Dear Journal

January 26th

Dear Journal,

I fucked up.

I majorly fucked up.

I'm in way over my head.

Tonight was the fashion show of a mutual friend, an event I couldn't miss despite the whirlwind of emotions and responsibilities that have been consuming me lately.

Carla made sure I went, forcing me into my car and ensuring I had my invitation. She was like some sort of demented fairy godmother.

The venue was packed with reporters, models, designers, and the buzz of anticipation filled the air. I had a lot riding on this show, with eyes eagerly watching my every move.

I dodged questions like it was as Olympic sport.

Sometimes Amid the chaos, I needed a moment to breathe so I leave my assistant to keep the wolves at bay as I wander through the back corridors.

I like to listen to the sounds of backstages; heels clicking on the floor, assistants shouting commands, models chattering amongst themselves. The staff don't mind if I'm there.

That's not where the problem starts though. No, you see...I have made it a habit to never be nosy. My mother used to say that nosy people will always get what's coming to them. Well, obviously I didn't listen. I stumbled upon a supply closet with the door slightly ajar.

Someone was crying. Perhaps it was a model who was overwhelmed or an intern with too much to do, I don't get involved. In my experience, crying doesn't do anything.

But the moment I peeked Inside, I knew I couldn't walk away.

Surrounded by racks of rejected clothes, sat May. Her makeup was smeared, her eyes red from tears. She was a mess. The symbolism hit me hard—a woman who seemed so perfect in my eyes, now feeling discarded and out of place.

I stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind me, shutting out the noise and the expectations.

May looked up, surprise mingling with sorrow in her gaze. (I'm not able to write word for word verbatim since my hands are still shaking. Good god, I need a drink or a cigarette. Maybe both.)

"Alexander," she whispered, her voice trembling. "What are you doing here? You should be out there."

She wore a red pantsuit with a gold bird pin. I could care less about what she was wearing at that moment.

"I could ask you the same thing," I replied gently, sitting down beside her on the cold, cluttered floor. The world outside could wait; this moment with her felt far more important.

She sighed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Oh, you know!" She waved her hand, laughing wetly. "Things."

I had a sinking feeling that 'things' were most likely James. I felt irritated in that moment and I wanted to go outside and wring his expensive neck for making the person he was supposed to look out for—his muse, his protege!

"Explain," I said. "Now."

She looked at me incredulously, a tear slipping down her cheek. "You're stubborn, you know." I shrugged and scooted closer. "Ah, fine! I'm not cut out for this, okay?! I thought I had it right but every-time I take a step forward, someone keeps holding me back! I can't do this anymore!"

I reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. "May, fashion isn't about fitting into an ideal. It's about expressing who you are, about finding beauty in the unique and the different. You don't have to conform to anyone else's standards." I tried not to focus on how warm her hands were. "You're stronger than this."

"You don't even know me!"

(Okay, she had a point. But my mother didn't raise a quitter.)

She looked at me, doubt still clouding her eyes. I paused, searching for an answer within myself. "Honestly, May, I don't know. Maybe it's because as you said, I'm stubborn. Or...maybe it's because I see something extraordinary in you, something worth fighting for. Or maybe it's just because...I see me in you. The doubt, the anger, the fear. I know how it feels. You can overcome this. James may be your boss but he has no right to your mind."

Her hesitation softened, and she seemed to find a flicker of hope in my words. "You really think I can do this? That I can find my place in this?"

"I do," I said firmly. "But maybe you just need a new outlook, a fresh perspective."

"What are you proposing?"

I smirk. "Let me help you. Not because you need saving, but because sometimes we all need a little support, a reminder of our own worth."

She nodded slowly, a tentative smile forming on her lips. "Okay. But I'm still not switching over to your house. I'm doing this for exposure and experience."

"That's okay," I reassured her. "We'll take it one step at a time. Together."

As we sat there, surrounded by the remnants of discarded dreams, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. The world outside the closet, with all its demands and expectations, seemed distant and unimportant. Here, with May, I found clarity.

Eventually, we stood up, ready to face the world again. I offered her a handkerchief to fix her makeup, and she laughed softly, the sound like a balm to my weary soul. Leaving the supply closet, I knew there were still challenges ahead, but for the first time in a long while, I felt hopeful. Sometimes, the most important moments happen away from the spotlight, in the quiet spaces where we find the courage to be ourselves.

I was one step closer to what I wanted.

Now I just had to play my cards right.

- Alexander