Dear Journal

February 24th

Dear Journal,

Rome is as breathtaking as ever.

I love it here.

The city is a dreamscape of lights and romance, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions I've been navigating. I'm reminded of the time my father brought me here as a boy—when he wasn't lost in some floozy of a woman or arguing with mother. It was one of the few moments of warmth I remember from my childhood—a brief escape from the chaos at home.

I could almost taste the nostalgia.

Now...onto the real issue. Rome is lovely, the streets are lively, and I'm going to die of blue balls. It doesn't rhyme but neither does my like so there you have it.

May and I get off the plane, grab our luggage, and get into the car that Carla had arranged.

All good, right?

No.

Allow me to explain.

After arriving at the hotel, we discovered that my assistant had booked a single room with a single bed. I repeat: a single bed.

A. Single. Freaking. Bed.

God must truly hate me.

Carla has shoved some truly cringe worthy romance books with the exact same scenario but I never thought in any of my twisted dreams that I would have to live through it.

God, you may strike me with a bolt of lighting and I wouldn't complain.

I offered to sleep on the couch, like a true gentleman, not wanting to make May uncomfortable, but she insisted on making the situation work.

We ended up playing rock-paper-scissors to decide who would take the bed, but the game ended in a draw every time. The absurdity of it made us laugh, and eventually, we decided to figure it out later and head out for dinner.

That worked out wonderful for us. We could laugh around each other without a worry.

All good, right.

No...let me fucking continue because minor inconveniences aren't enough to fuck up my life.

Dinner took a turn when we ran into James, my rival and professional pain in the derrière. I can't help but remember he's the man who stole both my ex and a portion of my designs. The staff had accidentally put our tables together which meant we either ate now or didn't eat for the whole night.

The meeting was tense; he made subtle, cutting remarks about May and her decision to leave his fashion house for mine. Despite his jabs, May managed to smile through it, her grace under pressure impressive and admirable.

Several times I was ready to deck him in the face. (Let's see him remove bloodstains from that ridiculously rose coloured silk dress shirt.)

Under the table, I reached for her hand, a silent gesture of support. It felt like the right thing to do, a small comfort amidst the tension. She squeezed back, her thumb pressing into my palm.

I quite proud of this moment. I had to write it down so I could reread it again whenever I liked.

Once the meal was done, I paid for it because I have money and I didn't want to owe that prick anything. Then took a small sip from my wine glass, turned to James, and splashed it all over his fancy suit. The whole place went quiet and his face turned as red as the wine he was drinking.

I didn't say a word. (I'm quite proud of myself. Restraint is a wonderful drug.) I grabbed May's hand and got her out of there before James could scream. I suppose this was my way  to show that I valued our time together and wanted to make her feel appreciated.

The ride back to the hotel was quiet.

I could sense that something was bothering her, and once we were in our room, I asked her about James. (Well...I may have pried but it did get me the answers I wanted.(

Her response was heavy with frustration.

Listen, if I wasn't mad before, I was furious now.

She explained that James had been harassing her for her designs and that, when she refused to give them up, he had stolen them anyway. He had even threatened her, saying she wouldn't find any work if she tried to leave.

The anger inside me flared. I wanted to confront James, to make him pay for his actions. I should've slammed a whole bottle of wine right on top of his stupid and ridiculous head. I wouldn't have minded spending a night in prison if it meant James was in to the hospital.

But May stopped me, her calm presence a stark contrast to my boiling rage. She placed a soothing hand on my arm, and I realized that violence wouldn't solve anything.

Instead, I pulled her into a hug. It felt right, a moment of solace and understanding.

May hugged me back, and for the first time in days, I felt a sense of peace. Despite everything that had happened, being close to her brought a clarity that had been missing. In that embrace, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of us, and I found comfort in knowing that we were facing these challenges together.

It felt nice to hug her. It wasn't anything sexual.

I'm so used to people touching me because they thought the could. Even when Emily touched me, it felt invasive at times. I'd accept it because I was blinded by absolute desperation.

My mother hugged me but it was always in a posing way, as if she was telling the world she could hug her own son without a hint of repulsion.

It was just a simple hug, but it wasn't that too. It was just a way of telling her that I'm right here.

It felt right.

I know we have a lot to work through, but tonight was a reminder of just how much I enjoyed spending time with May.

A tiny bit of me wishes that we could take a step in a more romantic direction but I'm fine with where we are now.

I'm hoping to find something more meaningful in the process.

She's asleep on the bed, I can hear her snoring gently. I'm on the couch, using a small flashlight to write. I wish I could cross the divide between us. I'm so tired of sleeping alone.

Much to do,

- Alexander