ROSE and thorns

He felt too exposed out here in the open, both from the figurative threat of paparazzi and prying eyes, as well the fact his body still couldn’t shake off the threat that it had experience earlier (which didn’t matter that it had turned out to be false). Silas did feel better once they went inside, as he was on his home turf, though it wasn’t as if she’d managed to make him feel absolutely awful standing right where they were now months ago. Funny, how much had happened in this little bit of space. How he’d pinned her on the door on the first night this had all began. A place of beginnings and endings. And now…? She says his name and he had no idea what might come next. He has even less energy to fight her today than he did the first time. But that isn’t what she says at all. And perhaps if she had, it would have made things so much easier. He could have carved her out of him, once and for all. He could move on and forget her. Which is what he thought he wanted all these months. At the very least, he knew that’s what would have been better. Men who kiss women that they shouldn’t don’t become president.  There’s a sharp part of him, an instinctual part of him, that wants to throw the words back in her face. That part which always wanted to inflict hurt when it had been hurt. It was how he protected himself. But then, there is a worse part to himself: the self-loathing. He looked as he had the day they’d fought; weary and defeated. “But you were right about me.” He had lied to her. He had lied to her because it was the only way he could get her to stay. All of those things were still true. Say it was just sex, a voice in his head tells him. He should try to get her to get away from him, for her own good. The only kindness he could do her. “You did the right thing.” Getting as far away from him as possible. “You saw who I was. I chose my job over everything.” And he would always make that choice… wouldn’t he?

     Amanda had been in therapy for long enough to be aware of the patterns in her life. Though usually she actively tried to avoid thinking too deeply about the people she came into contact with that strategy had proven to be less than desirable more than once. It was after the fact, more often than not, that she realize how everything she did fit into one of the tiny boxes in her head, of those actions she inadvertently repeated over and over. When she’d screamed at him, when she’d tried so hard to pick a fight with a version of him who simply stood there and took it, she hadn’t been thinking about how that situation and everything that’d come before it mirrored so many other relationships from her past. It was after unloading on way too many sessions that she finally came to terms with perhaps the hardest truth to ever say out loud. That she, too, was to blame.

     It didn’t matter that he’d withheld information from her, that he’d known more than he let on, because their sleeping together had been wrong regardless of what position he’ be seeking in November. It made it harder, yes, but it didn’t entirely change the nature of their relationship. It had been wrong before, and it was even more wrong now that she knew. And she’d been the one to initiate most of their encounters. She knew that. She’d showed up to his house on Halloween, and she’d called him the next few times too, and she’d kept in touch with him when she was away. Campaigning. For someone else. She knew, all that time, what she was doing, and still she’d kept it up. Why, she could only guess comfort and routine had something to do with it. It wasn’t like her dating record was so pristine before him, and it wasn’t after him, either. But that was all on her. In the process, she’d borken three hearts.

     So now she didn’t want to fight. She wanted to come clean. And fuck, she wanted to hold him again and pet his hair and promise him everything would be alright, just like she’d done merely an hour before. How tragic that they’d made it out of the building unscathed. But you were right about me.

When she echoed his words back to him he flinched, because it can’t help but feel like a knife plunging into him. Did she mean for the words to hurt or was it just simply the blunt truth? He wanted to be angry at her in that moment, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Perhaps because he knew it would have been unfair of him to be so, considering the circumstances. Or perhaps simply because he just couldn’t bear to be angry at her no matter what. The time since they had stopped seeing each other had given a lot of time to reflect over the memories of all the moments they had spent together. How it had become clear she had been his weak spot all of those months. Because all that he had done with her, all he had allowed himself to do with her, had gone against every rule that he had carefully set for himself all his life. He’s on the verge of sigh, frustrated once again with himself for the lapse of judgement that he allowed himself, even if he had thought in that particular moment that it might have been his last hour on earth. He should have been stronger. He’s waiting for an answer for why she was here. Or otherwise, for her to just leave.  He’s caught off guard by her words. By her confession. She wanted to see him? She wanted to see if she was alright? The surprise was clearly written on his expression, which thank god masked all else that he felt in that moment. In that moment he became acutely aware that they’re right out on the street, where anyone could see them. “Do you…” He cast a glance back at his house. “Do you want to continue conversation inside? 

.

     She couldn’t say she was surprised by his surprise -- save for a few occasions ( namely, their last argument ), Amanda had never told him straight to his face what she wanted. It wasn’t personal, really; while a rather gifted public speaker, she’d always had trouble expressing her emotions to partners, an alarm inside her always went off and warned her she’d look weak. This was an exception, and it was hard, and she didn’t really know what to do after. 

     That would do the trick though. His offer to go inside... It’s what she’d been hoping for, there was no kidding herself there. She’d gone to his house and -- fine, she hadn’t knocked on his door but she also hadn’t driven away when he approached her car. She hadn’t cut him off when he talked to her. And she had just confessed, even if through a gentler sentence, that she thought of him. That she cared, still.

     It was a terrible idea -- going inside. Amanda hesitated -- would staying out here be better? There seemed to be no winning in this situation: neighbors and reporters could have a field day with pictures of them both walking into his house and talking outside, like this. And maybe deep down she missed his house, missed being inside it so often, but her rational brain tried to convince her that yes, that would be better. “Yeah,” she nearly cughed her response out, promptly turning her car off and stepping outside. This felt surreal. Walking the steps up to his door, walking inside after him. 

He realized, now standing here, that he shouldn’t have come to her car. But his feet had brought him here all on their own. Every part of him was too exhausted to make good decisions. As if he didn’t know that well enough from what he had already done today. And besides, wasn’t it telling enough that if she had wanted to actually see him, she would have knocked on his front door? Perhaps she had come here to yell at him again. And only the mercy of the stressful day had stopped her from doing so. If such was the case, much like the last, he wouldn’t fight back.  He’s looking at her, but he doesn’t say anything. She was the one right on his doorstep. The one who should explain herself. She looked as if she struggled to find the words to say, but even in the awkward silence he doesn’t say anything. As if he knew any more what to say after today. What followed is a scolding, but it’s half-hearted at best. Is that what she had come here to say? As if he didn’t know that in the very moment that he had done it.  “I didn’t think I’d have to live with it,” he answered honestly, as in the moment he hadn’t exactly been thinking that there would be a tomorrow. There was only that moment, with nothing to lose, with no consequences. “You shouldn’t have either,” he continued, hinting at the way she had reciprocated the kiss. She should have pushed him away. Wouldn’t that have been easier for the both of them? How he would have put her out of his mind once and for all. But instead they’re here. 

     They’d never really been great with words -- it wasn’t lost on Amanda that communication hadn’t been their greatest strength. Not on that first night, when everything seemed to be spoken in code, not any of the times she asked to see him again, not when they talked on the phone, not when he cooked her dinner. They had always tiptoed around the truth and what they truly meant to say; it really showed how politics ran through both of their veins that they feared anything too clear might come hurt them in the future. Their entire relationship was purposefully kept off the record, too.

     Driving here herself and him getting out of his house and walking up to her car --- this might be the riskiest they’d ever been. But after tonight, she couldn’t help herself. She’d been doing so good ( or so she told herself ), she’d been ignoring him and succeeding at not crossing his path unless entirely necessary, and then he’d kissed her. And, fuck, he was right. She’d kissed him back. She wouldn’t go so far and say she was as much to blame... But she couldn’t shake it all off. Obviously. She’d driven up to see him, no less.

He has to shut his phone off to keep it from ringing, amidst the endless barrage of calls of people who wanted to know precisely what had happened in the White House that night. Nothing had happened. And yet… he cannot help but feel shaken. He had been faced with his own mortality, but perhaps worse than that, that of his son’s. He hadn’t felt like this when Theresa Wright had died, but then again, he hadn’t been there either.  As if the chaos of the gun shot wasn’t enough, he’d encountered Amanda, who he hadn’t seen since… what felt like a lifetime ago. He knew, logically, he would have seen her again eventually, as if there was any way that they would have been able to avoid each other forever in this city. But he hadn’t been expecting to see her today. He hadn’t expected to see her today. He hadn’t expected… any of today.  The sun had set and creeping paranoia brought him to the window of his home, peeking out as if he thought that there might be someone out there coming from him, even though he knew that today had been nothing but the product of bad luck and a false alarm. He jolted when he saw a car parked on the other side of the street. He can see the car containing the security that he’s assigned have someone come out of the door to investigate. But he already knew who that car belonged to. Without any thought to appearance (a wrinkly dress shirt with rolled up sleeves), he went out of his house to meet up with the approaching security guard to assure them it’s fine. And then, went up to the door of the familiar car. He paused, took a deep breath, and knocked lightly on the window…

     Her mind was spinning -- it had been ever since that second, the precise moment that their lips had touched again -- and it was flooded with images and sensations of the months she’d kept bottled away. The night had been going too well before the alarm went off, she should have known something was bound to wreck her plans of a proper night, something always did. She never would have guessed what happened -- she really couldn’t make these things up. Every movement, every word, every glance after the alarm went off and she was rushed into that room had led her further down the spiral she was now at the bottom of... She just didn’t know how to crawl back out.

     She’d had a plan -- to go home, run a warm bath, fall asleep to a movie she didn’t care about only to not be in a silent room by herself, but as soon as she got into her car, her shaking hands and trembling feet appeared to have a different idea. It wasn’t long until she was parked outside of his house, and she couldn’t act surprised if she tried ( and she tried ). She’d seen him leave the White House before her, and she suspected he was home already. Maybe there was a part of her that really wanted him to notice her outside, but she didn’t step out of her car. She didn’t ring his bell, she didn’t ask to come in. She just sat in the driver’s seat and stared ahead, with her hands clutching the wheel like her life depended on it.

How strange to touch her after so long, to be so close to her. He didn’t think that there would ever be a moment between them like this ever again. That she would hate him then, and now, and after the election, and forever after that. It was difficult for him to look at her too, his eyes settling on her as tears began to well up in her eyes. The sight of them made him tense with worry. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he murmured quickly as his hand went to touch her cheek to try and stop any tears, and he hadn’t meant to depress her with what he had said, though what had he been thinking? He wasn’t usually so depressing, but given the circumstances… it was hard not to spiral into dark thoughts. His intentions had been more philosophical (surely they weren’t actually going to die? surely this would all be handled?). He hadn’t meant to stress her out. It was the last thing that he wanted to do right now. A million thoughts crash to the forefront of his mind as she asked him to tell her something. It was all too much or too little at the same time. The apologies that he wanted to say, how he had never intended for any of this to happen like this. But they never should have been involved with each other in the first place. But involved was one of those words that didn’t sound right. How that didn’t manage to describe the months that they’d caught up with each other over the phone, or the nights and the mornings she’d spent in his bed. What word could even scratch the surface of all of that? There seemed to be no words that were adequate for this moment. What could he say that would be worth saying in that moment? So he does what he should have done the last time he’d saw her. What he couldn’t bring himself to do. That he could only bring himself to now as the very small but possible chance that this was the end of their lives loomed over them. He kissed her like it was one last final goodbye.

     With his hand resting on her cheek, Amanda could have sworn she’d seen the light at the end of the tunnel. The whole evening seemed like a distant memory and all she could think of was this exact moment. Them leaning into each other, his hand on her face, her eyes off his. After that one night of July 6th, she’d hoped to have some self control around him and, for a while, it was worked. They hadn’t been in the same room in over two months, and now that they were... Everthing seemed amplified. Fearing her voice might break once again, Amanda shook her head once from side to side at his apology -- at least, he’d tried to fill the silence, this tense air between them. All she could do now was focus on not crying in front of him ( again ).

     This was... Not what she’d expected. Later that night, when she thought back on this moment, she’d woner what exactly she’d thought would happen, what words he could have said that would have eased her nerves. Maybe if he’d talked about Sycamore, that would have been neutral ground. At that moment, with his lips finall pressed against hers once more, it was hard to think about anything else. Suddenly, she was transported to the previous January. Those kisses had been different on many levels, yes, but they had shared a tender tone to them. They hadn’t been rushed or clumsy, they had been calm, calculated even, they had been caring. Unwrapping her hands from around his arm, Amanda brought one up to rest on his cheek and mirror his position. With her lips moving slowl against his, it didn’t take too long for her to return the kiss. 

     When she pulled back, she made sure not to leave enough space between them that he’d feel compelled to move further away. Her lips were trembling now, though the rest of her body was still. Finally, she dared to look up into his eyes and that was what pushed the first tear down her cheek. She was quick to retrieve her hand from his face to wipe it away, though possibl not enough that he would have caught a glimpse of it yet. “Sorry,” she murmured, though about nothing in particular. It seemed like the only thing left to say that wouldn’t set them back so many steps. Telling him I miss you wouldn’t have been fair.

It was by thinking about God that he thought about the fact that he was here with her now. He could have ended up stuck with any one of the guests that had attended tonight. That despite careful efforts to stay as far away from her, fate had sent them crashing into each other’s paths. But for what purpose? It was clear from the last time they had seen each other that she loathed him. Which, if not for the extraordinary circumstances that they found themselves in, that she would have made quite clear once more. But he cannot blame her for that. Even if what had happened had hurt him too. It had been harder than he had thought it would be In that moment, he was praying. To God, but also another person came into his mind vividly. His late wife, Serena. Henry’s mother. Perhaps it was silly to think, but he always imagined her as looking after Henry. Keeping him safe. As the years had gone on, he had regretted her death. As if any decision made in one’s twenties could be expected to have been fully thought out. But if she’d been alive… he could only imagine how she’d react about this situation. How terrible he was to put Henry in harm’s way. For his ambition. How could he have made her understood how much this all meant to him? But… nothing meant more than Henry. Did it? He doesn’t realize he’d reached out to hold her hand until hers reciprocated in soft, gentle gestures. The light squeeze. The feel of another person there. To stave off the loneliness. And the fear, for just a moment. When her hand came out of his hold he thought perhaps she had come to her senses and felt disgusted by him. He almost leaned away until he felt her lean against him and relaxed. I’m sorry was too selfish to say. Nor would he ever allow himself to think, let alone say I miss you. He doesn’t want to say to her. If he should say anything. His head inclined to look at her ever so slightly. His hand moved to rest on the top of her thigh, but there’s no scandalous intention behind it. Simply to feel her there, like an anchor. “What would you want to do, if it was your last day on earth?”

     There was an endless list of people she should have called, let them know she wasn’t hurt; despite considering herself small-circle kind of person, she’d later that night ( and the next morning ) realize there were more names on the list of people who’d worried about her well-being than she’d given herself credit for. In that moment, however, she couldn’t think of a single one. She should have thought about her brother, about her niece, her parents, about Charlie. Yet, she didn’t. Somehow, once again, him being near her made everything else fade away. Admittedly, the fact that she had heard a gun shot in the White House might also be a plausible explanation.

     Again, she realized she was trembling except now, with her entire side pressed against him, she feared it might not be as eas to conceal. In that moment, she put her whole head to keeping herself from shaking; maybe with her biggest effort, she’d accomplish something tonight. It was his hand on her thigh that finally did the trick. She was finally coming down from the adrenaline high that had possessed her whole body since she’d been rushed into this room. At first, it hadn’t felt big enough; now, it felt unnecessarily wide. They didn’t need this much space to hold each other and whisper meaningless words they’d regret if they ever made it out again. She felt him shift to look at her and she mirrored his movements, though not daring to look into his eyes yet. Still, it was too soon to face him like that and risk being flooded by memories and lies. Instead, she found her eyes being flooded with tears she was desperately and expertly holding back. 

     With a shaky, weak laugh, she let out a heavy sigh -- she hadn’t noticed she’d been holding her breath until then. “Jesus,” she hushed him, shaking her head slowly. “You can’t say things like that,” it would have sounded like a reprimand had it not been for her voice breaking near the end. Again, she wondered... What if this was it? If this was the end? What if they both stopped existing without her saying so many things to him? Not the hurtful words she’d spoken last time she’d seen him, but others. Others that resembled the whispers she’d spoken into her phone, hundreds of miles away from him. “Tell me something. Anything...” Anything that will make me forget where we are, why we’re here, who we are. And who we’ll be if we walk out of this room unharmed. Now her voice was something more like a plea, like she needed him to save her from the thoughts threatening to darken up her mind and the water about to drain her cheeks.

Charlie narrowed their eyes, genuinely confused. “What the fuck do you mean you don’t remember? You literally went to bed mad at me and left without waking me up, after I told you I was seeing someone…. Amanda, I-” They cut themselves off. Their tone wasn’t necessarily purely angry, but the level of frustration was rising, and Charlie could feel it. Charlie took a deep breath, sipping the glass of wine, trying to recompose themselves. “I’m sorry,” they said. “If you say you aren’t mad, I believe you,” they sighed. “I don’t know, I just thought… I don’t know. I haven’t really seen anyone even semi-seriously in…” since you… “In a really long time. I figured you’d remember if I mentioned it.”

Charlie’s eyes matched Amanda’s contortion, as if they couldn’t comprehend why exactly Amanda was asking when they had told her. “Yeah, I told you I was….” they trailed. “I mean, it’s a little more than seeing someone now, but…” They took a sip of their drink again, eager to be a little less present for this conversation, but they couldn’t seem to wipe the confusion off their face, yet their lips still in their signature grin, as if their brain couldn’t agree on what do do, whether to laugh awkwardly or be frustrated. “Not invited tonight?” they said, intonation growing as they wondered what was so hard about this for Amanda to comprehend. “We both agreed it was best if we… didn’t show up to my birthday party holding hands… for this reason exactly. You’re mad at me,” they said, matter-of-fact. “I may be fucked up but don’t think I don’t know you, Ames. What’s wrong? Why is this such a big deal?”

Charlie raised their eyebrows as they brought their own champagne glass to their lips, finishing what was left in it before talking again, feeling like there wasn’t enough bubbly liquid to tide them over through this sort of conversation tonight. Especially after what had happened the night before, the details still painted behind their eyes, even if they weren’t completely there at the moment. “I don’t know where you got that from,” Charlie said, pouring another glass of champagne for themselves. “Last time I checked I was having fun and seeing somebody…” they said, voice low and whispered, raising their glass to their lips again, taking a cautious sip despite wanting to down the carbonation.

Charlie could almost hear Amanda’s eyes rolling into the back of her head, and he near followed suit. If they were any more sober, maybe they would have just let it go, let Amanda believe whatever she wanted to about their love life. But their last conversation still stung just a little bit. Maybe sober Charlie would have brushed it off as just Amanda being Amanda, but they had confided in her that night, even if it wasn’t explicit, and wasted Charlie couldn’t tell the difference between Amanda and Amanda ignoring what they had said. “Yeah, it’s pretty good… It’s always nice to get everyone together,” they trailed, popping open the nicer bottle of red they had been saving for the next time Amanda visited. “What do you mean you thought I was done with those?” Charlie asked, casually, eyebrows raised as they poured the red into a glass for Amanda.

Charlie could feel their lacquered lips expanding into an even bigger grin as Amanda hugged them back, giggling, twirling a piece of hair in their manicured hand, ponytail sitting on the crown of their head. “This,” Charlie said, doing a full 360 for Amanda to take in their outfit, “Is for the republicans who made me wear a suit on the floor yesterday,” they smirked. A beat. “And maybe one who isn’t here tonight… that’s another story,” they said, shrugging, their voice coy and low, eyes flirtatious. “But I’m glad you approve.” They reached out for Amanda’s bag and jacket, nudging Amanda to follow them into the a side room where they were keeping everyone’s belongings. “This is only my second glass of Champagne, excuse me,” they scoffed, placing Amanda’s things down carefully, teetering slightly on their platform heels before turning around again, as if the room was only a pit stop to the kitchen bar. “Now, what can I get you to drink? The regular?” they said for a moment as their heels clicked down the hallway.

[ september 26, 2020 - charlie’s birthday party ] [ @royisms ]

Only on rare occasions did Charlie find themselves getting both high and drunk at the same time, and their 35th birthday was one of them. An edible and a half deep into the night and two glasses of champagne deep, Charlie smiled when they saw Amanda walk through the door. If they were any more coherent, Charlie might have controlled what was coming out of their mouth, but their heels took them towards the blonde without a second though, smile wide on their face as they approached and adjusted their top. Charlie really was thankful to see her, especially after the harsh interaction they’d had a week and a half ago. “Miss Roy, I’m glad you could make it,” they said cordially, adjusting their playful birthday crown that Adri had placed on their head the moment she walked in. “Can this birthday babe get a hug, pretty please?” they chuckled, breaking character, arms extending outward as they winked playfully.

Charlie nodded, feeling their shoulders fall up and down a little bit in the silence. He almost wished that Amanda moved back towards him. Almost wished that the gap closed between them and Charlie could hold Amanda in their arms one last time, but neither moved. Charlie stayed put and he could feel Amanda was doing the same. They could feel the tension between them growing, could feel the sharp edge in Amanda’s tone, who was obviously more upset than she let on, but Charlie didn’t know what else to say - or do - to fix it. So they sat there, lied there, eyes open, waiting for Amanda to speak, until they fluttered shut automatically, hoping whatever happened between them in the late hours after lockdown would be cleared up in the morning.

     [ time skip ]

     Her alarm didn’t go off because she’d forgotten to set it before falling asleep, but still her natural clock ( and the ringing of the previous night’s dreaded sound ) had her rubbing her eyes lazily at around seven in the morning. A faint smile graced her lips when she noticed the pack of makeup wipes Charlie had left on her nightstand, and she cautiously maneuvered her legs off the mattress. With her feet finally on the ground, she let out a heavy sigh before pushing herself off the bed and taking the wipes and the closest thing resembling an outfit that she could find towards her bathroom. She eyed her coffee machine ( it was new, the poor thing ) but promptly decided against it, brewing herself a cup of tea instead as she slipped into her boots. She considered waking them up, she even went as far as leaning on her bedroom’s doorway, but finally decided against it. There were only short fragments of whatever they had said last night still roaming her mind, and there was no real reason they had to leave now. After tossing her phone and wallet into her bag, she scribbled a quick note and left it on the kitchen counter: