A/N: Something simple, something different. I hope you like.
I don't own Twilight.
Change
"We don't have to engage in grand, heroic actions to participate in the process of change. Small acts, when multiplied by millions of people, can transform the world." ~ Howard Zinn
9:45 AM
I'm running later for work, I've never once been late, not in 3 years.
I run as fast as my feet can carry me into the office, arriving and probably sweating profusely from having to run all the way across town from Starbucks.
My boss isn't anywhere in sight, and so I make my way to my cubicle.
My job fits my life, boring, predictable, and completely done inside of a perfect little box. I come in and edit paperwork for my Seniors and then I go home, and I watch re-runs and old movies. Repeating the process everyday, 5 days a week.
I'm quite tired of my job, I hate it.
When I was in college, I dreamed of being a writer, publishing and doing all of these great things.
I began to ponder when my spirit died, where my ambition faltered.
As I park my ass in my chair, and begin to torturous duty of repetition, I hear a cough in the cubicle next to me.
A familiar smiling face, that familiar pretty face is smiling back at me.
"I guess we're seeing each other again much sooner than we thought, huh?" he says with enthusiasm, seeming genuinely excited to see me.
It makes me feel special, important, that I impacted someone's day.
"Yeah, it's great," I say with a small smile, "you made me late."
"I didn't make you late," he says playfully, "you're not even late."
"Yes, I am," I huff, "I was supposed to be here at nine-thirty, it is now nine-forty-five."
"I knew you were a coffee and cream type of person," he says, completely off topic.
He has me completely figured out.
I am the coffee and cream person. I'm the girl who sets out her clothes for each day of the week on Sunday night, and agonizes if my clothes aren't coordinated to my socks and shoes, and if my skirt is wrinkled, forget about it. Everything has to set the right day, or I just freak out.
It's hard to change, to get out of my little detailed box.
I'm working, very hard.
"I want to be a black coffee type of girl," I admit to him.
"I think that-," before he can respond, our boss comes over, a broad smile on her face.
"I see you've met our new associate Mr. Cullen," she says with a grin, and it doesn't escape me how her eyes are having sex with the man before her.
"We've met, yes," I say in my most professional voice.
"You'll be working closely, so I hope you like each other," she then proceeds to laugh in a way that she finds cute, she just sounds like a hyena.
"Bella and I were just getting acquainted, so I think we'll be fine," he brushes her off.
Our boss Irina leans over the table, old, forty-year-old boobs coming out of her shirt and in his face, "if you need anything, Mr. Cullen, I'm always available."
He doesn't notice, or doesn't care, because he just shrugs and starts to type out things on his computer. She gets the memo and leaves.
After she is gone, he turns to me and laughs.
A light boyish laugh, that makes me laugh as well. It's the type of laugh that fills a room with color.
It's the type of laugh that fills me with colors, all colors.
"Did our boss just pull the old bending her tits in my face trick?" he's so crass and I love it.
"I think she did just put her tits in your face," I say, I've never said words like that and again it feels nice.
"Women like that, they are too predictable," he tells me, "anyways, we better get these papers done."
"Yeah, definitely," I agree with him.
I smile to myself, thanking god that I have some change in this boring place.
This predictable life.
In less than an hour my life has completely gone off balance.
I was 15 minutes late for work, I laughed at my bosses callous display.
I have someone to talk to, and someone who is free.
Change has never been so freeing.
I'm going to try and update every night, or at least every other night. Thanks for reading, if you're reading, lol.
