getting agitated. She had wanted to leave, but it was Cory, fucking, Banks for crying out loud. She wished she could have said to hell with him, but as the dotting girlfriend, she supported his ass. She thought he would eventually make something of himself, but instead the only thing he was making were plans for the future, sans Sami. What a schmuck!
