Matilda | Harry Styles

FOUR

My final few days at work had flown by far quicker than I'd expected. A mixture of buzzing anticipation and excitement, but also overwhelming, indescribable fear and uncertainty.

On Monday morning, I'd gone into the firm with shaking hands. My supervisor had already sent me an email the night before, requesting that I went straight to her office, and I knew I was to be disciplined for my failure to meet my deadline on Saturday. Part of me wished I had the nerve to bite back - to say that, actually, I wasn't contracted to be working on a Saturday, and really, I didn't owe them overtime into my very minimal days off. But I didn't - instead, I'd anxiously made my way inside at her request, my lip nervously tugged between my teeth, like a student being called to the principal's office in high school.

This wasn't my first time in her office, but it was under circumstances such as these. Upon taking my seat, I'd glanced around at the pristine white of the walls; the darkened wood of the decor, all of it so seamlessly blended together. The walls were adorned with very little - in fact, sparing the law books and articles of political theory upon mounted shelves, there wasn't a single thing that was personal in this room. Each surface was bare, sparing her desk, which was full of stacks of papers and files - there was nothing in here to distinguish, remotely, the type of person she was outside of work. I feared becoming that.

"So," the silence was broken by my supervisor, her face stony and unexpressive as she leaned back in her polished leather chair, "I'm sure I don't have to tell you why I called you in here."

I sighed, defeated, shaking my head in an attempt to show her my understanding of my mistake, "I'm really sorry, Theresa. It was an honest mistake, but it truly won't happen again."

As she began to respond - clearly unaccepting of my apology - all I could think about was what I needed to do in this meeting. It was in this meeting that I would need to request the time off, until September. I wasn't giving much notice at all - in fact, I was giving around a mere seventy-two hours' notice to what would be my last day. But circumstances certainly hadn't allowed me to follow the protocol they would've expected - all I could do was hope, by some miracle, that my wish would be granted.

I hadn't exactly considered what my plan of action would be if I was told 'no' - a very, very feasible outcome. After I'd decided on Saturday that I wouldn't be a hindrance to myself; that I would, indeed, seize this opportunity  - tentatively, and sheepishly, but seizing it, all the same - I hadn't quite considered that it could, against my own will, slip through my fingers due to something quite as tedious as my current job. But it was a realistic potential hindrance. The firm could very well decline my request - they had the grounds to do so, and they could, therefore, put a very quick end to this fantasy of mine. And then where would that leave me?

But, equally, what if they said 'yes'? Quite simply, I'd be going to America, branching as far as humanly possible out of my rather pathetic comfort zone, and I'd be working, finally, as a photographer. It would be a fresh start; an escape... it would be everything I'd been yearning for, as much as I'd tried to suppress it. With one simple confirmation from the firm, I'd be out of excuses, as much as I might yearn to conjure up some more as to why I hadn't earned this, I didn't deserve this; as to how it could all go so, incredibly wrong - that simple confirmation would mean that I'd be getting on that plane on Friday, and chasing exactly what I'd always wanted to - and that was a terrifying prospect.

My supervisor was speaking - but I'd have been lying to say that it wasn't almost entirely on deaf ears. I could see her mouth moving, but the words weren't landing anywhere near me. Again, it was a moment like this where I would've liked to stand up for myself - to argue back, and tell her to shove it. But, I needed this job when I got back. They had the upper hand - I needed to play in accordance with their rules.