Best Friend's Ex Box Set

“But—“

“No. Xavier. No.” I righted myself, feeling the passion and power fueling from Xavier’s eyes. I wanted to toss water on it, to give myself the time to breathe. This was my moment. I tried to imagine my life before me: I tried to comprehend if this political scene was really where I belonged. I shook my head, knowing what I needed to do. I felt my stomach flip over as I began the sentence. “I’ll be leaving the campaign team until further notice.” The words came out in a stream of near-laughter. I almost didn’t believe them myself.

“What?” Xavier asked, taking another step forward. But I held out my hand, warning him not to come closer.

I reached toward the Oval Office door—the camouflage that snuck out toward you in the wallpaper. I ran my eyes around the room, knowing this would be my last time. I searched Xavier’s face for a moment, as well, finding only pain, only suffering.

As I turned the handle, Xavier spoke once more. His voice was resigned, if hesitant. “Amanda. I urge you to take a few days to think about this before making a final decision.” He tucked his hands in his pocket and looked at me like an old schoolboy crush. My heart did a flip-flop.

But I turned back, not willing to answer. I swallowed and prepared myself for a new life, a new line. I walked into the hallway, willing only to grab my purse from my desk and scurry from the shell of this terrorizing White House. I heard the Oval Office door slam behind me as I walked quickly, noting that the entire West Wing was empty, void of the many milling workers of the usual day-to-day. The office was still cluttered. I found the young campaign girls’ coffee mug shards on the ground. I picked one up and felt my finger begin to bleed. The blood dripped onto my fine business dress suit. The stain spread a bit as I walked quickly, out toward the hall and into the cool night air.

October was coming. I would dismiss myself from the political world. I would find a new line of work. Perhaps I could find someone to love—someone who loved me the way I was meant to be loved. Perhaps I could find happiness.

I shivered in the taxi on the way home, wishing for this strange feeling to pass. I knew everything took time. And time, in this new, unemployed future, was all I really had.

Chapter Six

Yes. I had time in this new, unemployed future. But I had a friend, as well. I wasn’t alone. I opened the door to Rachel’s apartment and sat, drinking wine at the table and waiting for her to come home. I tapped my fingers against the table’s wood, sensing that the stress from the past few months was falling from my shoulders. I tried my hardest not to feel disappointed, not to feel like my entire world was crashing around me. I tried not to remember that being involved in the political spectrum was all I had ever dreamed of for my entire life. I didn’t have time for such sadness. Not now.

Finally, Rachel burst into the apartment. She took a single look at me, and she brought her hand to her heart. “What’s happened?” she whispered. She looked stricken.

“What do you mean, what’s happened?” I asked her. I shook my head, biting my lip. “Nothing’s happened!”

But Rachel stepped forward and placed her hand on my cheek, wiping at a tear I’d allowed to escape, unnoticed. “Honey.” She shook her head. “I don’t regret getting out of that political world for one second, I can tell you that. Look at what they’re doing to you!”

I wanted to tell her I was out—that I’d moved on as well. But it felt like such sacred knowledge. And so, instead I said, “Hey. Would you want to go for a run by the monuments tonight? It’s one of our nicer evenings—one of the last of the year, surely, before winter.” I swallowed, my eyes peering up toward her. “What do you say?”

She raised her eyebrow toward me. “It’s not such a bad idea, is it?” she said, tipping her hip to the right. She checked her watch. “We can get there before the sun falls away for good.” She winked at me.

We rushed into our separate rooms and pulled on our running clothes. I felt the running tights align so well with my taut muscles. I hadn’t been running in several weeks, I knew, but the strain of the past few weeks’ terror had initiated a great boost in my metabolism. I had actually lost weight.

We met in the kitchen, stretching our limbs and easing our arms into the air. I felt my back pop. Rachel wasn’t asking any further questions. It seemed that she understood: I wanted to stay away from the subject, at least for now.

We leaped into a taxi, and the man took us toward the monuments. They seemed to catch fire in the orange from the sunset. I grabbed both my kneecaps with my harsh fingers and felt the strain of my bones. I grinned into the sun, closing my eyes.

Naturally, with my eyes closed like this, I could only see Xavier; I could only imagine a life with Xavier. I nearly felt his fingers cup my breasts, play with my nipples. I could nearly feel his smile on me as we walked by each other in the White House, each fueled with the secret of our affair. That life had been so beautiful, so true.

“Hey! Amanda!” Rachel called to me, rattling against my shoulder. We had arrived at the monument park, and I was jostled out of my reverie.

I blinked toward her, finding a smile. “You ready?”

We rustled out into the cold sunset air and began an easy jog through the park. I liked the feeling of having a companion beside me, someone to run with. Someone who could hear the rattling of my breath as I moved forward. We were both natural runners; we used to run together when we’d both worked on the campaign for Xavier’s first reign. I remembered that we used to cackle together in the park, two slim, young women (just 25 years old!) with our futures looming ahead of us.

We whizzed past the Washington Monument. I stopped, watching as the stark sword shot into the orange sunset. I was breathing heavily. Rachel continued jogging, leaping ahead of me, until she understood that she’d left me behind. Because I’d been left behind so much lately, it seemed natural—natural to be the one falling behind. I brought my hand in the air and waved ahead, toward her. As if to say, “Jog on.”

But she didn’t. She walked back toward me, her neck bobbing this way, then that, stretching out. She frowned, a small patch of fear appearing in her eyes.

I spoke lightly, efficiently. “I’ve left the White House.” The orange wafted over my cheeks, over my lips. I heard the words echo over the water. “It’s over.”

Rachel nodded primly.

“I just need a bit of time to think about everything that’s happened,” I continued. I didn’t know why I felt I needed to verify myself to the woman before me; I didn’t know why I felt that she was my protector, she was my only savior. “Xavier and Jason—the whole spiel. It was all becoming far too much for me. So I took a step back.”

“I think you made a good choice,” Rachel whispered. She brought her hand to my shoulder and helped me right myself, helped me come out of my lean. Her eyes affirmed: you must stand up straight. You must live strongly. I knew what she meant. She’d ducked out of the political field so long ago, and yet her eyes still spoke of the harsh reality of what that world truly was. She knew the reality, and she knew how to stand in the aftermath, an affirmed woman.

“Thanks for understanding,” I whispered. The park around us was eerily quiet. Everyone in D.

C. had given up on summer officially, and wafted into their homes for the duration. We’d see them again in April.