- help i'm alive by metric

This set features items from @chicnova 
Dress: http://bit.ly/1buzuq6
Blazer: http://bit.ly/15RRr9Z
Clutch: http://bit.ly/1eWFiuN

Marketing Executive Sasha Wallace is inviting Apple employees to her home tonight for a lovely, casual dinner date to not only get close to many of us as individuals, but to help innovate ideas for upcoming marketing campaigns as a whole.


I think I’m an invulnerable person. Or at least, I try to be. I always act professional, I always keep my walls up, I always make sure no one sees me in my deepest, darkest moments. It’s been this way for me for 28 years and it’s worked, worked very well. No one sees me cry, no one understands my struggle, and I like it. I like my privacy, I like being able to keep my secrets a secret and my fears to myself. That way, no one can hurt me, no one can betray me, no one could ever possibly make me feel worse about myself than I already do. 

It’s a system, an intricate one similar to the inner networking of Apple’s iOS software. You update to accommodate new arrivals, new advances, new people in your life, and the bigger, grander, and more impressive it seemingly becomes. But yet, the walls are still there, the restrictions. You can’t get past certain layers of interworking, leaving the software its privacy. It works nicely.

But I guess I’ve come to realize that things have grown lonely this way. To be vulnerable is to be open and to be open is to allow people into your life. I’ve really struggled with that simple concept ever since I was a child. Except James. I let James in - and see where that got me? Alone for another eight years. 

Maybe that’s why the system stood in place for so long; because it worked as well as it did for as long as it did. Like any archaic governmental or economic structure, the people have grown to revere it simply because it’s been there so long without fault. But except… now. Now things have changed. More people have entered into my life, and more have left. More happiness has been evident, but yet more sadness too. I have friends now, and confidants, and individuals in which I would bare my soul with, or even more so, trust with my life. There’s Nat and J and James and Collin. But then there was Aldrich - the betrayal I felt, physically, mentally, emotionally, all still there.

I think I’ve learned that so many people enter and leave your life; hundreds of thousands of people. You have to keep the door open so they can come in, but it also means you have to let them go.


I didn’t typically like having people in my house, especially this many legions of individuals. It was a big house, a grand house, my dream house, positioned securely in San Jose, the city in which I was born. There were endless expanses of rooms, so many I wasn’t even sure the exact number, though nearly all of them stood empty. Everything was crisp, white, clear. I had been told my home was impeccably minimalistically design, but in reality, I just didn’t have the patience to decorate the entire thing, to make it /actually/ feel like a home. I only ever spent my time in the kitchen, the master suite which I had declared as my bedroom, and the living room. All that sat in the living room was a rug, a flat screen television, and my couch. 

Seeing the Apple employees crowd around that couch nearly made my head spin. I managed to push into the kitchen, finding my Xanax bottle sitting pleasantly between the wooden cutlery set and the sink. I unscrewed the lid hastily and popped two round blue caplets into my mouth, swallowing them down dry. I only had a few more remaining - I’d need to get my prescription filled again soon.

I heard footsteps entering the kitchen and glanced up suddenly, hiding the pill bottle behind my back. Just because I was starting to open up more didn’t mean I wanted someone to know I was on medication. That was the last thing I needed.

“Hey, Sasha?” It was Nat. She peered around the corner, glancing around my kitchen slowly, from the tops of the cabinets to the marble countertops. The food was cooking in the corner, selective dishes both on the gas stove and in the oven - everything vegetarian. I scratched my neck with my free hand and smiled at her.

“Hey Nat. What’s up?”

She stepped fully into the room, walking nearer. She was dressed wonderfully, as always, cute with a slight professional air to her, one I couldn’t quite place. Her long blonde hair was done delicately up into an intricate twist at the base of her neck. She ran her hands over her skirt and sent a small smile my way. “Not much… just wondering if you needed any help?”

I smiled back at her, shaking my head. “No, I’ve got it all under control… thanks though!”

“What’s for dinner?” She headed towards the nearly finished food, giving me a chance to stash the Xanax bottle in a drawer quickly, turning to walk besides her. I watched as leaned towards a bowl and sniffled lightly.

“Well I’m boiling some pasta for the homemade tomato bisque sauce I made and then I also have an eggplant parmesan to go over it. And a spinach quiche appetizer.”

She nodded. “Sounds delicious!”

Collin entered the kitchen after her, smiling and nodding at her presence, before turning to me. I could tell something was off but I knew why. It was that call he had received from his mother earlier, about his little sister, how she’d gotten into a car accident back home and how the chances of both her life and her livelihood were at stake. That was a tough thing to comprehend and I knew that it was breaking him, but Collin was a trooper and somehow, was managing through it.

“Hey Sasha,” he breathed, though that sadness was still evident in his tone. It nearly broke my heart to hear it, but I ignored the pain in my chest for his pride’s sake, especially being in the company of another person. “Everyone is getting a little restless out there… want me to serve the quiche?”

I sighed, feeling the affects of the Xanax kicking in as I leaned against the counter, running a hand over my forehead. “Um, sure,” I went on, feeling my vision blur. Shit.

“You okay?” Nat inquired.

I waved her off, mustering up a smile and nodding. “I’m fine. I guess I’ve got a dinner party to host.”


(type 'help, i'm alive' if you read it all)
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