Author's Note: My apologies for such a long delay in updating. The muse for this story completely abandoned me for quite some time. I think its back for a while, so hopefully I can get this finished. So, here's a small update while I keep working on the rest. Enjoy!
Chapter 6: Changes
The early morning sun creeps across the bed, finding its way into Olena's tightly closed eyes. Groaning, she buries her head into her pillow, trying to block out the light. Her sleep – what little she got – had been fitful, and she wants nothing more than to stay hidden away, curled up in bed for the rest of the day. Hiding away means not having to face all the things that cause her to sleep so fitfully. However, the sun is gently insistent, and eventually Olena flings off the covers in frustration and rises to begin the day. She starts a pot of extra strong black coffee before heading into the shower.
The steaming hot water beats down on her head and shoulders, easing out some of the tension gathered there. She makes a mental note to see about getting a massage. The clean crisp scent of her soap sharpens Olena's sleepy, troubled mind. Under the spray, lost in a cascade of soap suds, she realizes just how much of a bitch she had been to Steve last night. Sighing in contrition, she turns off the shower and reaches for her towel. Somewhere in the past three months she lost herself.
Never before has she lashed out in such rash fury – that has always been more Natalia's style. The knowledge that she purposefully hurt a friend sits uncomfortably. She knows she must repair the damage she has done to both Steve and Nattie. She is just not sure how.
Her commute to work is uneventful. She marches into the office building, clutching her travel mug filled to the brim with coffee. Her heels click sharply on the marble floor of the entry hall. A short elevator ride deposits her at the floor containing her office. Once she steps out, all around her people scurry about with paperwork, rushing to get things done even though it is barely eight o'clock in the morning.
Unlocking her office, Olena sets down her mug and briefcase. There is an uncomfortable pinch in her left shoe, so she kicks them off in annoyance. The moment her stocking clad feet touch the carpet of her office, she feels something inside herself shift. Scrunching her toes into the carpet, she sips her coffee to ponder just what happened. She catches her reflection in the window and gasps. Staring back at her is a woman Olena does not recognize. The thin angular face, paired with a smart tailored pantsuit and hard gaze is not the woman Olena recalls herself as being.
With horror, Olena begins to realize just how much she has changed since arriving in New York City. Being surrounded by files full of paper inside a tiny office is not how she had imagined she would be helping refugees. She misses living amongst them, learning about their lives; their cultures; their languages. With sudden clarity, Olena realizes what she must do.
Ignoring her discarded shoes, Olena hurries barefoot down the hall to her boss' office. She raps insistently on the door.
"Come in," is the terse reply.
Olena opens the door and finds her boss halfway through his breakfast. Mr. Collins glares at her, clearly displeased with being disturbed to early in the day.
"Mr. Collins, effective immediately, I quit," Olena says without preamble. She has to get it out immediately, before the nerve leaves her.
Wiping his hands, Mr. Collins pins Olena with a hard look. "You're quitting?" he asks quietly, trying to be sure he heard properly.
Olena quells her fear. "Yes, sir."
"Just why, exactly, are you quitting?" He pinches the bridge of his nose. This is not how he wanted to start his day.
"This job is not a good fit for me, sir. I miss helping people directly. I'm not made for pushing paper in an office." She fidgets with her fingers, then looks at Mr. Collins. "I just can't do it anymore. It has turned me into someone I don't want to be."
He sighs. He has known Olena long enough to know that the woman is stubborn, and will not listen to any attempts to get her to change her mind. He is reluctant to lose such a valuable employee, but knows it simply cannot be helped. Grudgingly, he admits to himself that someone like her should be working directly with the refugees instead of processing their paperwork. "Do you have any outstanding case files?"
"None, sir."
"Then pack up your office. I'm grateful we had you, even for a short time." He returns to his breakfast, silently dismissing Olena from his office.
Olena slips out and quietly shuts the door behind her. She is relieved that the impromptu meeting went better than she had expected. Packing her office only takes her a little while – she does not have much in the way of personal belongings in there. Clutching the box packed with her things, Olena leaves the building feeling much lighter than she has in a long time.
At the curb, Olena hails a cab. Slipping into one, she tells the cabbie, "Stark Tower, please." With a nod, the cabbie takes off, leaving Olena to her thoughts. Now that she has made one positive change, perhaps reconciling with Steve and Nattie will be easier.