I shrugged my shoulders, unsure of what to say. “I know. I know. But—she wants to give us this freedom. To do what we want. As long as we don’t ruin her life as first lady. She wants to hold onto the position, even if he is re-elected.”
“And live a lie?” Rachel asked.
I nodded. “I suppose people have been through worse for much less power.” I allowed the silence to filter around us once more. “Anyway. I don’t know how long I can allow all this to go on, before I go crazy. I mean. I’ve worked so fucking hard to get to where I am today. Long, sleepless nights working; sucking up to so many members of Congress just to gain experience as a young person—a woman on the road to something greater.” I bit my nail for a moment, feeling infantile. “I know you can understand that.”
Rachel nodded. “Again. Part of the reason I got out,” she breathed.
“And now. With Jason all over me—suspecting that things are getting worse, suspecting that he’s not going to get his end of the deal, I feel like things need to change. Perhaps Xavier and I should be together. Perhaps this was all too good to be true.” I bit my lip once more, tasting a tang of blood.
“What do you mean, he’s all over you?” Rachel breathed.
I bowed my head, looking toward my fingers. I wondered how to phrase what had happened to me earlier that day. “Well. He had me—against a tree. He was yelling at me. Threatening me.” I shuddered, feeling the tremors of the day’s attack all throughout my body. “I think it’s getting worse.”
But Rachel had risen up from her chair. Her face had grown hot, red. “What do you mean, he threatened you? He had his hand around your throat? What the fuck do you mean?” She scowled, so angry at the mere thought of this. My heart seemed to pump rapidly with too much blood, too much happiness. Someone cared about me. Someone worried about me. Such a strange sensation.
I shook my head. “It’s okay—“
“No, it’s not,” Rachel scolded me. “He threatened you. I think it’s finally time to go to the police.”
My face looked stricken. I shook my head. “No. You know I can’t do that. You know that he has so much information about the president and I—that this would ruin the deal we have with the president’s wife.” I swallowed, knowing that none of these elements affected Rachel’s comprehension. I tried once more. “And Rachel. If you do this, you know that I will not go far in my career. I’ll constantly be known as the girl who slept her way to the top.” I uttered the words once more, bringing Rachel back to the coffee table. She sighed.
We sat in a stunned silence for a few moments. I was terribly overjoyed at the sheer passion Rachel had for me; the passion she had just to help me. I wanted to tell her that I would do my best to get out of the situation on my own. I wanted to assure her that I wouldn’t be stupid.
But she interrupted my words. “I think you should press Xavier to help you,” she began. I wanted to interrupt her—to explain to her that I did everything on my own. But she held up her hand, shaking her head. None of her past glory, her post-date gleam remained on her face. “I know that you don’t want to bother him. But this is getting serious. The threats are becoming violent. You can’t trust a crazy man like Jason. And he’s at your workplace, in the goddamned White House. You have to take steps.” She shrugged her shoulders, placing her fingers over my knee. I felt a single tear waft down my cheek. I knew she was right.
My voice croaked as I spoke to her. “I know you’re right,” I whispered.
Rachel and I went to bed after that. Just before we ducked into our separate rooms, we exchanged a serious hug—one that allowed me to feel safe, feel whole again, even after the strain of the previous day. I sighed into her, trying to remember a time in which I’d felt completely full, completely sure. But I couldn’t.
“Good luck tomorrow,” she whispered into my ear, just as she swarmed into her bedroom—in which, I knew, she would fold back into her self-made daydream about her new date, Michael.
I nodded back to her and shook the door closed, feeling the weight of the day crash around me. I fell fast asleep, blinking my eyes only a few times before falling away.
Chapter Six
But the next morning, I knew that I wasn’t ready to press the president for his assistance. God, not yet. Too much was riding on the next week’s campaign processes. I had to put my head down, to root myself in this cause.
I brushed my teeth ravenously at the bathroom sink, listening as Rachel sang in her own shower, down the hall. I felt like we were growing apart, in a way: simply because she found herself rooted in a sort of happiness, even as I swept along, floating in a sea of misunderstanding and sadness and threats.
I brought my arms through my blazer and sniffed up toward the ceiling, smelling someone baking bread, somewhere far off in the building. It could be a plain, uneventful day, if I worked for it. I could make this day work to my favor. If only I kept my head down. If only I asked only the appropriate questions and didn’t push any topics further than they needed to go. If only I kept my clothes on my body this time around, rather than falling into Xavier’s naked arms. I could do this. I could be strong.
I stood in the shadow of the White House, my heart beating only for Xavier—the powerful man who had claimed this house as his own. In the back, I knew that the Rose Garden continued to
squirm in its brown and grey colors on this near-November day. God, in just a year, we’d be weeks away from the election. In just a year, I knew that so much would have changed.
But where would our relationship be? What would we be to each other?
I lifted myself into the shell of the White House, preparing myself for the 10 o’ clock meeting, at which I knew I would be faced with both Jason and Xavier. I could get through it. I had my notes, my critiques for the way the entire campaign was being handled. I knew how to work a room. I’d been doing so since the age of eight, after all. However, something about having both of them in the room at the same time—both of them with different utilizations for me, for my body—made me queasy.
I sat at my desk in the West Wing, casually making notes and dreaming about a different kind of future—a future in which I would make political strides, without worrying about anything that anybody held above my head.
But being a woman, I knew, this would be an eternal struggle. Every woman I knew of in Congress had struggled on their path to the top. Without masculinity, without grey hair and those twinkling, age-old eyes, it was difficult to find the trust of the American people. I knew I would have trouble as well.
Suddenly, a girl appeared before my desk, leaning down toward me and meeting my eyes. She broke my reverie. I erupted up, bouncing in my chair. “Yes. What is it?” I asked her, my eyes large.
She blinked back. “I’m sorry to—um—interrupt you.” She peered down at the papers before me, at the fact that I’d been gazing off into space. “I just wanted to remind you that you have your meeting with both Jason and the President of the United States in a mere—well. Five minutes ago.” She swallowed, blinking toward me.
I shook my head, unable to comprehend what she was saying. I grabbed my notebook, realizing that two hours had passed, during which I hadn’t done a single thing but glide on my thoughts, on my dreams. I didn’t have time to prepare myself any longer. It was just me and the boys: me and my archenemy, and me and the man I loved—who was also, incidentally, another man who could ruin my life and my career, completely.