#keeping. it together. i am reviewing an applicant and maybe i can interview him sometime soon. maybe

[orcelito]

overwhelming exhaustion until im on the verge of despair 

manager meeting in 40 mins and i still have to do my notes

[hutchhitched]

Peeta Mellark, CEO

Written by: @hutchhitched​

Prompt 8: Peeta is a rich CEO and in love with another who disappeared before their marriage. So he withdraw within himself. But then he meets Katniss (her background is up to you) and falls in love for the second time. [submitted by @mysteriouslycraftyreview ]

Ratings/Warnings: E

A/N: I’m continuing to post the nine @everlarkficexchange prompts I took and then sat on throughout the early months of the pandemic. This is the fifth of the nine. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays. While this submission fills the prompt, I have more in store for this couple.

 ______________

 Peeta Mellark tossed his glasses down on the desk and scrubbed a hand over his face. His tired eyes felt like they were full of sandpaper, and the stubble on his jaw was definitely not the look of a successful businessman, let alone the CEO of an up and coming manufacturing cooperation that was poised to break into the Fortune 500 in the very near future. Exhausted, he shoved at the pile of papers on his desk and cursed his luck. He needed an administrative assistant immediately. Like yesterday. Or two weeks ago.

 To be fair, he needed a lot more than a new administrative assistant. He’d been in a funk for the past year, since his fiancée sent him a text (seriously, a text?) and called off their wedding—three days before it was to take place.

 Cashmere’s rejection had been tough to take. He had loved her so much, still did, if he was telling the truth, and it hurt every day to go home to his empty apartment and not see her there. His friends, business acquaintances, and family all tried to make him feel better by telling him he was too good for her, but that didn’t help at all. Cashmere and he were good together for a long time. It wasn’t her fault that his ardor had grown after their engagement and hers had cooled. It sucked that her attraction to him had abated to friendship, but he didn’t regret anything other than that his marriage had never happened.

 Since his broken engagement, Peeta had retreated into himself. He didn’t spend much time with anyone, including his family or close friends who all wanted to help so much it made him anxious. He couldn’t handle their good intentions when all he wanted to do was curl up on the couch in sweats and binge shows and eat junk food. If he hadn’t been the head of a company, he would have done that every day. Instead, he went into the office and buried himself in his work before going home and heading to bed—incredibly alone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to his parents on the phone or grabbed lunch with anyone if it wasn’t for business.

 Sometimes he missed being part of the human race, interacting with others and seeing their eyes light up with joy when they laughed. He missed family dinners with his brothers and nights out at the club with Finnick, Darius, Thom, and Gale. But most of all, he missed being in love with someone. Having a relationship with a woman who wanted only him. A person to come home to and wake up with. A confidante who knew his secrets and faults and loved him anyway. More than anything, he was just really, really lonely and more than a little horny. He was an All-American adult male, after all, and it had been far too long since he’d been with anyone other than himself.

 Peeta pushed the intercom button on his phone and spoke into it. “Delly, can you come in here, please?”

 “Right away, sir.”

 Peeta smiled at Delly when she entered the room. As office manager, she’d worked her job and that of his missing assistant for too long. She deserved a raise. She also happened to be one of his oldest friends, which is why he managed to keep it together every day instead of losing it each time he thought about how empty his life was outside the office.

 “Delly, I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of the way things are going around here,” he said and idly twirled a pen between his fingers. “I think we need a change, don’t you?”

 “Sir?”

 “Delly, you’ve known me your whole life. Can you cut it out with the ‘sir’ bullshit? It’s me.”

 She visibly relaxed and sank into the chair opposite his desk. “What do you want to change, Peeta? Am I not doing a good enough job?”

 He winced at the worried furrow of her brow and chided himself for making her job harder than it already was. He made a mental note to submit the paperwork for a raise for her the next day.

 “You’re doing an amazing job,” he assured her, “but you’ve been covering for two people for months. It’s time I bite the bullet and get someone else in here.”

 “Do you want me to take a look at the resumés and send you the most qualified?” she offered. “I can go over them this evening and send them your way.”

 “No,” he insisted. “You’ve done enough. Go home. Take the weekend off, and don’t worry about anything. I just need the applicant file before you leave. I’ll review them and set up some interviews for early next week. Deal?”

 Her relief was palpable, and he tried to quell the guilt he felt for pushing her so hard instead of finding a replacement for his last assistant. She brought him the file right away, and he waved her out the office doors before she could find something else she had to do before she left. He’d flipped through several applications before his phone buzzed.

 “Finnick,” he answered. “How’s it going, man?”

 “Peeta Mellark, my man,” came the hearty response. “Haven’t seen you in months. It’s Friday. Come meet us at Ripper’s.”

 “I’d love to. I really would, but—”

 “But nothing, man. Get your ass down here. Time to rejoin the living.”

 “I can’t. Snowed under here.”

 “I will come drag you out of that office if you don’t get the fuck down here within the hour. I proposed. I will not take no for an answer.”

 “Congratulations, man, but I really—”

 “One hour, you asshole. You’ve been warned,” Finnick threatened and disconnected the call.

 Peeta heaved a heavy sigh and sat back in his chair. Finnick engaged. That was really something—something that made his insides twist and curl and hurt. Despite that, he had to go meet his friends. Finnick was the first to congratulate Peeta after he’d ask Cashmere to marry him and had been there after the breakup, too. Peeta couldn’t shirk, no matter how much he wanted to go home and hide.

 Frustrated and despondent, he packed up his laptop and files carefully before reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulling a bottle of whiskey from its depths. He poured two fingers of the dark liquid and loosened his tie. When he took a sip, the liquor burned a trail down his throat enough that he tugged the tie off completely and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt. By the time he’d finished his drink, he’d also lost his jacket and rolled up his sleeves to reveal his forearms. At least this way he looked like a regular working schmuck instead of an uptight executive who had no life outside the office.

 Fortified by the drink and a burgeoning desire to reconnect with his friends, Peeta made his way uptown to Ripper’s. Memories hit him in the gut as soon as the door opened. The sounds and scents assailed him, and a flash of evenings out with his friends and his fiancée flickered in his head. Cashmere leaning over to kiss him as his friends whooped. The taste of her lips after they both shot tequila, lime and salt clinging to her lips. Finnick grinning at him when he got his last promotion. Gale and Darius ribbing him about a new crush. Thom announcing his impending fatherhood. So many memories, and all they did was remind him how desperately lonely he was, despite his financial and professional success.

 Except that did matter tonight. It was Finnick’s time to celebrate, and he wound his way through the tables to the back corner where his friends waited.

 “Peeta Mellark! The man, the myth, the legend, right here in Ripper’s with us lowly humans.”

 Peeta couldn’t help but chuckle. “Good to see you, too, Finn. It’s been too long.”

 “That’s not our fault. Is it, boys?”

 “Who are you calling a boy?” Gale snorted over his beer. “I only see men here. At least, those of us sitting down. You and Mister Hotshot might not have reached full maturity yet, though.”

 Peeta laughed as Finnick flipped off the other guys at the table and then settled into the booth. It felt good to see his friends again. He needed to remember to make more time for them in the future.

 “So, how’s the high life, man?” Thom asked.

 Peeta shrugged and ordered before answering. Thanking the waitress, he slumped down in his seat and admitted, “Crazy busy, as always. I need a new administrative assistant. I’m working Delly to death, and she deserves better.”

 “Some of us would like to see our wives,” Darius grunted. “Should never have agreed when she asked.”

 “Didn’t realize she had to ask permission to leave the house,” Peeta answered pointedly.

 “Oh, come on, man. I didn’t mean it like that,” Darius protested. “We just have one of those marriages where we talk things through and make decisions together.”

 He knew he shouldn’t, but he envied Darius and Thom their marriages and Finnick his engagement. Even Gale had a serious girlfriend, although he hadn’t met her yet. Maybe that was why it didn’t seem too far-fetched when he spoke.

 “My girlfriend’s in between jobs. She’s a fantastic office manager. Maybe she could help you out.”

 “Seriously?”

 “Sure. I’ll have her give you a call.”

 “Thanks, man. You’ve just saved my life.”

 Finnick leaned in and grinned cheekily. “Great. Then you can afford to get drunk tonight.”

 “I really can’t.”

 “Too bad. Here’s our first round of shots.”

 ****

 Peeta woke the next morning hung the hell over. How he’d allowed his friends, in particular Finnick, to convince him to stay and then do shots was beyond him. His only excuse was that it was the weekend, and he didn’t have to go to the office today. Otherwise, his headache and significant dehydration might have killed him. He managed to stagger to the kitchen where he brewed a pot of coffee and downed half a liter of water before his phone rang.

 “Hawthorne. What’s up?” he rasped into the receiver.

 “Hey, Peet. I know it’s early, but my girl’s here, and I suggested she call you about the job. She’s game for it, so I figured I might as well hook you two up before I forget. You free to chat?”

 Peeta grunted but agreed. Reaching for a mug, he poured himself some coffee and added cream before settling at the counter. He wasn’t prepared for the snarky voice that echoed through the phone, but he immediately straightened when he heard it. The woman on the other end of the line was a spitfire and sounded exactly like what he needed to help keep his office running and give his oldest friend a break.

 “Gale tells me you need some help keeping your workplace running smoothly. I can do that for you, but I don’t come cheap. Pay me well, don’t give me shit, and I’ll make your life easier.”

 “That’s quite an offer, Ms., uh…?”

 “Mason. Johanna Mason. I’ve been keeping corporate America organized for the past ten years. You have quite a reputation. Youngest CEO at Panem Industries in ages. Survived the Coriolanus Snow purge and caught the eye of the board of directors in a good way. I think you surprised everyone when they realized you weren’t just a piece in their games. Congratulations.”

 “Thank you,” he answered, impressed with her knowledge of the business world. Gale must have given her a heads up, but he suspected she’d already known more than most. “You seem to be a player, too. I’m impressed.”

 “I’m very impressive. I’m sure you’ve heard about some of my best attributes from your friend, so let’s just move past the posturing and get to the specifics,” she announced, her voice businesslike. “I can start Monday. Gale indicated this could be temporary or long-term, depending on your other assistants. I’m amenable to either. As for my salary—”

 Peeta almost blanched at the figure but wasn’t deterred by her request. Good office managers were worth every cent they were paid, and Ms. Mason—Johanna! She was his friend’s girlfriend, after all—seemed to be exactly what he needed.

 “I have one caveat,” he insisted. “Gale is my friend, and you and he are together, but you are my employee. Our relationship needs to stay professional.”

 “Gale, honey,” she purred. “Peeta wants me to be professional. You think I can handle that?”

 Peeta cringed at the wet sounds in his ear. He’d be offended if Gale hadn’t taken the phone briefly and hissed, “She’s good for it, Mellark. You won’t regret it.”

 “Fine,” he muttered. “Can I call you Johanna? You’re hired. Thirty-day trial, and a five percent raise once you’ve proven yourself.”

 “You won’t need thirty days for that.”

 He was almost positive she was right, and he looked forward to Monday when he could offer Delly some time off to spend with her family.

 ****

 “I need that folder,” Peeta announced into his phone and scribbled a few notes on the report before him. Johanna swept into his office a few seconds later. She’d only been working for him for a week, but she’d already revamp his world. Everything ran smoother; Delly’d already put in for some well-deserved vacation, and he hadn’t been subjected to any inappropriate knowledge of his friend from his new employee. “Thanks, Jo. Can you—”

 “Already done. Meeting with Heavensbee is moved up to 1:00, and you have a business lunch tomorrow with Seneca Crane at the Capitol Grill. Both indicated their interest when I arranged the details.”

 “You are a gift,” he said, distracted by the email he’d just received about a new project in China. “Seriously, thank you for everything you do.”

 “No thanks needed. You pay me enough. I’m happy to make your life better.”

 He chuckled and sat back when she plopped a hot chocolate in front of him. “How’d you know? This is my favorite.”

 “You forget who I’m banging on the weekend?”

 “Gale, of course.”

 “And I don’t wait for the weekend, either,” she said with a wink over her shoulder. He smiled fondly as she slipped out the door and back to her desk. He understood what his friend saw in her. She didn’t take any shit, was sexy as hell, and knew how to get stuff done. If he had fifteen more like her, he’d take over the world. Not that he was too far off from that anyway.

 ****

 “You mind if I take a long lunch tomorrow?” Johanna asked as she handed Peeta several files and watched him tuck them into his briefcase. “A girlfriend of mine just got back to town, and I promised I’d meet up with her. Won’t happen again.”

 “Take all the time you need,” he agreed. “Delly can handle everything while you’re gone. It’s not a problem.”

 “Thanks, boss,” she said with a wink. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Got a hot date with my man.”

 Peeta chuckled as he shrugged on his jacket. “Tell Gale I said hi. Been a while since we hung out at Ripper’s.”

 “That’s because I make it worth it to him not to leave the house.”

 “I’m sure you do,” he mumbled as he headed for the elevator.

 “Good luck on your date!” she called as the doors slid shut, and he groaned.

 If she hadn’t reminded him at the last second, he could have argued with her, but now it was too late. He’d stupidly agreed to a setup. It was only drinks at a cocktail bar around the corner, but he had a million things to do before the next day. He didn’t have time to make small talk with a woman he didn’t know as they both sipped overpriced drinks and tried to figure out how long they had to stay before they escaped with a modicum of dignity. If he didn’t have to answer to Johanna the next day, he’d skip, but he just didn’t want to hear it. With a sigh, he turned left out of the building and made his way to meet his date.

 “Rue?” he guessed when he met the slim, African American woman sitting at the bar alone. She was lovely and smart and very sweet, but he could tell within five minutes that they weren’t right for each other. He offered a second round, but she declined politely.

 “You’re a great guy,” she said with a kiss to his cheek when she slid from her stool to the ground. “I’m glad we met.”

 “Likewise,” he nodded. “Best of luck with your startup.”

 He watched her walk away with a half-smile on his face and a hint of regret. It wasn’t that she’d passed on him. That wasn’t it at all. Despite being a perfectly attractive woman, there wasn’t a spark between them, and he’d been too deeply in love before to settle for anything less. With another huge sigh—they seemed to be becoming a habit—he grabbed his suitcase and coat and headed home to his empty penthouse.

 He hated being lonely.

 ****

 “Johanna, can you come in here, please?” Peeta waited for her reply, but when he got nothing, he walked to his office door and poked his head out. “Jo?”

 Delly glanced up from her desk and replied, “She’s still at lunch. You told her to take the time, remember?”

 “I do, actually. Sorry. It slipped my mind.”

 At that moment, the elevator door opened, and his employee walked down the hall, chatting happily with another woman. She drew up when she saw him and narrowed her eyes.

 “It’s not even 1:00 yet. Surely, the place didn’t fall apart with me gone only 80 minutes.” Johanna rolled her eyes at him and waved to her companion. “Peeta Mellark, this is Katniss Everdeen. Katniss, Peeta. I left something in my desk for her. She’s not staying.”

 The woman in question glanced back and forth between him and her friend uncertainly. She was slight and unassuming with storm gray eyes and thick, dark hair worked into a loose braid. A few strands of hair escaped and framed her face, which was far prettier than he’d realized at first glance. Quickly, he snapped to attention. Stepping toward her, he extended his hand and waited for her to shake it. When she did, electricity sparked through him.

 “Ms. Everdeen,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Any friend of Johanna’s is a friend of mine. Welcome to Panem Industries.”

 “Sheesh! She’s not interviewing for a job,” Johanna snickered. She’s just here to get something from me, and she’s Gale’s friend, too. I’m surprised you haven’t met before now. Those two have been thick as thieves since they were tweens. You really haven’t heard of her before?”

 “Why would I have?”

 “I thought you and Gale were tight?”

 “We are tight. What does that have to do with anything?”

 Katniss smiled wryly and spoke in a smoky voice that shot straight to his groin. “Gale and I were best friends for years. We had a rough patch when he developed feelings for me in high school. Didn’t talk much through college, but we worked it out. I think Jo’s just surprised he didn’t mention me to his friends.”

 “You okay there, boss?” Johanna asked, her eyes wary as she observed him.

 Peeta shook himself, aware that he’d been frozen as Katniss’ voice washed over him. “Fine! I’m fine. Katniss, it’s wonderful to meet you. Johanna, I need to see you in my office when you’re finished with your friend.”

 He moved quickly and closed the door behind him. Walking on unsteady legs back to his desk, he sank into his chair. Needless to say, he was unsettled. Something about those smoke colored eyes and husky voice had reached inside him and pulled feelings to the surface he hadn’t felt in ages, and it was disconcerting in a way he wasn’t quite ready to admit. Flustered, he turned in his chair and gazed out over the city until Johanna entered his office. It was only then that he could expel Katniss from his mind.

 ****

 “You know, it’s bad enough that you foisted your girlfriend on me as an employee,” Peeta teased as he downed another whiskey. “The least you could do is pass on your best friend’s number. No, scratch that. The least you could do was warn me your best friend from high school is smoking hot now.”

 Gale tipped his head back and laughed hard at his friend and Peeta’s obvious attempt to weasel Katniss’ number from him. Finnick and Thom hooted their amusement, and Darius waved to the waitress for another round of drinks. Peeta hadn’t meant to end up at Ripper’s again, but he’d been off kilter all week. When Finn had asked, Peeta shrugged and went.

 “You only like me for my girlfriends,” Gale teased and clinked his glass with Thom. “To be fair, they are pretty spectacular. I have great taste in women.”

 “Says the most modest man alive,” Finnick crowed. “You like them wild, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

 “Wait,” Peeta blurted. “Wild? Katniss?”

 “Not in the traditional sense,” Gale drawled after a long pull of his beer. “Nothing like Jo. She’s amazing—completely herself, likes to party, will rip me apart with her bare hands if I cross her—but Katniss is something else. Feisty but stealthy. She can skin a squirrel and look like an angel doing it. I’ve never been able to explain her to anyone. She really has no idea the effect she has.”

 “But you dated? You two?” Peeta prodded. Something about the thought of Gale kissing the woman he’d met made his stomach clench.

 “Not for long. She wasn’t much interested, but I would have given my left arm for her back in the day. She’s only improved with age. I’m lucky she still bothers with little old me.”

 Peeta snorted and flicked his eyes to each of his friends. Gale may not have been the best-looking guy in the group—Finn pretty much had that locked no matter who was around—but Gale’s tall, dark, and brooding nature made him pretty popular with the opposite sex. He hadn’t had trouble meeting women in ages. Unlike Peeta, who’d had terrible luck with women both before and after Cashmere. Couldn’t get them to look at him instead of his money now that he was wealthy, and he’d been dismissed for being way too nice when he was younger. His former fiancée had been an exception, but then he couldn’t get her to stay, with or without his bank account.

 “But seriously, dude. Help a guy out. I’ve been single for ages,” Peeta wheedled, but Gale just shook his head.

 “If she asks, I’ll give your info, but there’s no way I’m gonna try to set her up. I value my life and limbs too much to intervene.”

 “You just said you would have given your left arm for her!”

 “Back in high school and college, man. Not now. I need them both for the work I do.”

 Peeta conceded then. It wasn’t like him to pump his friends for information about women, and he wasn’t going to start now. Maybe she’d come by work again with Jo, or maybe Johanna would—

 No. Johanna would not. That was a terrible idea, so Peeta shoved Katniss Everdeen from his mind and sipped his drink. If nothing else, he could use a night out with his friends.

 ****

 Later that night, when Peeta lay in bed alone, his penthouse dark and empty, and his heart shriveling with sadness, he allowed Katniss to flutter through his thoughts. If he imagined her in love with him, no one could prove it. Just like there were no witnesses when he reached into his sleep pants and palmed his half-hard cock.

 He hadn’t masturbated with anyone particular in mind for a very long time—not since Cashmere and he had been a couple. There was something intensely erotic about stroking himself with mental images of a specific woman smiling at him, touching him, taking his dick in her mouth and sucking until—

 “Oh, fuck,” he hissed as he swelled and hardened. “Katniss. Yeah, just like that.”

 He fumbled in his bedside table for some lube and was so worked up he squirted half the bottle onto his pelvis. Rubbing his hand in the fluid, he groaned when he wrapped his hand back around his erection and tugged. His hips bucked, and his headboard slapped against the wall. Startled by the sound, he bit his lip and shook his head.

 It seemed wrong to jack off like this when he barely knew her. Stranger fantasies were fine, but this was one of his best mate’s long-time friends. Johanna would rip him apart if she knew what Peeta was doing and leave the leftovers for Gale to destroy.

 God, he didn’t care, he realized. Something about Katniss Everdeen made him want to throw caution to the wind. He’d been a goner since he first heard her voice, and he’d paid his dues with his loneliness. One night of lustful thoughts and indulgence seemed like a just reward for being single for so long. He’d only met her once, but there were all the tell-tale signs of a massive crush. Except, yes, he was attracted to her, but he also wondered if he might have a case of love at first sight. She invaded his thoughts constantly, and he ached to see her again.

 Until that could happen, though, he needed some relief. Closing his eyes and tossing his head back into the pillow, he moved his hand until he gained a steady rhythm. The wet squelching sounds of the lube on his skin echoed through the apartment and stirred mental images that made his breath come harder and faster.

 In his fantasy, her lithe body bounced on top of him, riding him with abandon and wanton pleasure painting her face. Her small breasts jiggled prettily with dusty nipples pert and pointed and inviting his mouth to lavish them with attention. His fist tightened, he jerked harder, and then—

 He whited out, stars bursting behind his eyelids, ecstasy flooding his body, and all the tension draining through ropes of thick fluid painting his torso. Dazed, he lay there for several minutes, doing nothing but enjoying the lazy tingle in his veins and the dopey grin turning up his lips with delight. His spent cock filled his right fist, and he squeezed it a few times to keep the buzz going.

 When he could think clearly again, he opened his eyes and snorted at the mess. He was sticky and sweaty and slick with his cum and lube. Covered in his ejaculate, he stumbled to the bathroom on shaky legs. He meant to rinse off and then drop into a dreamless sleep, but he ended up hard and wanting a second time as the water coursed over him. Turning the temperature to cold didn’t help either. Only another round with his fist calmed him enough to fall into a restless, dream-filled slumber. His body insisted on round three the next morning.

 Within a few days, a pattern emerged. He woke hard, masturbated, and then went to the office where two women ran his world. When he returned home, he beat off again, sometimes two times, before he was able to sleep. By the second week, Peeta had to admit his feelings for Katniss weren’t going away.

 His only choice was to get her to fall in love with him, too, or his name was Peeta Mellark. CEO of Panem Industries, captain of industry, jilted fiancé, and desperately in love with Katniss Everdeen. Johanna was going to have a field day with this.

[emergenciesstory]

Tony’s Ex (Love) Lawyer

Tony’s ex Love Lawyer

Words: 1,873

Summary: Broken hearts, but not broken dreams

AN: been working on this for a while, it’s kind of Angsty but I like it. Unbeta’d and  I didn’t have the chance to edit so I may get on one day and do that.

“Twenty four thousand students on campus, and I run into you.” You glared at the genius before you, crossing your arms in front of you, distaste written across your face. Never did you think you’d run into your former boyfriend, especially not this morning. “I could’ve run into any single one of those twenty four thousand and had a better morning.”

Waking up late, in a strange apartment, you had barely pulled yourself together from the party last night. Being the last person in your friends group to take the Paralegal exam, you had become subject to a party hosted in your apartment complex for the end of the semester, and let go a little too much. Spending the night with an unnamed Athlete, you immediately regretted the hangover that was reminding you of every wrong choice you made. With no other options, your smudged mascara became a smokey eye and the short dress and heels you had worn to the party had to do for the last day of your internship. Still looking at the man before you, you shook your head as he just stared at you.

“If you’ll excuse me,” you muttered, lifting your head high and walking past him, trying to keep your emotions in check. You had thought your fling with the inventor was more, seeing a life built with him, working for him even, but fate proved otherwise when he ended things last week, the night before the biggest test in your new career.

“Actually, I won’t.” Tony spoke quietly, causing you to turn around and glare at him. Motioning towards the building, he silently asked for you to take a walk with him.

“I beg your pardon?” You spoke harshly, still eying the man.

“At least let me give you a ride across town so you aren’t late. All I ask is you talk to me on the way.” He smiled a small grin that made some of your anger melt, and nodded your head slowly. Taking his extended arm, you allowed him to escort you to where his driver waited calmly.

“Well? You wished to speak to me?” you questioned, sitting in the familiar SUV.

“Yes, congratulations on your Exam score, it is one of the best I’ve seen.” He said.

“Thank you. I worked hard to make it this far.” The air remained stiff and cold between you as you tried to keep your resolve. Every part of you yearned to touch him, to feel him, to hold him. It was quiet for a while before Tony spoke again.

“I’d like to offer you a job. Given everything that happened, It’s the least I could do.” The car stopped outside the firm you had been interning at as he finished speaking.

“Thank you for the offer, but I don’t need handouts. I’ve worked hard to be where I am, and will not belittle my abilities to a job you’re giving me out of pity.” Opening the door,  you slid out from the vehicle. “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Stark.” Closing the door, you walked into the small office without looking back.

Tony groaned from where he sat in the SUV. He wanted to make it up to you, to explain why he pushed you away, but he couldn’t. You didn’t know how dangerous his life really was, and he could never put you in danger by telling you he was Iron Man. So he left, and couldn’t get you off his mind since. He had to find a way to get you back.

_________________

    “Thank you all so much for everything.” You smiled at the people who had been helping you for the last year.

    “To many new adventures your way, Thank you for starting with us.” Everyone cheered and smiled at that, enjoying the departure party in the small office. Bidding your farewells, you stepped outside, bracing yourself for the long walk back to your apartment.

    “Can I offer you a ride?” Tony’s voice called out to you from just ahead.

    “To be insulted once again? No, thank you. I will be just fine walking.” Your smile fell from your face at his presence, but only slightly.

    “I didn’t mean to insult you, I was actually hoping to make what I did up to you.” He walked in step, hands in his pockets. Stopping, you turned to face him.

    “Then use your words, Tony, not your money.”

    Tony was quiet for a moment before he looked up, finally looking at you, his eyes rimmed red as though he hadn’t been sleeping.

“I was hoping that if I offered you a job that was nice, comfortable, you’d actually talk to me again.” He kept his eyes locked with yours, his hands shoved the pockets of his jeans.

“I never wanted to stop talking to you. Unfortunately, it wasn’t up to me.” Taking a step forward, you hugged the sides of your body. “Thank you for the offer Tony, but I still can’t accept it. I do hope to see more of you in the future.” Turning on your heel, you hid your tears walking away.

____________________

    “So, are you going to renew the lease?” your friend, Peter asked. The kid was young, but smart. You had met one day on campus, the kid bumping into you and sending your papers everywhere. Somehow he had gathered all of them before the wind blew them away, saving you a huge merger.

    “I don’t know if I can even afford it.” You sat beside the boy genius on the couch, looking around at your small apartment. “None of the jobs I have applied for have called me back. Maybe it’s time I leave the city.”

    “No, wait! What if I could get you a great job?” Peter jumped up pacing with an excited look on his face.

    “Peter, chill out!” you laughed. “How are you going to get me a job?”

    Grabbing his bag, Peter ran around pulling his shoes on. “I know a guy. Don’t worry, Y/n, I got this!”

    Peter ran out the door with less than a goodbye, your laughs echoing after him.

______________________-

    “Are you sure? You really think I could be a lawyer for the Avengers?” You looked at the application in your hand, interview time in the next hour. Smoothing over your pencil skirt again you looked at Peter, who held up your pumps.

    “Yeah! I think you’ll be great! The meeting is with Ms.Hill and though she’s scary I know you’ve got this.” He sat cross legged on your bed, smiling brightly.

    “Okay. I can do this. Avengers tower is just another building to work in. Come on, I’ll get your subway pass.” Grabbing your bag, you locked up the apartment and made your way down the two block stretch to the interview. “Tell me about how your internship is going, kid.”

    Peter began going on about what he was learning about technology and was electric the entire walk.

    “Oh, I work in the tower too. Sometimes, I mean I kind of just go where Mr. Stark wants me too. And I-”

    “Wait, who?” You stopped in front of the tower, turning back to look at Peter.

    “Tony Stark? The man I’m interning for?”

    “Of course. Tony Stark. He owns this building, he probably owns the Avengers, probably how you got me this job.” You muttered looking up to the building.

    “Y/n, everything good?” Peter reached out grabbing your arm.

    “Yeah kid, get home safe. Thanks for this.” Giving him a quick hug, you sent him on his way, watching as he scurried down the subway entrance.

Avengers tower was impressive, the tall glass exterior reflecting the clouds floating in the sky. Taking a breath, you ran your hand over your skirt and walked through the revolving door.

“Good Morning, can I help you?” a man in a suit asked, smiling as you walked in.

“Yes, good morning, I have a meeting with Ms. Maria Hill.” you smiled at the security officer and the man standing beside him in jeans and a t-shirt.

“The new Lawyer!” The blonde man said. “Please, allow me to escort you up to her office. I’m Steve, by the way. Steve Rogers.” His smile was infectious, placing your hand in his you nodded.

“I’m Y/n, although I guess you already knew that.” Steve skillfully lead you around the crowds of people and into an elevator.

“I did, but it’s still a pleasure to meet you. I do hope you plan to take this job.”

“I hope to make it through this interview first.” You said as the elevator opened to a large room, one woman commanding it from the center.

“You will. I believe in the things the kid has said. You are exceptional.” Steve gave your hand a squeeze.

“The kid?” you questioned.

“Peter Parker. He set this up.” A females voice rang from behind you. “Pleasure to meet you, and might I say, the kid really has all good to say about you. Shall we begin?”

_______________________

    You had spent hours with Maria, the interview making the job sound like a dream come true. An apartment was provided within the tower due to always being on call, along with meals and salary you couldn’t refuse. The job began immediately, being given contracts and government forms to review. Your office was connected to Marias, making it easy to settle any issues. Reading through the contract to make the Avengers a government funded team, the door flew open to the office.

    “Maria, have you seen the Captain recently? He missed debriefing for the next meeting.” The voice sounded familiar, one you couldn’t get away from.

    “Yes, Tony. Between training and introducing our new lawyer, the Captain informed me he was going on a run around the compound.”

    “Oh, the new lawyer has been hired? It’d be a pleasure to meet them.” His voice was getting closer to your doorway. You stood and opened it, turning back to the papers in your hand.

    “You say that like you had no input on hiring me, Stark.” Turning to sit on the edge of your desk, you finally looked at him, dropping all the papers in your hand. Before you stood the Iron Man suit, faceplate removed to show Tony. “You, you are, can’t be.”

    Tony’s face dropped as he stepped out of the suit. “Y/n, I never wanted you to know about this.”

    “Didn’t want me to know you were Freaking Iron Man?!” You said, gathering the papers. “That’s why you broke up with me? Because this is what you didn’t want me to know.”

    He looked sad, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t want you to get hurt because of what I do. I wanted you to be safe. I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

    You thought about his words before walking back around your desk and sitting down. Without looking him in the eye, you cleared your throat.

“How did that work out for you, Tony? If you’ll excuse me, I have papers to get back to.”

He hesitated before stepping out, closing the door behind him. As the latch closed, The tears began to fall.

[birdingbasics]

year in review, 2017:

january: there's this open bag of grapes on the table, abandoned, and he plucks one of them off the dry, wooden vine. this? it’s 2016, he says, and he tosses it in the air, mouth open and prepared for a landing. the grape hits the ground, bounces once. he does this over and over. it hits the skylight in my friend’s apartment, the one no one ever cleans, that scatters dust when you breath near it. he keeps trying, until he doesn’t.

he picks up another grape. we are drunk by then--me off my meds and terrified of dying right then and there and drinking too much to compensate, them because it's been a long time since college and they are all together, finally, and so much has changed so quickly. and our legs are burning, from running around the house holding suitcases. we were going to do every new years’ tradition. we did some, and some is more than any of us have time for.

“this is 2017,” he says, another grape between his fingers, and we all laugh. he tosses it behind his back. cameras are at the ready; music is being played.

he doesn’t catch it. but he keeps trying. (until the cat bats it across the floor, and we all yell at him to please not put that into his mouth).

the rest of us are all collapsed backwards wherever we are; arms drape over chair arms and splay across each other. they were the only ones that didn’t go home for the new year, and it felt like i was the only one who stayed.

“2018,” he says, and he throws it in the air.

he doesn’t catch it first try. but on the sixth, he spins into it, a perfect 360 degrees spent lowering into a crouch, his weight on his heels, landing with two fingers pointed at us, all yelling with delight.

“2018!” and we're holding our phones in his face to look at the video we have now, forever or until society collapses, “That’s going to be the year! 2018!” and it looks like flash and the foolhardiness of being young and not knowing what that means, but it feels like prophecy.

february: not getting out of bed. every morning i wake up and call my state fricking representatives. i owned their inboxes. still under the covers, dialing a phone number half-awake, slurring, brain somewhere else, to ask for something that shouldn’t have been a question. let people live here, if they want to. let us have doctors. stop trying to make this planet kill me more than it already wants to. stop trying to kill me faster than we are all already dying.

it took months for anyone to pick up.

interviews, job applications, job acceptances. “catsitting” (subletting, but so my parents don’t have to deal with the idea that i would pay not to live with them). for a little while it's me and my friend’s apartment and i walk the whole city just because i can and i feel alive. we sit three in a row, backs against the wall, and cry because we can’t fix anything. we watch terrible movies and make overly elaborate brunch foods and i buy clothes i still can’t make myself wear.

march: a job is a job is a job is a job is a job is a job is a job is a job but i will always be thinking about all of the ways that i can die and this one allows me to get so creative about it, but the security agreement i sign means that now my anxieties are all [redacted]

i learn how to talk into a microphone even when my mouth doesn’t do what i want it to, even when it always always always says the opposite of what i mean it to and i can’t fix it

i talk so quietly that she can’t hear me. i laugh so loud the recording splinters into pieces and i look at the waveform while editing and wonder how i could have found something so funny that the sound of it was rendered beyond capture.

april: this used to be springtime. i know it did. i am tired and i don’t pack lunches. it’s hard to make people like you when nothing you say is about you, when you meet probing questions with jokes and hope they don’t notice (but then they don’t and they ask you about boyfriends and children and husbands and you can’t you can’t you can’t-)

i can’t remember much, of april

may: “i said hello,” he says at the door, but my headphones aren’t on and he didn’t.

“did you?” i ask, and walk to my desk without an answer, because there are two kinds of self-preservation at play and if i am going to be the place people hang weird crushes they don’t want to have i do not have to be a stationary target.

my bosses start making suicide jokes. if they’ve become comfortable around me, and i am becoming more and more uncomfortable, does that count as equilibrium?

i stay up until two am editing and have the only good sleep i’ve had in a long time.

june: i fall asleep with headphones in to the sound of people laughing. i leave a friend in the lurch because i don’t know how to live one life at a time. i leave the apartment.

(my mother tells me that the owner can’t climb the steps anymore, that when i stopped subletting he had to sell it and now it’s being renovated and rented out for much more. everyone liked him. he had wes anderson and harry potter and instruments and paintings and textiles everywhere. he has two bikes hanging up that my mother says he will never be able to use again. he told me i could use one if i wanted, and the fact that i can’t, that my muscles work but i can’t, made me feel like a waste of a human body, and for a second i wanted to take them all out and put them in the box with all his books and say, this is yours too, i didn’t do anything to earn them, but i am selfish and i keep the things that are mine).

i sit in one place at work and no one speaks to me except to push me into panic and people laughing is not enough to stop it in a silent room with no windows and i put stories right into my ears to keep my brain from leaving my body alone in there.

july: it’s been five years since i’ve written anything; it’s been five years since anything felt worth writing.

(my therapist tells me that it’s called narrative therapy, that people use it all over, that there’s nothing wrong with it, that i don’t have to distrust feeling better so suddenly, that the other shoe is not going to drop, that there is no other shoe, that sometimes things just get better, sometimes coping mechanisms work without being unhealthy, and i still can’t quite believe her)

august: the summer begins to end too quickly. i am writing, and i am saying words with my mouth that feel less wrong, and making ikea furniture without help because i can do this on my own, and i am ruining ikea furniture so, so badly. i am owning things that don’t belong to anyone else.

it doesn’t make sense, to spend the summer working without going back to my own schedule in the fall. my parents ask me how i feel about the forty hour work week. “so glad you asked,” i say. “it’s bad”

they laugh, because they don’t stay up until three am trying to figure out whether they will be spending all of their time working until suddenly they are 68 years old, if they get that lucky, and they are retiring and they don’t know what they could do anymore, they are not young and their friends are not young and they are never getting married and how else are you supposed to be a 68 year old human being without dying alone? how are you supposed to live a life you can be happy with if the only constant in it is the part you dread, that reminds you of all the things that could collapse in your beating heart and your heart keeps beating even when you are afraid of it especially when you are afraid of it, and you try to explain that and they ask if you should up your meds again? just ask, and see what they say.

september: september used to feel like fall, i swear it did. i feel better. i do more. i learn how to make friends as an adult. i can’t turn off the part of me that needs people to think i am impressive and funny and benign and there is nothing wrong with me and if i could i am sure i would be much more impressive and funny and benign.

i am doing okay. i am terrified, but i am okay.

october: on halloween every store was out of pumpkins, so we improvise, carve faces in bell peppers and acorn squash. we spend hours on masks, together and apart; i try to carry myself through the monotony of being a person.

halloween is good. it’s the first year in a long time i haven’t cursed it. i hope that means something.

november: one thing about being on medication that you don’t think about is that driving is easier. you can have your foot on the gas without thinking, eyes open, head forward, any second, your brain can glitch and your arms will not answer you and you will not turn and the tree ahead of you will eat you alive and it will eat them alive and it will be your fault you will be dead and no one will know anything true of you. instead you just... drive. and you’re going faster than you should and your knee is locking up but that’s fine, because you’re just doing it, and maybe this is how other people have always felt when they’re driving too far too fast and no one is holding onto the door like they want to fling it open and escape.

december: i put myself under the microscope over and over. i want to make things, and i want to sleep enough while i do it, and you can’t have both unless you can talk about the things you do without feeling your throat close up and mine always does. i am networking and refusing to call my terrible mouth my terrible mouth and handing out scripts and trying and there is a scream somewhere in me and that is fine as long as it comes out sounding like, hey, nice to meet you.

i write far too much of the same thing and i don’t know how my life changed so much so quickly. (i still don’t think it’s good, i still can’t look at it without my body wanting to pull into itself, i still say christ. christ. christ. and you can read it when i’m dead and in the ground when anyone tries to mention it in front of me, as much as i try to model for myself what a normal person would do and say, but i like the doing of it. i hit a milestone number, the kind that feels good to look at even when divorced from content, even if it’s only the size it is because i don’t know how to abandon lukewarm bathwater when it’s really better off down the drain.)

december isn’t over and this all feels like cheating to me. (december felt like winter, once). but this year has been better. this year has been good? this year is being batted at by a cat’s paw and i am abandoning it. i am making plans for the next thing and trying to keep my head until then.

[boo-yu]

Be yourself and love yourself

This is a big topic, which I encountered many times recently. I wonder if this is a phase in my life. 

Last night I watched an interview. The guest said: when she was first told that one should love oneself, she thought it means that one should treat oneself well, like buying nice things for themselves. However, as she grew older, she realized that love oneself means: recognize yourself and accept yourself. 

Goes back to yesterday’s analysis: Why I felt I was destroyed. 

The past few years have been a process for me to recognize myself. In the beginning, I did not understand why I sabotaged a great relationship and entered into an abusive relationship, almost knowingly. Until I stepped out of the relationship, talked to someone, read books, and did self-evaluation. The deep dark secret of the feeling of not deserve to be loved is the reason. After a few years of struggling with the abusive relationship, I was finally able to end it once and for all and did what I was supposed to do: love myself. 

So when I met D, I truly believed I was ready: ready for a healthy relationship. Of course, there were other possibilities, but I knew I did not like them; at the point when I met D, I knew what I wanted, and he fits into my perception. I also believed since I’ve grown, I will be alright this time. WRONG. 

What I might have done wrong?  

I expressed myself too quickly, and it might give him the wrong impression. Actually, I did not think this way until I started to re-think what happened. This may or may not be a reason, but I did give people wrong impressions sometimes. I talked to someone during dinner, and he asked me if I was interested in the other guy. I was surprised: Why on earth would the other guy think I was interested in him? The explanation from the person telling me was: I asked the other guy if he would like to go to a movie together. Well it was true I asked if he would like to go to a movie, but absolutely not an invitation for him to go to a movie with me: I bought my ticket to go to the movie myself already, and since there was a dinner later that night with a group of people, so I just asked him if he would like to go: I will go to the movie myself anyways, not because I was planning a movie with him--that was the difference for me: maybe I know the difference, but other people don’t? This also reminds me of a friend in law school, when one night he walked me home first (cause we were neighbors), he played with my dog for a while and almost fell asleep on my floor, then I told him he needed to go home: I still did not know what he was thinking at that point, and I did not want to know-- just don’t want to ruin the friendship. 

So I couldn’t help wondering, did D think I just like to go snowboarding, and it doesn’t matter with whom? I had this theory that he was observing me, but I did not know what he wanted to know. I guess I could be viewed as someone likes to social and has many friends-- a critic I had received before, but I did not know how to defend myself. The profession demands networking, and socialization is just a skill, not who I am; it is true that I want to present myself as someone who is easy to talk to and be likable, but that does not define who I am. On the contrary, when the one criticized me was trying to hang out with friends, showing off, and trying to make me jealous, I was just thinking: can’t you be more mature and just be with yourself? 

Point two: I omitted the distance and uncertainty. When I was thinking about this, I was thinking about a common goal (as if there was ever one). I was thinking: I can move (and I probably will) so I will just move to Chicago or New York, wherever he is. But I omitted the possibility I cannot stay in the U.S. My suspicion, again is that D had a bad experience with long-distance relationships. I should have noticed: when he told me, and asked me when and how often do I go back to Beijing. I did not know his purpose of the questions, while was generally thinking he was just asking random questions that he was interested in. But, distance is important for him. 

As for me, there is always two sides of the coin. I was thinking about telling him I can move wherever, but the drawback for that is: he feels pressured, he was not certain if he wanted to be in a relationship already if I told him this, he felt more pressure, and he will feel guilty if he cannot response, and to avoid feeling guilty, he did not response at an early stage so that he was trying to mitigate his guilt. This is my suspicion. Yet, it is hard to accept the truth, and if this was what he was thinking, I wish he had more courage--but that won’t be who he is and that won’t be who I think he was, or even who I like. This is a dilemma.

What I did is I did not tell him anything. But the problem is the same. The idea of having a relationship probably stress him out, not to mention a long-distance relationship. So, basically, there is no right choice for me. I wish there was anything I could do. 

 This is soooooo long. I feel I need to switch topics. But will there be another time I write about this? ... emm.. as I brought my laptop to work and write in-between different assignments, I might lose thoughts. 

So what happened to myself? I believe it is because it destroyed my belief and the confidence I have just built. Or maybe because it is something I have just build, and it is not solid, and easily destroyed. It is fascinating that I was not worried about anyone else, I know it is just between me and him, or our own problems. 

My body also reacted. I don’t know if it is because of all the factors together, or just the decreased self-awareness: I gained weight and had several breakouts. My body is telling me that I need to pay attention to myself. 

====== 

I had the idea of writing something every day yesterday and started. So far so good, but it takes longer than I expected and I write less topic than planned in my head. I will keep doing this and hopefully find a better way in a few days. 

Working today: 

Not too much (the fact that I can still write); need to finish a small project before going home. Started to get steady works. 

Need to finish the CA bar application tonight or tomorrow before application fees go up. 

Exercise: 

Need to go to bed earlier cause it took too long to write yesterday. 

Need to go to gym for 40 mins and walk dog for 20 mins. -- yesterday run with Bubu for the first time, and she was super fast -- we did 2 miles in 20 mins. 

Others: 

Start writing small pieces of bar prepare. --- since is something I should have done a year ago when I had the idea but it takes so much time formulating or even explaining a small subject. But I think it will again help me with CA bar prep, and I believe I don’t need to study (maybe the weekend before) if I keep reviewing some basic stuff and if I am capable of explaining it clearly. 

Language. I don’t know if I should keep writing in English. I might stay with English for diary and Chinese/English or one Chinese on English for the bar explanation. 

Topic. It is probably better to have topics than arranged by dates. So I will try to be more organized in this way. 

Proofread. Don’t really have time for proofreading, and most of the thoughts are not well-organized or articulated. But can consider review content each week, and make changes, and each month see if I can put together a topic. 

Why am I doing this? Talk to myself & try to be more organized and know myself better. 

============

Also thought about writing something special for the day, like yesterday was the discount I got, today would be: get a phone call from SD office, asking for help. Means a lot to me. 

=====

I finished the short research and drove back home. On my way home, I just remembered what I was going to write for this topic. 

So basically all my close friends know about my feeling for D. Many of them cannot stand me suffering and warned me to move on, but one friend told me I should be more aggressive. I think that speeded the whole process of my collapse because what I was doing was not something I would do: things she won’t mind, I do care. I can’t give up my pride. I believe we have many things in common, and we even look alike for some people. However, we both know we are different. 

Before I headed home, I had a doubt: how long can I keep writing? this seems a lot. 

[69tell-blog]

Windowpane [EXCERPT]

1st Chapter, Villa Vance.

         I hear footsteps coming down the hallway, probably Julia, my brother’s girlfriend. The three of us just started living in this apartment about a month ago. I still haven’t unpacked all my things and boxes crowd my room. I’m happy that Terrence isn’t selfish and that Julia can stand me. If not for those two I don’t know where I’d be. It’s been rough for me since graduation; my degree seems not to have made finding a job easy at all, and I’d settle for fast-food or retail, but I hate dealing with people. It’s awkward and sometimes embarrassing for me. In a perfect world, I’d have a desk at a prominent magazine or newspaper company. Alas, The freelance gigs I’ve been so loyal to are paying less & less now. Money is tight.          Her footsteps get louder; she pauses briefly before turning the doorknob, without a knock.          She walks in; her face is flushed. I can tell she’s upset about something, or someone.          “My God Vill, do you ever plan on cleaning up around here? I mean seriously, it’s like you haven’t unpacked a single thing. Are you living out of a box? She asks. “And another thing, when are you going to start working? Me and Terrence can’t pay for this place alone you know!”          “Well, I’m trying my best & that’s all I can tell you. I know money is tight, I know I’m not working. I’m sure I’ll find a job soon, I’ve been applying to a lot of publications. Don’t let my junky room distract you; I’m getting everything straightened out, believe it.”          I say that I’ve been trying, but the truth is, I haven’t applied myself at all. I haven’t filled any applications out. This white lie is all I need to buy some time until I can find something I can bear. To me, it seems selfish to be so choosy when I know Terrence and Julia are handling most of the bills. I’m optimistic that I’ll come across something soon and if not… there can’t be an “if not.” I’d never let them know the truth; they couldn’t understand. I just need a little while longer.          “I’ve got an interview with Express tomorrow morning.” I lie.          “Well, that’s a start I guess.” Her tone softens, and she becomes a concerned mother, worried that her scolding has hurt her child’s feelings.          “You know I don’t mean to get so worked up, but Me and Terrence can’t afford to keep splitting these bills alone. We have other places we need to spend our money Vill, and we’re counting on you for relief.”          “I know Julia, I know. I’m trying my hardest to pull it together.”          “Okay.”          She walks out, closing the door behind her. I’m relieved she didn’t ask what Express was, I wouldn’t have had an answer. It’s just some company I saw in a magazine before. Julia’s concern is a sign that I need to make a move soon. I figure that as long as Express is a part of my lie, I may as well look into it. I pull the magazine out from one of the boxes I rummaged through last night and flip to the last page. It reads “Express — Highway to life, now hiring. Call 1 333 999 9966.”          I grab the house phone, but before I can lift a finger to dial, I hear a knock, an entrance more subtle than the last.          “Come in,” I answer. No response.          “Come in!” I shout. Still, no answer.          I get up to check and see who’s knocking and why they didn’t they just walk in. I crack the door a little and peep through the opening; no one is there. Probably Terrence is playing a joke on me, though it isn't very funny. I shrug it off and get ready to redial the number.          Then, another knock on the door.          “Terrence I’m in the middle of something, stop kidding around!” I shout.          He didn’t respond. I quickly get up to answer the door once again, this time more furious and agitated. I fling the door open and out pops Terrence from behind a corner. He’s wearing a Ghostface mask.          “Am I supposed to be scared?”          “Haha, you fell for it last time.”          “Which is why it didn’t work this time. I was right in the middle of an important call, so I’m not going for any of your shenanigans. Julia just got on my case about not having a job, so this is serious. I think she’ll be less flustered once I land something; I'll pull my weight around here too.”          “Well, guess what Villy. You don’t have to worry anymore! You can keep all your money buddy. I’ve got everything covered. I thought my shenanigans might brighten your day since you’re always moping around here looking depressed and shit.”           “What are you talking about? How can you have everything covered? Do you know what you're saying? The rent here is way too much for one person to handle, and I know that call center isn’t paying that much.”          He begins to explain his luck at being offered a position with a new organization called Express. The same company I was about to call and apply. He's ecstatic to tell me the salary and how much fun the job is. Oddly, he never sheds light on what the job entails. When I ask, he changes the subject, over and over, every time I ask. There’s nothing I want to know more than the type of work involved. Every ad I saw was bereft of anything more than a cheesy slogan.          I had heard enough of Terrence's stories. It’s good that he found a high paying job but if he covers everything I’ll feel like a freeloader. I hurried to end the conversation. When he finished talking, I praised him and continued my phone call with Express.          "Hello—Express Career Services, my name is Jenny. How may I help you?"          "Yes, Ms. Jenny, I'd like information about any job openings you have."          "Okay sir, may I please have your name and SSN?"          Social security? That’s peculiar. I’m not inclined to divulge the information, but since Terrence got the job, he must have gone through the same process.          "Oh… yes ma'am, of course. My name is Villa Vance and my So—"          “Villa Vance!” She exclaims. Sir, please meet me at my office, tomorrow at 5:00 p.m. sharp. Thank you. Click!          "But where is your office? Where do I need to go?" I was talking to myself; she had already hung up the phone.          It seemed promising, in fact, I almost had a little hope that things would turn around. Now, I'm back at square one. Why couldn't the lady just tell me where her office was before she hung up. How could she expect me to know where to go or how to get there.          The phone began to make a dial tone. I had forgotten to dismiss the call. I click end and flop onto my bed. The plan was to go to college, get a bachelor’s degree in English, then snag a job writing for a company or teaching. The plan failed. In reality, I’m sitting in a room full of boxes with no clue what to do next. In a moment, every depressive thought of my future begins to creep into my consciousness, so the walls close in and my brain feels too big for my head with every analysis fighting the other for a space to occupy. From college, life has never seemed this volatile. I’m used to a set routine with predictable outcomes. Now, I truly don’t know what’s to come next or how well I can handle it. I’m already unstable. Tonight will be cold I know. I should get to bed.          Writing is the only thing that ever helped me relieve stress. Before I go to sleep, I have to write in my journal. It’s something I’ve done since I was a little boy. By documenting what happens in the past, I can remember it easier than a mere memory. My memory is frail. I write in detail, lest I forget a single instance.          I grab my notebook and a pen to jot down everything that took place today. When I woke up this morning, I found that my cell phone had stopped working. For some reason, it wouldn’t cut on. Next, I couldn’t find the remote to the TV, even though I distinctly remember putting it on my nightstand before going to bed last night. Which was right after I looked through a box of magazines, where I found the Express ad.          I continue to write about my day until the ink in my pen runs out. Of course, the ink would run out. With everything going wrong, why would anything decide to go in the right direction? I don’t remember having another pen in my drawer, but I check anyway. I open it up to behold a bright red pen I never knew existed, Express is printed in small white words on the side. Before I reach to pick the pen up, I hear a voice. It shouts in my ear, “Express!.”          I jolt back and quickly check my surroundings. Maybe I had been awake too long. My clock says 1 a.m. as if I’d been writing that long. At any rate, How did this pen get in the drawer?          “Walk toward the window.” The voice calls. And like a fool I follow. I walk to my window and peek through the blinds to see no one.          This better not be another one of Terrence’s tricks. No, it couldn’t be.          “Open it!” The voice shouts.          But I won’t move, I’m not willing to open a window for a voice alone. I don’t know who or where the speaker is. I’m reviewing every concept of reality introduced to me, trying to disprove them all to explain how and why this is happening.          “This is for your own good.” It whispers.          Suddenly, My hand moves to the window without my permission. I slide the lock to the left and slowly raise the glass. My body is no longer under my control. It has a will of its own. Terror and confusion have replaced any sense of security and common sense I had. The chilling wind from the draft of the open window bites my lip with a gust that is much more bitter than it should be. The calling voice spirals from a whisper to a mumble. Finally, an obnoxious shout breaks my thought.         “You are no longer a part of this world. Listen to my voice to uncover great wisdom. You must understand before you walk blindly. I am here to lead you, accept my presence and follow my will. Let your body do the work. Put your mind to rest.” It claims.          Before I knew it, I climbed out of the window. The wind whipped so rapidly that it hurt to hold my eyes open, so I kept them closed. I'm now dangling from the third floor of an apartment building without a hint as to what will happen next. My body is frozen, I can't see, and a seemingly benevolent, but eerie voice is dictating my actions. It told me to let my mind rest. It feels like this voice knows me. Does this entity have control of my body? Something I thought was a joke at first has changed into a phenomenon I can’t fathom, let alone explain. If I am no longer a part of this world, then what world have I entered?          I've been dangling for at least ten minutes now, and the voice hasn’t yielded another command since. My arms have yet to tire out, and despite a severe, arctic wind, I’ve resisted hypothermic shock.          Then, all motion of the wind stopped, and something began to counteract the bitter cold. It was dark outside, but now I feel rays of light surround me. My eyes remain closed; I begin to imagine the environment around me. It feels like I’ve arrived in a place where sunshine and light are persistent and dazzling. What is this world?          I'm no longer dangling from the window of an apartment building, but now standing straight up with little space between my feet. My back is erect, and my head is tilted slightly up. My eyes are still closed, but this is by choice. I'm not ready to see.          The voice calls me by my first name. I'm not willing to answer this soon. I don't feel like I should have to speak, I’m the one expecting answers. After a long pause, the voice seems to fade away, while murmuring what sounded like a rant. I stand here, quietly and patiently, as my life whirls around in my noggin. I think about Terrence and Julia; the debt and trouble I'm in. I question the possibility of all this being a dream. I convince myself that it is indeed an odd dream, which gives a good reason as to why I have not yet opened my eyes. Perhaps, once I open them, I'll be in my room lying on the bed.          That's it; it's time to stop this dream. I'll count to three and open my eyes. One... Two... Th— “Are you ready Villa?” The voice interrupts.