Chapter Two
In the back of the taxi, I allowed the tears to fall fast down my cheeks. My long fingers clung to my cheeks. I could hear the taxi driver in the front seat, whistling away with such utter contentment.
“Miss? Are you all right?” he finally asked me, peering at the rearview mirror.
I nodded, choking a bit.
Truly, the anger was pulsing through me, throwing me off. I didn’t feel like my true self. Just the day before, I’d been so enraptured with the president. I’d been of the—albeit, strained—belief that he and I could be together, that nothing could stop us.
And yet this man, Jason, who I’d viewed as a friend before, turned on me. He’d given me to the dogs. And now, I was to be his slave.
No one had ever gotten the better of me. All the way through college, I’d won every campaign I’d come up against. I’d been wide-eyed and assertive; no one had ever dared to cross me. Even the men in my life hadn’t dared to keep up with me. They’d allowed me to pass, like a great ship through the night, beside them and then beyond them. Everyone knew that I was headed toward greater things. And I’d always known that, as well.
The taxi turned right, down my street. I pushed open the door of the taxi and handed the man several bills. I didn’t make eye contact with him, didn’t thank him. I didn’t want contact. I certainly didn’t want anyone to really, really see me cry—to see the desolation lurking behind my eyes.
I charged up my steps, toward my apartment, my former sanctuary. I dropped my things and began looking around the place with fury. I had to find the cameras—the cameras that were currently ruining my life. I had to get them out. I tried to imagine Jason in my apartment, placing the cameras in various places. I wondered if he had any others; of me sleeping on my couch, for example. Of me drinking wine. Of me simply getting undressed and preparing for the day. I shuddered. The invasion of privacy was something I couldn’t get over. What do people do when they don’t know they’re being watched?
Everything.
I wanted to report him so badly, but I felt like I was pushed against a wall with his hand against my mouth. I could cry out as much as I wanted, but he would press harder and harder until I couldn’t breathe anymore. He would stifle me, stifle me until both my career and Xavier’s career were dead forever.
I started at the top of the refrigerator, where I felt like the camera had been positioned that captured us atop the table. I ruffled my hand over the top haphazardly. I knocked a forgotten magazine onto the ground, allowing dust to scatter everywhere. I started to cough, grasping my throat.
I spun around, my hands on my hips. I sauntered toward the couch and plucked up the bottle of wine on the coffee table. I flung it back, toward my mouth, and allowed the full flavor to graze down my tongue. I felt the wine immediately alter my brain, making me feel a bit woozy. The dizziness cut through my disdain.
I flung back toward the kitchen and began to rifle through the cabinets, tossing things to the ground. Cereal fell to the floor: bowls, plates, everything. I heard a wine glass crash to the ground and fling itself into a million little glass pieces. I tugged at my hair, wondering where the cameras would be.
Finally, I swept back toward the fine armoire that sat on the other side of my dining room table. On the inside of the armoire sat all the fine china that had been passed down on my mother’s side, from my grandmother’s grandmother. It glinted in the afternoon light.
On the inside of the armoire, I found it: the camera. It was blinking at me in the darkness of the cabinet, as if it was saying hello. I sniffed at it, turning it this way, then that. I whispered into it, suddenly, muttering the words: “I’ve got you, here. Yes, I do.”
I suddenly flung the camera into the sink. I turned on the sink and allowed it to die there at the bottom, still blinking at me for several moments before finally giving itself over to death.
Breathing heavily, I was finally able to pulse through the rest of the apartment and find the remaining cameras. I found three in total, and I allowed each of them to die a very wet death at the bottom of my sink. I poured myself a very full glass of wine and drank it alone at my kitchen table, still watching the light from the lamp as it glimmered over the broken glass on the floor. I knew that this was representative of the terror of my situation; I knew that I was currently mid-repair. How long would this fucking situation put me back from my goals?
I would have to be careful in the future. I would have to watch my back. I couldn’t get bleary-eyed with adoration for that man—the President of the United States.
I was smarter than that.