10
Bea
The journey back to the city flew by quicker than I’d hoped, and I couldn’t think of much else to say to Damon when he dropped me off back at the restaurant so I could get my car. Nothing would seem to do the evening justice, so I simply smiled and hoped my appreciation for the evening was correctly interpreted. If he wanted to kiss me again then I would’ve let him, but we weren’t out on a lake under the stars now, so I could understand why he might want the memory to stay where it was, perfect and unsullied by our return to busy city life.
“Well…thank you for coming tonight, Bea,” he said returning my gentle smile. “Hope you had a good time.”
I nodded. “I did. It was perfect.”
“Maybe we can do it again soon?”
Another nod. “I’d love that.”
With that, he gave me a respectful peck on the cheek before bidding me goodbye, and I touched a finger to my face, my skin seemingly sizzling where his lips had touched me. I couldn’t wait for another kiss on our next date.
Or even more…
On the drive home, dreading seeing my parents again, I thought about the elbow I’d accidentally hit my father with, and I knew I was somehow different now. Although I felt bad for inadvertently hurting him, I’d done the right thing in defending myself from his slap—it was time to stand my ground on one principle; to gain one small victory from whatever misery was coming my way. I shouldn’t be subjected to physical violence or intimidation ever again, however mild or parental in nature, and it was surely time for my parents to concede that point no matter what else they had planned.
That’s it, I thought as I turned into my street. Surely they’ll have come to the same conclusion.
But I couldn’t have been more wrong.
On pulling up at the house, I saw two black SUVs parked outside the garage—exactly where I would’ve usually parked my own car, in fact. With my father’s position as a Governor, I was used to many visits to the house from all kinds of important people, but at this time of night and on a day when all my father’s plans had gone awry, it was clear that something weird was going on. At least if there were other people present, it should mean less shouting and vitriol aimed at me, and maybe the opportunity to calm the situation without direct and private confrontation.
I still had a bad feeling about the presence of the SUVs, though.
Unlocking the door and stepping inside, I felt the same anxiety my date had washed away for a few hours flooding back. It was impossible to know what to be prepared for, though no one came rushing out to read me the riot act. Whatever doom was waiting was calculated this time and only needed my entrance to be played out.
There was no sound of movement or voices from within but, on walking into the kitchen, I found not just my parents, but four other people present, all sitting round the kitchen table. The four visitors were dressed in black suits.
All of their eyes turned my way, and my heart leapt into my throat.
The six of them said nothing at first and only stared at me. I wanted nothing of it, but the atmosphere was so tense that I simply had to break it and have them get to the point. I’d been poised for a fight, but instead encountered only bewilderment—although my father’s cold expression made it very clear that without visitors present, he would’ve been approaching the matter very differently.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“As you know, Bea,” Dad began, amazingly speaking without aggression in the process, “we have been successful in raising enough funds for a Presidential campaign, which has been launched earlier today.”
“I did try to explain that photo–” I began, but was cut off.
“And our polling office has now apparently confirmed that—in spite of your recent alleged behavior—I am considered to be among the leading contenders.”
I couldn’t help wonder whether the word “alleged” was positive or sarcastic in this instance, but my father’s real mood was proving difficult to read and I decided not to interrupt.
“Because of this development, the Secret Service,” he continued, raising his hands as a way of introducing the four gentlemen, “is now obliged to provide protection for my family. The police have also offered special protection because of the prominence of my recent War on Drugs campaign against all the gangs in the state.”
As he announced the additional news about the police, I thought he’d deliberately changed the tone of his voice in order to surreptitiously stress a point to me, though for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what that might be. Nothing to do with drugs and gangs concerned me.
“As a result, Beatrice, this means that you will no longer be able to go anywhere without supervision—even to work or study,” he went on, finally getting to the point of how all this affected me. “No matter where you go, there will be an agent escorting you.”
What?
I opened my mouth to respond, but my father wasn’t finished yet.
“Furthermore, sometime soon, you will be expected to speak with the Secret Service for an interview, during which time you will be asked about every single detail of your personal life. It will be required of you to tell them everything. This is in order to keep you safe.”
I was really resisting the urge to scream now, but held back to crave some kind of perspective on what the children of other presidential candidates had to go through. Surely having to tell the Secret Service everything was far too extreme, and there was no way I was going to do that.
“Please bear in mind, Beatrice,” he continued as my mother stared at me without flinching at any of these over-the-top measures, “that this might mean your friends, or anyone suspicious you happen to come into contact with, could be monitored as well. This also extends to your activities on social media, email, your phone, and so on.”
He stopped talking then. A long silence followed, during which I looked at my mother then back to my father again, but avoided any kind of eye contact with the silent men in suits. I couldn’t stand them staring at me as if I was a thing; a presidential candidate’s daughter rather than a person.
“So that’s it then?” I asked. My father responded with a solitary nod. “Literally everything?”
Another nod followed, and with a heavy feeling in my stomach, I turned to walk slowly out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Without even bothering to get into something more comfortable, I flopped onto the bed and lay there for what felt like an eternity, staring up at the ceiling. The dress that hugged my body was the only echo I now had of a former life—or my attempts to lead one. That life had ended with a romantic lake journey and a kiss under the stars; a slice of perfection, only I now wished that I’d let Damon screw me senseless, because I’d mistaken that perfection for hope rather than the brief detour from reality it really was. I’d failed to make the most of that gift, because I was now utterly out-maneuvered in my attempts to get free of my father’s vise-like grip. I was a pawn and nothing else now, would have even preferred a slap or a beating such as those I’d experienced as a child rather than being made prisoner to another’s will.
All my thinking inevitably became directed towards Damon. He’d done nothing to deserve being kicked so brutally to the wayside, having saved my skin, been the perfect gentleman and declined any attempt to pressure me even though it must have been obvious he was already winning my heart.
But what could be done? There was no way I could see him again after the bomb my parents had just dropped on me. Every obstacle was an immovable force. Very soon there would be no discreet way of contacting him at all without a humorless special agent appearing and demanding to know who he was, and while it was obvious that Damon wanted to see me again, would he really want to waste his time going through some major diplomatic process in order to arrange another date with me?
Plus, even if this was not completely offensive to him, the likelihood was that my parents would agree he wasn’t good enough for me, and I hated the thought of them making him feel worthless. I could picture their reaction to him in my head as clear as day. So what if he saved your life; he’s only a security guard, Dad would say with a sniff. And all they had to do was find out he associated with someone slightly dodgy, no matter how loosely, and that would be more than enough reason to order him out of my life.
And they’d make damn sure he left.
The two of us seemed like we could be great together, but the horizon of my life was dark once more, clouding over the stars I’d been gazing at less than two hours ago. With constant supervision for as long as the Presidential campaign lasted, and perhaps longer if the country had the poor sense to elect my father, it was hopeless to imagine any scenario in which our relationship could flourish.
I had to end it, before we’d even really begun, for both our sakes.
It was a dreadful conclusion to make after such a brilliant evening, but there was no way of waking up the next morning and hoping for life to be different. It was best never to contact Damon again, but I decided that I owed him better than that. I would at least have to tell him, even though it would feel heartless coming so soon. They weren’t monitoring my texts yet—it was likely they would find out about him anyway by checking my movements retrospectively—but the text I was going to send would only reinforce their position so didn’t matter.
Picking up my cell phone, I haltingly typed the message.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t see you again.’
Then I pressed send and threw the phone across the room.