Drama is,

with enough backbone and charm, avoidable with no suppressed resentment. Drama can, without having to trigger confrontation, be evaded with a simple and direct discussion.

Drama -- usually -- stays out of my way. I have a mean streak of steel. It is held in very, very close check.

Sigh.

In the case of the Unavoidable, Drama must, most certainly, be addressed with the swiftness. When your name -- especially your name -- is being handled with disrespect, it is your duty to yourself to repossess it before the scratches can do more damage to its skin.

Oh. But you, my dear, you would never meet me in person, would you. And I refuse to confront you online, why that's just bitchmade. "Facebook her," he says. "Keep it civil."

I ask him to put you on the phone, he refuses. I ask him to read you what I told him, but he deflects. Nobody wants to deal with your Drama.

"She is emotionally unstable," he says. "Just leave it alone. You don't understand."

Obviously I don't. Perhaps I should show a little more compassion. Or perhaps, in my effort to suppress the GetTheFuckOuttaHere leavening in my subconscious, I forgot How To Act. All I know is, at this moment, you are pressing MY name against your tongue like a fresh piece of bubble gum. "That's the one and only reason I hate her," you declare, almost triumphantly.

Lol.
I, am not, your bubble gum. Bitch.

So I insist. "Just let me speak to her," I coo, smiling. "I don't want drama. I just have something to say." And, with all my presence in the air tonight, I deserve a to get a few words in, no?

He sighs from my persistance, and holds the phone to you. I wait patiently, but hear no Hello.

How quaint, that you would refuse a simple conversation with someone you were JUST talking so intimately about. No? Not necessary to speak to me, you say? But weren't you just fighting for his phone, to hear my confirmation? Wasn't it oh so necessary then?

"Put her on," I say again. Colder. Once more, he hands the phone to you; once more, you push away the call.

I feel no shame when he tells me there's tears. You are not my friend, oh dear emotionally unstable Heather. What good will tears do, to one with no pity?

If you can't take shit, sweety, don't talk shit.

Don't put my name into your mouth until you are ready to spit it right back to me, do you understand? I am not participating in this grade school bullshit. You showed me what you are worth, and I refuse to deal with anything beneath my level. Don't let me catch wind of you yapping your gums in my direction again. You can let your friends know.

Fuck, what a waste of blood pressure. I'm done.