A/N as I said, chapter two... well one, considering the first was more of a foreward/preface type thing. This chap is a bit of an excuse to just ease you into the story, the important stuff will happen soon. And I know there are a lot of charecters, but they are all pretty minor and you don't need to remember them really. Well.. at least I don't thing you do. Lol.

The Next Best Thing (January 7th 2015, New York)

It's quarter to six. The neon green digits on my alarm clock tell me just that. I sit up and stretch with a loud yawn, surveying my bedroom. The early morning sun seeps through my light drapes and sets an omnipresent glow over my room. My bedclothes are knotted from my turning in my sleep and the sandy floorboards are littered with yesterday's clothing. I throw back the sheets and shuffle out the half open door in my socks, sweats and an old T-shirt. I make my way down the short hallway to my bathroom. The walls here are tiled in sixties brown and yellow, the tub is old and tired looking.

I survey myself in the mirror above the sink for a moment or two, pulling back my hair to see the skin on my forehead, eyeing in disapprovingly. Am I really getting wrinkles? I'm only twenty-four years old for Pete's sake.

I sigh and turn towards the combined bath and shower, turning the handles so that the water spurts out of the showerhead with a small hissing noise. I strip and stand under the warm water for a few moments before I rub shampoo into my hair. When I'm sure the last of the soap suds are out of my hair and down the drain I turn the water off and wrap a towel around my torso. I brush my teeth and comb my hair, which now falls only to my shoulders. I'd cut it a few months ago, when I first moved to New York. I'd been job hunting and wanted to look more mature to make a good impression, and very long hair didn't make me seem responsible and competent, so it had to go.

I leave the bathroom and return to my room. I approach my closet and pull the doors wide. I rummage through the hangers for a few moments, finally settling on a pale blue blouse and grey trousers. I grab some underwear and get dressed, wrapping my hair up in the towel to keep my shirt dry.

I pull open my bedroom curtains and let the early sun shine on my face and bid me good morning. I leave my room and go to the 'big room', as I lovingly called it. It is my lounge, my kitchen, my dining room and my study, all in one square box decorated with bright, kitsch furniture that gave my home a very cheerful, open feel to it – exactly the environment one should live in.

I pop some bread into the toaster and put two eggs in the pan, poking them a little before filling a glass with orange juice and fixing a bowl of shredded wheat. I put the cereal and the juice on my tray and take my now golden-brown toast out of the toaster an put the two slices on a plate, scraping them over with butter. Then I take the eggs out of the pan tip them onto the toast, one on each slice. I smile at my handiwork and plonk myself down in front of CNN.

I'm finished by half seven and have time to do the dishes by hand before I return to my room.

I hurriedly brush my hair again, blitzing it dry with my hairdryer whilst humming 'the winner takes it all' by Abba. Then I slip on some flat shoes and grab my purse and jacket, leaving the apartment at ten to eight.

I walk a few blocks along the crowded pavement to the closest subway station and wait patiently on the platform for my train. It arrives and I'm lucky enough to find a seat, on it is today's copy of The Post, I take it and flip through it absentmindedly until we reach my stop. I take the paper with me; there is an article in it that might interest one of my colleagues.

I am on the street again, and from here it is three blocks to my office. I take a short detour to Starbucks, ordering an Americano Coffee to go. It is now nearly half eight. I walk slowly through the hustle and bustle of the city, not in any rush as my day doesn't start until nine.

The metal grate of the elevator slides open onto the second floor of Jefferson and Associates Psychological Support and I step out of it, tapping my finger on the lid of my now half full coffee. The building is fairly narrow; there are only three offices on each floor. The ground floor is just the reception and waiting area, the first two floors are occupied by six Junior Councillors, me being one of them. On the floor below is Kimy, Geoffrey and Carlos – the new guy – while on this floor my office is between Jennifer's and Niall's. Carlos and Kimy specialise in dealing with irrational fears, whilst Geoffrey and Jennifer's work focuses on patients recovering from abuse. Niall and I work with people who are severely depressed, mentally or otherwise – though I work more with people who have just gotten out of a relationship and are having trouble letting go. Sound familiar? Yeah, well I can relate to their problems so I feel more suited to treating them than I would a soldier sent home after seeing too much.

The two floors above ours are where the four Senior Councillors dwell. Sheridan and Lawrence work above us, while Alma and Hank work on the fourth floor – Hank being Mr Jefferson, the boss, and Alma being his right hand woman.

The fifth floor is the staff room, and a very nice staff room it is too.

I pull the key to my office from my bag and open the door with some difficulty, as I only have one hand. Inside everything is just as I remember it. The wide window sweeps across the back wall, grey skyscrapers snapshot through the panes. My desk sits in front if it with my Apple Mac computer and tall, exceedingly comfortable chair. Two large leather armchairs sit on the other side of the desk. My floorboards are varnished a honey brown and the walls and ceiling are whitewashed. The light fittings are chrome and elegant. There is a comfortable couch against the left hand wall, with a Japanese Peace Lily on the floor beside it and a small coffee table in front of it. The other wall is lined with waist high bookshelves that double up as a sort of display cabinet. On it I have my diploma proudly displayed beside a picture of Charlie and me at my graduation. I have pictures of my parents at their wedding in Vegas, some of me growing up, some of my friends from High School and some of my friends from college. I have a picture from last the Office Christmas Party three weeks ago, with us all looking very happy and a little confused. And right on the end, almost hidden behind a bonsai tree, I have the one picture that he left behind. He probably did it by mistake; he didn't want to leave me any reminders. But he did. He left me one picture. In the picture we stand side by side in formal clothing, and I look almost worthy of him, despite my leg being in a cast. Our prom photo…

I try to ignore that picture, but it would be wrong to throw it away. I keep it at work because if I kept it at home I would have no reason to not break down and cry my heart out.

I sit behind my desk and set my coffee down beside me before logging into my computer and checking my schedule.

9:30 Helen Reardon

10:30 Mitchell Jacobs

11:30 Drew Taylor

12:30 Lunch – your turn to buy the doughnuts

1:30 Kari Underway

2:30 Sirah Niyad

3:30 Stanley Hoots

I sigh, my 1:30 and 3:30 where going to be torture. But hey, it's my job right?

The morning passes quickly; Helen, Mitchell and Drew are having good days. Helen talks to me about how her divorce is going. Mitchell, who is newly widowed, talks to me about how life was easier if he did things one step at a time. And Drew talks to me about how the woman to the subway flirted with him.

It is finally lunchtime, I have taken doughnut orders and I am headed out to a bakery a few blocks away that we all cherish and adore. I walk with a slight skip in my step, today I feel almost weightless. The cold January air tightens around me, trying to break my mood, but to no avail. I'm quite content.

I arrive back at the office within half an hour and take the elevator all the way up to the staff room. Everyone is seated on the plush armchairs and sofas, eating their lunches and drinking coffee.

"Hey, anyone order doughnuts?" I ask as I set the box down on the coffee table before retrieving my food from the refrigerator. Today I have pasta salad.

"Jeez Bella, did you crawl there are something? You took ages!" complains Niall as I sit down.

"Well at least she didn't fall over end up going back for more like you did last time, Ni," says Sheridan. We all laugh at the memory and Niall scowls.

"So what were you all talking about before I brought the doughnuts?" I ask, noticing that Niall and Geoffrey have already consumed theirs.

"Patients. As usual, and Jennifer was complaining about the toilets," answers Hank with a smile.

"Bella you'll agree with me on this, is there or is there not a rat living in the third cubicle?"

"Eww, not that I've seen. And I'm definitely not using it from now on!" we all laugh again and eat our food in scattered discussion.

This is what I like about my work most, the people. I love that the Seniors don't think of themselves as above us Juniors. I love that we eat doughnuts. I love that we have a pool table in our staff room, and – apparently – a rat in our toilet. I love that the people I work with are caring and good and passionate and not in this for the money, because none of us are getting rich of this job. Not even Hank.

This may not be the life I'd originally planned, but it's a pretty good alternative.

Okay, that's it. This is basically Bella's life now. Suckish for her, yeah? Well don't worry. Things are going to get very interesting in New York. Speaking of which, I've never been there, did I get all the facty stuff right?

I've never actually been to America, how rubbish is that? Reeeeally want to go though.

So Ill make you a deal, if you review me you don't have to make a contribution to my America-Holiday fund. Sound fair?

Maybe not...

Lots of love

Sasha :) xx