Nightmare Bae
Lola’s a fanatic, and this mindset hasn’t left her now that she’s “over the hill.” — “I don’t care if I’m eighty years old. I’ll fangirl till I die!” — “She’s pretty for a dark-skinned girl,” natural-haired, plain, penniless, and odd. — Not what Kadon’s used to.
Kwame’s celebrity status has Instagram models tripping over themselves to get within his presence. He has a harem of women at his beck and call. But none of them has piqued his interest beyond the bedroom. That is until he meets Lola.
It’s a rags-to-riches love story, or is it?
Everything about this man screamed sexy — his voice, smile, and sexy-ass laugh! The man was amazing. It’s too bad that, in his eyes, I was a groupie. I was a groupie who wouldn’t leave him alone. I stalked this man. I was there for all of his social media lives and wrote him regularly. (Fan Mail) I was nice, respectable, and on rare occasions, disappointed.
He would praise the “fine” females — skinny and allegedly light/white skin. I try not to judge because I see the beauty in Caucasian folks, too, and notice that I said allegedly. He did state that he wasn’t attracted to big women, but the white/light skin part came from an outside source, and to be fair, that was just their assessment of him.
Mr. Brown is 6”11, dark-skinned, and OMG, what I wouldn’t give for just one night with the man! He can have any woman he wants and trust and believe that he was passing out dick passes to every “groupie,” but me.
I was his number one fan, but every fan thinks that. I was in love, in love with the man that I thought he was. Then he hurt me and broke my heart, and I fell in love with the man I knew he could be. But the damage was done. It didn’t take too long for me to fall out of love with “Kwame Brown.”
I’d met him in person and was mishandled. I had revealed to a frenemy that he’d responded to one of my many fan mails. It was a polite generic response that my frenemy had taken and used against me. She was in love with him also, and I was the competition. Many women were vying for this man’s attention, but she took it upon herself to ensure I wouldn’t get him.
I was nothing but a friend to this frenemy. I was genuine when I tried to give her advice on how to be a better her. I was in a healing process, but I also took what I knew and tried to help others heal. I have a good heart. And if I know that the hurt you’re inflicting upon me is because you’re damaged and broken, then I can overlook the wounds you’re imposing upon me.
Until I get tired of your bullshit, then all of that “turn the other cheek” shit goes out of the window. — “Forgive the people that hurt you, not for them but for you. They don’t care that they’ve hurt you.” She didn’t listen. She was motivated by hurt, pain, and toxic behaviors.
I don’t know why I entertained her. I knew she didn’t like me and didn’t want me with this man. But, being the “divine feminine” I am, I tried to help her. I would forgive and forgive and forgive some more. I was tired of being everyone’s punching bag.
When I chose to be happy, I decided I wouldn’t let people steal my joy. I would finish this life cycle happy, free of drama and toxicity. “Happiness is a choice, and I choose to be happy.”
Now back to Kwame Brown, AKA Nightmare Bae, and his oh-so-sexy self. I dreamed about this man. That’s how dedicated I was. I was so all up in his energy that he was showing up in my dreams. It was a love of a lifetime. Of course, Kwame didn’t see it that way.
I accepted a legal shark loan and went to see Kwame in person. I took out a one thousand two-hundred-dollar loan and had to pay back seven thousand six hundred dollars. I ordered some clothes from Shein. Say what you will, but Shein will make even big burley bitches look sexy.
I hopped my ass on a train and arrived at his event thirty minutes early. When I gave the doorman my name, he had a weird expression. He knew me. I was told to wait outside while he went to the back. When he came back, I was instructed to come back later. I replied that I was okay to wait outside, although it was cold.
Another fan arrived soon after, April O’Neil. I knew her from his social media platforms. She bypassed me and tried to walk her ass right on up in there like she was expected. I guess she was. The doorman knew who she was and had backed into the doorway where I couldn’t see him. I knew he was silently saying something to her as she’d cut her eyes at me and then looked back in his direction. I must have left a wrong impression on Kwame and his crew with my fan mail.
April O’Neil was made to wait with me. I don’t know what that was all about. BUT… I was dressed in all-black attire, leggings, a t-shirt, a jacket, and a cheap-ass lace front. Kwame always praised the Instagram models with a face full of makeup and weaves, so I thought that this was what he wanted. Plus, the train ticket, transportation, clothing, and the expensive ass room I’d booked for one night didn’t leave much for a hairdo. But still, April O’Neil didn’t have anything on me!
Apparently, she did… She wore a black dress with heels, was portly, had no edges, and wore her hair in a small ponytail atop her head. The only thing that she had going for her was her light skin and “King Kong” boobs. Kwame’s brother came outside to check her out. His attention was directed at April O’Neil as soon as he appeared. She was acting all nonchalant and shit. — Bitch
Now, at the time, I didn’t know that he was Kwame’s brother. Although he was the same height and had the same body frame with longer locs. For a minute, in my head, I was like, “Oh my god, Kwame!”
His gaze shifted from April O’Neil to mine, and time stood still. I was mesmerized. The eyes looking back at me held the same mysterious intelligence as Kwame’s. I was turned all the way the fuck on! Everyone seemed to have disappeared, and it was just him and me.
He never spoke a word. This man’s energy was captivating. I was under his spell, and it was alluring. I didn’t detach my gaze from his until he left us. “That has to be… that must be…” I managed. I couldn’t even form a complete sentence. That’s how magnetic his energy was.
“What?” asked April O’Neil.
“That had to have been one of Kwame’s people,” I state, finally coming to my senses.
“That’s Scrooge, Kwame’s brother, April O’Neil stated.
“Oh…” Damn.
We were finally let into the event, and I was ceremoniously seated at the groupie table next to April O’Neil. The play was lovely, and I enjoyed myself with periodic reports to my frenemy via text about what was happening at the event. Kwame came out onto the floor during the play. Ignoring me, he hugged April O’Neil.
Seated next to her, it was a blow hard and solid straight to the face. I tried to act like I didn’t care, but I was hurt. “And it’s nice to meet you,” He stated harshly over her shoulder to me, adding insult to injury.
When the event was over, everyone disbursed in groups to get pictures with Kwame. “I wonder if I can get a picture,” April O’Neil said to no one in particular. I was sure the groupie ticket purchase didn’t include a picture with Kwame. “You didn’t pay for that,” I told her. The glare that I was given was hot enough to cut through steel. Then she marched her lumpy, no-shape having ass to the line to get her photo with him.
I don’t know what happened, but she was mad when she returned to get her things. She had a scowl of death plastered on her face. “You better go get yourself one.” She said after calming down and noticing my study of her.
I jumped my stupid ass up and ran to the line to get a picture with Kwame. Skipping past a few waiting fans, I pretended not to notice Kwame silently giving the camera guy a meaningful expression. It was an expression of you better tell her before I do. He didn’t want to take a picture with me. What had I done to deserve this?
I was stupid. I was living a lie that I’d made up in my head. Kwame didn’t want me. Hell, from the exchange between him and the man taking pictures, he didn’t even like me.
With a quick urging, Kwame agreed to take a picture with me. I was so love-struck in my ignorance that I didn’t care that I repulsed him. — That he didn’t give a damn about me. I was just some crazy groupie that wouldn’t accept that his silence to my fan mail meant that he wasn’t interested.
After waiting around in an app room for a year just to get a glimpse of him and hear his voice, Kwame didn’t want me near him. So, do you know what my retarded ass did? I hugged him. I had gone into debt to see Kwame in person, and I wasn’t about to leave with a “prison photo.” — Motherfucker, we’re hugging! For this moment, “You and I is in love!”
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