Dear journal,
I found something interesting today. A met a wonderful, beautiful, talented little thing named May. She's as short and sweet as the month she's named after. She's everything the Haus of Lyon needs but I don't know how to get her on my...
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Dear Journal,
As I lie here in bed, May peacefully sleeping beside me, I can't help but reflect on the day's events.
It's rare these days for me to get some time to my self.
Today was a significant day for us at the office; we had a crucial meeting with our team to decide which models to cast for our upcoming show. The room was abuzz with excitement and tension as we sifted through portfolios and debated our choices.
Then, unexpectedly, my ex's name came up.
I don't mention my ex—with good reason. That wound had healed thankfully and I am relieved that I dodged a nuclear missile adorned in Chanel.
Allow me to introduce the bane of my existence: Emily Fredrickson...Model of the year twice in a row, the face if the Vogue spring catalogue, and the current girlfriend of the creative director of Tesero—the devil himself—-James.
I knew this was going to be a problem but I didn't expect that I had to deal with it now.
Fuck. That.
She's undeniably a big name in the industry, and her inclusion would undoubtedly add star power to our show. Imagine my surprise when May agreed to cast her. I was taken aback and couldn't hide my unease. (Just to set the record—I am not complelty aware of the history between her and Emily. I am aware that Emily caused May so many problems that she had to cry in a supply closet. I'm waiting for May to tell me...if she'll ever tell me.)
I am worried about the potential drama she could bring.
And trust me, she will.
I took May aside and asked if she was sure about her decision. She looked me in the eyes, full of calm confidence, and assured me that she wasn't worried. Her steadfastness and trust in her own judgment were reassuring, but my past experiences left me feeling unsettled. To ease my concerns, she kissed my cheek, a simple yet powerful gesture that made my heart flutter. She promised that if I stopped worrying, she'd come home with me tonight.
Clever woman. She knows I'm addicted to her.
Throughout the rest of the meeting, I couldn't shake the thought of mixing business with pleasure. To be fair, I wouldn't quite call this pleasurable in any way. It ended disastrously with my ex, and the last thing I want is for history to repeat itself.
I'm trying to be a better person.
This relationship with May feels different—deeper and more genuine. I truly love her, and I want us to succeed, both professionally and personally.
Lying here, watching her sleep, I realize how much she means to me. I want to kick myself for being so horribly blind. She's beautiful, not just on the outside but also within.
I've spent so much of my life feeling like an object, something to be lusted after or possessed, but never truly loved for who I am. With May, it's different. She sees me, understands me, and loves me in a way I never thought possible.
I'm not magically cured or better, it doesn't work that way. My therapist told me that I tend to use relationships like a crux to feel better about myself—she has a point. May doesn't deserve that, my bullshit is my own. One day I'll take her to a quiet place in the world where it's just her and I, sit her down after spoiling her rotten, and tell her everything.
I like it when she plays with my hair or when she lays her head in my lap. She likes it when I make her tea or when I kiss secretly.
What can I say, I'm domesticated. (Not that I'm complaining.)
Her presence brings me a sense of peace and belonging that I've never known before. I'm determined to make this work, to cherish and nurture what we have. The balance between our professional and personal lives may be challenging, but it's worth it.
