"M-Miss Rose?" A voice calls out, cutting through the haze as you try to follow the faint light flickering in front of you.
Your body sways uncontrollably, and confusion swirls in your mind. You feel dizzy and nauseous. As you try to respond, your stomach churns violently. You double over in dry spasms, and with a painful jolt, you vomit.
At first, nothing comes out. Then something burns its way up your throat.
Blood—bitter and metallic—spills from your mouth, the taste clinging to your tongue. You collapse onto your side, hoping you haven't fallen into the mess you've just made.
A hand presses gently on your shoulder, grounding you momentarily as you struggle to catch your breath. You want to get up, but they hold you down, not that you would have been able to rise anyway. Faint voices drift closer, blending with the hum of idling cars and the heavy thud of approaching footsteps.
"Miss Rose, were you struck in the head?" A sharper voice pierces through the fog, cutting through your confusion.
You're being lifted—gently but firmly—by hands that feel unfamiliar.
"W-Who is Miss Rose?" You murmur, confused, as your fingers instinctively reach for a wound concealed beneath your tangled hair.
The sting makes you wince, but before you can touch it, gloved fingers intercept your hand, stopping you from causing more damage.
"Easy, darling. We need you to focus," a soothing voice says, guiding you through the darkness that threatens to close in around you.
Suddenly, a bluish-white light blinds you as they settle you onto something soft—a stretcher, straps tightened around your body to keep you secure.
You don't scream. You don't panic. You're... calm.
"Can you tell us your name, sweetheart?" the voice asks again, patient but urgent.
You blink, your mind turning sluggishly. "I—I don't know... what's happening?" Your voice wavers and shakes as you reach out into the air, your arm slicing through invisible waves rippling through your body.
The paramedic beside you watches closely, unsure why you aren't more agitated—why you remain so eerily calm, reaching for something that isn't there.
"What's the date today?" they ask.
"March 18th, 2024," you respond automatically, though the words feel disconnected from your reality.
You hear the scratch of a pen on paper, followed by the gentle tilt of your head. A flash—a camera click. Your head falls back; another click. Silence follows, punctuated only by the rustle of movement around you and the soft clicks continuing each time someone stops to capture a different angle.
The voices murmur just out of your reach. You're sinking back into yourself, struggling to stay anchored. Everything blurs into one.
As they wheel you inside the hospital, more voices join in. The warmth of the street gives way to the cold sterility of the air-conditioned environment. They rush you through double doors, discussing your condition. Your heart jumps with every word they say, and the speed at which they wheel you through the place makes you feel like you're dying.
"Severe blunt force trauma to the head," one of the paramedics explains to the doctors, their tone clipped with urgency. "Signs of memory loss, disorientation, confusion. She's unresponsive to standard cognitive stimulation."
"Motor coordination is off," another voice adds. "She vomited blood—likely internal damage. Minimal awareness of surroundings, possible temporal or spatial disconnect."
The gurney rolls down a fluorescent-lit hallway, the world narrowing to the overhead lights flashing by one after the other. They begin preparing you for immediate scans, strapping you into place while machines beep rhythmically.
"Order a CT scan now. We're looking at potential intracranial bleeding, possible concussion, or worse. Neurological damage is a priority."
"We need to get her into the trauma unit," a doctor says.
You try to speak, but your words come out as garbled whispers. Your body feels numb, weightless. The last thing you remember is the sound of rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the floor as they wheel you away, the sterile light above fading into darkness once more.
For the next few hours, you lie in silence, your vision completely gone. Something covers your eyes, holding them shut. You can feel something pushing and pulling air into your lungs, but you realize you're not breathing for yourself. Your limbs are paralyzed, and your chest tingles with sensation yet lacks control.
In that silence, you begin to remember small fragments about yourself.
You were Jessica Rose, the new assistant to Kamala Harris, who was running for president.
You lived alone and distracted yourself with work whenever you could, not that you didn't enjoy working for Kamala.
You had a crush on her.
As that thought crosses your mind, you remember how kind she had been to you in the few days you'd worked with her. She was sociable, while you felt shy and unsure how to navigate waters where you didn't belong.
But the way her brown eyes would bore into your own whenever she needed to make a point didn't help your bashful nature one bit.
You're laid on what feels like hard metal for hours on end. You sense someone's hands inside of you; one is wrapped around an organ you can't identify, the other grazing lightly over it.
"G-good, it doesn't look like anything serious; she'll live for the time being. Have that CT done; I'd like to be sure we won't have to perform brain surgery." A woman's voice pierces through your awareness; you try to sit up.
You're trapped.
"Okay, let's close her up and have painkillers ready. Whatever that monster did to her face and torso is criminal... God, I hope she never sees herself like that." They say, their tone laced with terror and distress over the sight you can't see.
The next moment you regain consciousness, you hear the mechanical whirl of a machine around you. You're raised and pulled into it for a few seconds, then lowered back onto the soft surface you've grown accustomed to.
"It's what we suspected: no bleeding, no permanent damage; this is a mild traumatic brain injury. The scarring in the back of her head indicates she was struck by a metal object, and from our best guess, she took a nasty fall," someone explains, and you feel a hand move to caress yours.
Who was that?
They begin to speak; their voice is familiar, and you can almost imagine who they are, but their silhouette remains clouded.
"So what now?" a voice asks.
"We wait, monitor her condition, and let her sleep as needed, along with other things, supervision. It's 4 a.m. We'll do another round of checks around noon and determine what to do from there," someone says.
You feel the person's hand shift and wind itself around your own. You're still unable to move your body, but you instinctively try to squeeze their hand.
Something happens.
"She just grabbed my hand?" they exclaim. Another hand lands on your arm.
"Spasms, or the onset of a seizure, considering the trauma suffered to the upper body. Any slight movement at this point isn't her own doing. Her muscles are contracting in preparation..."
Both hands leave you.
"Okay," whoever that was says, before you hear footsteps retreating.
They don't move to you anymore; you can hear people passing occasionally, maybe a few lingering at the door to stare.
You desperately want to know how you look.
"OH GOD?!" You hear someone scream suddenly; you wonder if you summoned them yourself.
"Jess, what did they do to you?" A familiar voice cuts through the mechanical whirl of the machines and the silence of the hospital room.
You can't see who's speaking; your world remains shrouded in darkness, but their voice strikes an aching chord in your chest. The mattress beneath you shifts as they sit beside you, and you feel the edge of their shirt brush against your bare leg, their warm hands clasping yours.
"Jessica... I'm so sorry." The voice trembles, full of guilt and sorrow. But you can't place it—not exactly. You feel a distant recognition but no clarity, like a name or face just out of reach. Your mind races, trying to piece together fragments of memory.
Who are they?
Why are they so upset?
Behind the voice at your side, another figure lingers, pacing quietly in the background. You hear them whispering to someone else, their tone hushed and serious, an edge of distress creeping into their words.
"The doctors said the trauma was severe," the second voice—female, familiar but distant—speaks softly.
"She's in and out of consciousness, and there's memory loss. They said it's a miracle she's alive, but she might not be the same for a long time." Her voice cracks as she pauses to collect herself.
"Blunt force trauma to the head, internal injuries... the blood loss. They're monitoring her, but they're not sure what the extent of the damage is. We just... we have to wait."
"Was she awake when they brought her here?"
"No, she started going in and out in the ambulance. They had to perform surgery on her, so she'll be asleep for a few hours."
"When did they find her, and where?"
"They found her off an abandoned highway. She was stumbling away from the city. They found her around 1 this morning. She needs rest, and so do you?!" Whoever was speaking urged; their tone made you want to laugh; it sounded like something the person holding your hand had been told before.
But wait? What were they waiting for?
Your mind flailed, grasping at fragments of identity.
You knew you were Jessica Rose, Kamala Harris's assistant. You remembered your job, the way you kept yourself busy, and... Kamala.
Yes, Kamala Harris. You remembered her.
You recalled the way she looked at you—those brown eyes, the intensity of her gaze when she was making a point.
You'd admired her.
You'd... had feelings for her.
But who were the two people standing by your side now?
The names hung just out of reach, hovering on the tip of your tongue, yet elusive.
You couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Your body refused to respond, paralyzed and locked away from your thoughts. It felt as if you were trapped in a shell, screaming internally, desperate to grasp the pieces of the world around you.
A wave of frustration swelled within you, thick and suffocating. You wanted to scream. To ask what had happened. To beg them to tell you who they were. Why were they here?
But your body wouldn't obey.
Tears welled up, blurring your thoughts even more. Inside, you cried and sobbed for the broken pieces of yourself that you couldn't pull back together.
Then, something unexpected happened.
Outside, your body followed.
A single tear slipped from the corner of your eye. Your body finally responded, but not how you intended. As the tear fell, your left side began to tremble, muscles locking up with sharp spasms. You felt the tension build in your face, your features tightening involuntarily. Your chest constricted, and your heart hammered against your ribs as panic set in.
"Jessica?" The voice at your side gasped.
You felt the grip on your hand tighten, but your body tensed even more in response. Your head rolled back against the pillow, eyes still covered, limbs unresponsive yet aching with the effort to move.
Suddenly, the monitors beside you screamed, your heart rate spiking, alarms blaring. You couldn't control it—couldn't control anything—as the tremors seized your body, making you jerk involuntarily. Whoever was holding your hand was pulled away in the chaos.
"Jess! Oh my God, help! She's—Maya, what is happening?!"
Maya? How interesting...
Panic filled the room. You heard the sound of rushing footsteps and more voices shouting orders as they surged toward you. Your mind spiraled, panic flooding every thought, but still, your body refused to listen.
Your head pulled forward, and you knew what was coming. Tension built in your neck, and you felt a sharp release.
Nothing; your body relaxed. You were laid back onto the bed, a hand cupping the back of your head as they guided you down.
You wanted to thank them.
They rolled you onto your side, securing a mask around your face, air forced into your lungs, compelling you to take deeper breaths.
"Miss Harris isn't allowed back in this room." Someone stated bluntly as a door slammed.
Miss Harris?!
Why was Kamala here to see you? She was apologizing for what... You were in the hospital; you'd been attacked, right? She was a nice person.
February 8th, 2024
You balanced well enough to roam the hospital for the time being; someone had to be near at all times—usually a doctor or a nurse, and now a woman who spoke fondly of you.
She was nice and patient, and you, and she got along well.
You often caught her texting someone, yet she never seemed to get a response.
"Okay, I love you, Kam," you heard her say as her hand lightly grazed your back, urging you to keep yourself upright.
You'd come a long way since you arrived; your eyes had unsealed, and you'd begun to accept the permanent scar hidden beneath your hair.
She had two children, both very intelligent; you'd met them last week, despite your objections.
You thought you still looked scary.
Your face was a little less swollen, but your skin was still bruised and discolored.
"Maya, can I ask you something?" you said as you stopped just outside an empty room down the hallway.
"Yeah, Jessica, anything."
"Does Miss Harris think I quit?" you asked, gripping the walker you'd been using tightly.
"No, she knows what happened to you; she's made accommodations for your return to work when you're ready," Maya explained.
"She's been trying to make plans to visit you. The White House is just on high alert, that's all," she added, placing a hand on your back and urging you along.
"White House?" you asked, confused; it suddenly struck you that you didn't know what the date was.
"What's today's date?" you inquired, shuffling one foot in front of the other, feeling the cool air rush past the barely healed scar hidden beneath your hair.
"February 8th, 2025. Jessica, how much can you remember?" she asked.
It wasn't the first time you'd been asked this week; it was a common question you faced daily.
"Wow, if I've been gone for that long, how has Miss Harris not fired me?!" you exclaimed, turning to her with a surprised expression painted across your face, eyebrows furrowed in confusion while your smile held a lightheartedness, hoping to spare Maya from the horror of your situation.
"Well, that wouldn't be fair when you—Jessica, come on, let's get you in bed. I think it'll be better if I explain when you can sit down." She smiled back as you continued to shuffle along.
Finally, back in your room, you sat on the edge of the bed, flexing and rolling your hands around each other. Being able to control yourself was something you hadn't realized you could miss.
"Jessica, my name is Maya Harris, Kamala's sister. You met her nieces last week; they remember you; you just don't remember them." She said as she settled into the guest chair, watching as your eyes brightened, almost as if she could see the connection rebuilding itself.
You felt something click in your mind as the words sank in.
You remembered a little more.
They had been crying on the other side of the waiting room; she thanked you for being by Kamala's side. You were crying; your hands were bloody.
"Oh! Maya, God, how could I have forgotten you?" you exclaimed, noticing how her hand shook as your expression shifted.
She knew what she was saying; she briefly looked down at her phone, giving it a single tap, as if checking something off.
"Jessica, you know how; you were attacked; you're still experiencing memory loss," she reminded you.
You closed your eyes and breathed deeply; her voice echoed in your empty head.
"Jessica, I'm going to tell you a lot and ask you a lot, and I want you to tell me to stop whenever you feel it's too much," she said, staring down at her phone.
You caught a glimpse of a list of questions and checkboxes. Your stomach turned.
"Jessica, do you remember who attacked you, both times?" she asked, her brow furrowed.
Both times? What did she mean by both times? You'd only been attacked once, right?
"Yes, no, I was only attacked once?! Marcus tried to kill me..." you replied, your eyes squeezing shut further as a hazy memory scratched at your mind, trying to unveil itself.
"No, you were attacked inside Kamala's home... by a masked man named Marcus. They threatened to kill you or hand over documents that would expose a plan to kill Kamala," she said, her voice softening as she moved her hand to the side of her chair.
Her hand grasped around a folder; she quickly opened it, pulling out picture after picture of scribbled notes.
You felt your hand squeeze shut slightly; you could remember holding them in your hand. You looked down at them; there was no blood, no dirt—only your own skin.
"What are these?" you asked, and as your hand reached out to take one, you examined it.
You could barely make out what it was saying or understand the meaning. You threw it down, feeling your stomach turn.
"They could have killed her," you said, closing your eyes—a mistake, as you couldn't escape the flash of memories flooding back.
You recalled the moment you began working for her.
The moments you and she shared, doing everything to turn around Biden's campaign.
The late nights.
The empty bars filled with everyone from the office.
Her flirting, your bashful lack of objections to her advances.
Then Christmas Eve... You couldn't see anything past that, or anything before now.
It is February now...
"The election?" you asked, the realization dawning.
"She won; she made you her chief of staff; she also introduced you to the world," Maya replied.
"Huh?"
"Yeah, she asked you to be chief of staff on Christmas Eve; you and she got snowed in together. That's when you and her became involved."
Maya explained, but nothing seemed to click—no flash of memories, no rush of adrenaline as you recalled details that should have sparked recognition.
There was only silence.
"I don't remember that, but I'm honored. I have to thank her!" you said, putting on a smile, though you noticed Maya's expression fade.
You began to feel like there were just some things you would never remember...things that you desperately wanted to remember. They stood at the tip of your tongue, swept away by the bitter taste of medicine and painkillers.
You'd noticed that it was easier to try to remember when you weren't on them
Your dosages had been lowered; you were able to leave more often; some days you wouldn't need them.
Like today.
'You didn't need the medication today' you think to yourself, you wonder if you'll get out of here soon
Your excitement was short-lived, though, as you began to think about the person again.
You couldn't remember her.
There was a woman you kept seeing, her image blurred in every memory. You knew her name; it felt familiar, as if you'd encountered her a million times before. Yet, she felt just out of reach, hovering in the shadows of your mind, every second spent trying to grasp her identity.
She was within reach; you just couldn't remember who.
"Well, that's okay. As long as you remember how to do your job, I think you'll be just fine. You're going to be discharged in two days, and Kamala wants to see you at the White House as soon as you can start working again," Maya explained, handing you a smaller folder.
This time, when you opened it, it wasn't filled with unsettling images or pictures of your own face that you had begged to see.
It was a resume.
With a big stamp of approval.
You smiled.
You were only twenty-four, and you were becoming chief of staff. You wanted to giggle and squeeze yourself tightly, as if this were some sort of dream, but you knew better—you knew this wasn't a dream.
"Oh my God," you exhaled softly. A tear welling in your eye as you looked beside yourself at Maya, she's recording.
"Hey!" You exclaim as you wipe the tears from your face
"Miss Rose, your discharge papers" A doctor say as they enter the room placing clipboard down
March 15th, 2025
You woke up in bed. Your head didn't hurt, your body didn't ache, and your mind felt clear. Yet, you knew you were missing something—your memory.
You swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Blood rushed to your head, and you stumbled slightly but managed to find your footing before toppling over, your hand unexpectedly planting on the soft cushions of your nightstand, carefully avoiding any sharp corners around your apartment.
You'd been sent home with a nurse who followed you everywhere, staying with you for about a week until they determined your motor functions were back in order.
Maya would stop by, bringing her nieces and food; you both would talk for hours about nothing until the sun began to set, or she had to leave.
You enjoyed her company.
But despite never being alone for a month, you felt isolated. There was one person you couldn't quite place in your mind, one name that lingered just out of reach.
A jumble of fragmented memories intertwined with the information you'd been given, you loved her
"Hello?" you said as you picked up your phone, standing just outside the shower. The steam in the confined space was thick as you walked out.
"Good morning, Jessica. It's Kamala," you heard on the other end.
Your back straightened, and your mind snapped to attention. Your heart raced as you looked at the caller ID.
Encrypted.
Heat rushed to your cheeks.
"O-oh, Miss Harris! Good morning! Am I late?" you stammered, panic creeping into your voice.
It was your first day back at work.
Your first day, not as her assistant, but as her chief of staff. You were about to be a chief of staff, and yet you could barely put together parts of your life.
'Pathetic,' you muttered, rolling your eyes. In an instant, you froze.
"Oh my, who was that meant for, dear? You or me..." she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice that made you squirm.
Your face flushed, and your face grew hot, a flash came and you remembered.
You sat on the counter, hands wrapped around your waist, pulling yourself in closer, your toes brushing against your core. You ground against the edge of the counter, and she smiled.
"I didn't mean to say that, that wasn't directed at you; I was just thinking about something. Please continue," you replied, gritting your teeth as you sank onto your bed, legs crossed, your mind still replaying that scene but now without the other person.
Who was that other person?
"Okay, dear, but you're not late. I'm calling to tell you someone should be on their way to bring you to the White House. We have a lot to discuss." Her voice, however, seemed to lack its usual spark.
"Oh, well, I'll be dressed soon, Miss Harris. I'm excited about my first day," you said softly, feeling your cheeks warm as butterflies swarmed in your stomach at the sound of her soft giggle.
What was this woman doing to you? Yes, you had a crush on her, but damn, never like this. You had to be missing something.
"Well, Jessica, I won't keep you long, and please call me Kamala" she ended the call before you could respond, you huff and turn your phone over tossing it aside.
The rest of your time getting ready was spent fretting over the smallest details of your outfit. You settled on something simple: black pants, flats, and a neatly tucked white shirt.
You couldn't find your heels?
Standing in front of your bedroom mirror, you scanned yourself repeatedly. Anxiety bubbled in your chest as you imagined what it would be like to work in the White House.
Your face was back to normal, your hair falling loosely around your shoulders, and you instinctively reached for the slim scar along your side.
HONK!
You jumped slightly at the sound outside your building, a jolt of adrenaline rushing through you. Flustered, you grabbed your purse, left your apartment, and speed-walked out of the building, not stopping for anyone as you approached the black SUV waiting for you.
Some of your neighbors started from a distance. You waved, but they began to whisper, and you quickly looked away.
You slipped into the car, smiling at the agent who held the door open.
The door shut behind you, and the reality of your situation settled in—you were about to go to the White House.
You'd rehearsed this a million times since leaving the hospital:
Don't speak about what happened; no one needs to know the details, just what was released to the public.
Be patient with yourself and others; do your job, and everyone else will, too.
Don't mention Trump, Vanessa, or Marcus.
Be normal. Pretend nothing happened.
It was hard trying to act "normal" when you could barely remember who had you pressed against a counter.
Meanwhile, Kamala paced in her office. The oval room, with its limited space to move between the walls, did little to soothe her nerves. Since taking the office, things had been surprisingly calm—work was constant, and the long hours were expected. But the hardest part was waking up to an empty bed...
She hadn't seen Jessica in nearly a month. Her sister, Maya, had graciously spent time with you, helping to recover your memory and keeping Kamala informed on your progress. Yet, Kamala herself was trapped here, surrounded by cold stone and marble—this place, grand but unforgiving.
"Miss Harris, Jessica Rose is here. She's waiting in the hallway," a staffer announced, peeking into the room.
Kamala froze mid-step.
"Send her in, please," she said without hesitation, her hands moving instinctively to smooth her shirt and adjust her jacket.
She stood there, eyes fixed on the door, her breath threatening to become unsteady. She had kept up appearances this whole time, but the thought of seeing you again made her hair stand on edge. Her body trembled with a mix of anticipation and nerves. You remembered her, but only in fragments—not the way she remembered you.
Her fingers clenched as she heard the door creak open slowly, cautiously.
"Good morning, Miss Harris," you greeted softly as the door finally opened.
A gentle smile spread across your face, and Kamala mirrored it.
Her head tilted slightly, her eyes glossing over as if lost in thought for just a moment.
"Sit, Jessica. There's much to discuss. You've missed a lot, but I promise it won't be too difficult to catch up," Kamala said, gesturing to the chair across from her. You nodded and stepped into the room, though your gaze wandered. It was difficult to look directly at her.
Instead, your eyes took in the details of the room—the soft, warm tones, the sunlight pouring in through the large windows positioned behind the resolute desk. The space felt welcoming, yet heavy with significance.
You sat down, your body tensing against the soft cushions as if they were foreign to you.
You wait for her to join you
Kamala sat back, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the pants leg as she began her rundown of everything that had happened in your absence.
Her eyes never left you, the gaze heavy, searching, as if she were waiting for something beyond the exchange of information.
"You've missed quite a bit, but nothing you can't catch up on," Kamala reassured you, her voice dipping into something softer, more intimate.
"We've had a few shifts in the administration, new policies are being pushed through, and there are some international conversations that need a strong hand on deck." she paused, she reached over across to you tapping softly n your knee
You pause, was she flirting with you?
" It's your first time here, and your first time back after everything that... happened, I want you to know... I'm here for you. If there's ever anything that feels too much, any questions or concerns, come to me. No matter how small or big the issue, you're not alone." She said as her eyes lowered, and a faint smile grew on her face
You return the gesture, "Thank you, Miss Harris" you say as your heart drops when Darling, you see her eyes dart to yours, as if to remind you of something.
"Darling, have you forgotten already?"
Your eyes grow wide as you try to scramble to pull whatever it is out of your mind.
"Excuse me" You respond, a slight crack in your voice as your unease forces you to clear your throat
"You are to call me Kamala, I know there are something you just don't remember, but I intend to help you" her eyes darkened, her voice lowers, and the air seems to be sucked out of the room
"If you don't answer me, I won't ask again" She said, this time it echoed off the walls and made you scream inside, your body shot up from the comforter leaving a mangled imprint
You cross your legs, discomfort growing in your chest.
Her words landed heavy, not just in a professional sense, but there was something more behind them. The way she said "come to me", the way your mind drifted to a memory that her voice played over "I won't ask again" lingered in the air, her tone suggestive in a way that made your throat tighten and heat rise in your cheeks.
You swallowed hard, trying to push away the odd fluttering in your stomach.
"I... thank you, Miss Harris- I MEAN Kamala!" You're correct, "That means a lot to me." You managed a smile, though your voice wavered slightly. You stood, ready to leave, your legs feeling like jelly beneath you. But as you neared the door, another awkward realization struck you.
"Oh—uh... actually," you turned around, feeling your face flush as you rubbed the back of your neck, "I don't know where I'm supposed to be working. I mean, my office...? I haven't been told."
Kamala's lips curled into a knowing smile, almost predatory in its confidence. She stepped to follow you, hand outreached towards the door, urging you along, moving slowly, deliberately, each step closing the space between you with a subtle but unmistakable intensity.
"Oh, Jessica," she practically purred, "I'll show you exactly where you'll be." she said locking eyes with you
You follow her gaze as she moves around you, your items pressed tightly to your chest as she reached the door and holds it open for you
Her voice was sultry, teasing, and it sent a shiver down your spine that you tried, and failed, to hide. You weren't prepared for this, you had a crush on her for the longest time, and you handled it like an adult.
Now it seemed harder, either she was teasing you, or you'd just gotten gayer being stuck in the hospital.
She led you from the room and down the halls, her energy shifting into something that made your skin tingle and your mind race. You could feel the air thicken between you, every small movement of hers drawing your attention.
The scent of her perfume hanging faintly in the air, intoxicating.
The way her hips swayed, made your eyes follow them side to side
the subtle tug on your waist as you attempted to veer off path.
She led you through the hallways of the West Wing, her pace slow, her body language casual, but the way she occasionally glanced over her shoulder at you felt anything but professional.
You followed her like a moth to a flame, trying to keep your breathing steady as your thoughts spiraled into a chaotic mess.
Did she mean to walk so closely beside you? Or was it in your head?
Did her hand brush against yours on purpose?
Oh God, were you imagining things?
If you told someone about those things, would they send you back to the hospital?
Finally, you arrived at what was to be your office, a modest but stylish space adjacent to Kamala's own. You wonder why you two managed to walk for what felt like hours only to be a few rooms away from her office.
Was she playing games with you... If so, you didn't hate it.
She opened the door and motioned for you to step inside first, her eyes never leaving you, and it felt as though her gaze was peeling back layers, seeing things you didn't know. You walked in, feeling both grateful and disappointed for the physical space now between you, even though the room itself suddenly felt much too small.
Your breath hitched in your throat.
Kamala followed, her voice warm but with an edge that made your skin prickle. "This is where you'll be working, Jessica. Close enough so we can stay... connected," she said, her eyes glinting with something unreadable.
She turned you around to face her, hand somehow perched in your chin within a moment.
You force a nervous smile, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and uncertainty. The office was nice—more than nice, really—but your focus was on her, on the way she moved just a little too close again.
"Kamala" you say as your eyes move down to look at her hand
Your heart leaped into your throat, and before you could even think, your fingers instinctively wrapped around her wrist.
Both your positions erotic in execution, simple in nature.
"Is there... something I should know, Miss Harris?" you asked, your voice quiet but filled with an unspoken question that you weren't entirely sure you knew how to ask.
Kamala froze, her eyes flicking down to where your hand held around her wrist, her lips parting slightly.
For a split second, you saw a flash of something—desire, maybe, or hesitation?—cross her face.
Her thumb moved in a slow, almost imperceptible circle against the back of your hand, and your entire body felt like it was on fire.
But then, without warning, she pulled away, her expression hardening.
She took a small step back, her gaze clouding over with something unreadable. "Jessica," she said, her voice losing that soft, teasing edge, "I think you'll do great here. Just... settle in. There's a lot of work to be done."
And with that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room, leaving you standing there, feeling like the floor had just been pulled out from under you.
You blinked, your mind racing, trying to process what had just happened.
Confusion swirled inside you, mingling with a strange sense of being scorned—though you couldn't quite place why. Something had shifted in you at that moment, but now you were left with more questions than answers.
Why had she pulled away like that?
You stand there, trying to understand things you'd forced yourself to accept you would never remember.
------
You returned home from your first day at work, the weight of everything that had happened settling heavily on your shoulders. Kamala's sudden change in personality, the strange tension in the air, the way her hand had felt against yours—it all lingered in your mind, a confusing blend of excitement and uncertainty. You opened the door to your apartment, the smell of something delicious instantly hitting your nose, reminding you that Maya had offered to cook dinner tonight.
You hadn't remembered her this way, what had changed?
Stepping into the kitchen, you found Maya stirring something in a pan, humming quietly to herself. She looked up as you entered, flashing you a warm smile.
"Hey, how was your first day back?" she asked, her tone light, though there was a certain glimmer in her eyes—like she knew something you didn't.
You sighed, setting your bag down and slipping out of your shoes.
"It was... fine," you said, though you could even hear the hesitation in your voice.
Maya raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Fine? Come on, I know you better than that." She set down the spoon and leaned against the counter, arms crossed as she watched you.
"Something happened, didn't it?"
You hesitated, unsure of how much to say, but the words tumbled out of you before you could stop them.
"It's just... Kamala. She's been acting so... different from me." You frowned, remembering the way she'd looked at you, the way her touch had felt.
"Did someone bring up what's happening with trump? Vanessa or Marcus?" She asked her eyes growing weary
"No i-i just"
"I... mean, I've always looked up to her, and we've been close, but now... I don't know. It's like she's trying to... I don't know, come onto me or something."
Maya's lips curled into a knowing smile, a soft chuckle escaping her. "Oh?" she said, a teasing note in her voice.
"And how does that make you feel?"
You blinked, surprised by her directness. "What do you mean?"
Maya pushed herself off the counter and began plating the food, but her eyes stayed on you, sharp and observant.
"I mean, you said she's coming onto you. How does that make you feel, Jessica? Do you like it?"
Heat rushed to your face, your heart pounding in your chest. "I—well, I don't—, it's not my place to like it or not...she's my boss" you stammered, struggling to find the right words.
"I mean, I've had a crush on her for a while, but this feels... different. More intense. And confusing."
Maya laughed softly, shaking her head as she set the plates down on the table.
"You're not very good at hiding it, you know. The way you look at her. The way you talk about her." Jessica, you remember most things, but I don't understand why you cannot remember this
You sat down, feeling flustered and exposed, but there was something comforting about Maya's casual demeanor. She wasn't judging you, just observing. You picked at your food for a moment, the silence stretching between you, before finally blurting out,
"Do you think she likes me? Like, really like me?"
Maya's smile widened, and she gave you a knowing look. "Oh, absolutely. Kamala's not one to hide her feelings well when it comes to someone she's into. And trust me, Jessica, she's into you.", "shit she wouldn't stop calling when I told her you could open your eyes again" she scoffed and laughed
Your stomach flipped at her words, your mind racing as you tried to process what that even meant. "But why... Why hasn't she said anything? Why is she acting like this now, I never-?"
Maya shrugged, taking a bite of her food before answering. "Kamala was never openly flirting with you before and neither were you with her, you two were always near each other, she loved you then everything happened she's just maybe seeing how easily she can lose you" she says
You stared down at your plate, your heart beating faster than you'd like. "So, what do I do?"
Maya leaned forward, her expression softening. "Do you like her?"
Your face flushed a deep red, and you bit your lip, feeling trapped between wanting to deny it and the overwhelming truth bubbling inside you. "I... yeah. I do."
Maya's smile grew smug, and she leaned back in her chair, clearly enjoying your flustered confession. "Well, it's mutual. Kamala's had a thing for you for a while now."
Your eyes widened in shock. "Wait, what? She—Kamala has a crush on me?"
Maya nodded, her expression softening. "She does. She just doesn't want to rush anything, especially after everything that's happened. But trust me, Jessica, she's been struggling with this just as much as you have." she says as she rolls her eyes
You sat back in your chair, your mind spinning. Maya isn't telling you something.
"W-what aren't you telling me?" you asked, your voice quiet.
Maya grinned, leaning forward. "That's up to you. But if I were you, I'd let her know how you feel. Give her a little nudge. She's not going to be able to resist much longer."
"You know... before everything happened—before the accident—you and Kamala weren't just... working closely."
You blinked, your heart skipping a beat as confusion spread across your face. "What do you mean?"
Maya's smile turned almost conspiratorial, as if she were letting you in on a secret you should already know. She raised an eyebrow and said casually, "You and Kamala were together. As in, girlfriends."
Your jaw dropped. "Wait, what? Kamala and I... were together?"
Maya nodded, her expression turning softer, though the teasing edge remained. "Yeah, Jessica. You two were definitely more than just co-workers. You'd been dating, everyone knows, Jessica and Marcus leaked those photos just as Kamala was about to win"
You stared at her, your mind reeling as you tried to process the information.
How could you have forgotten something so important?
Your chest tightened, and your stomach flipped as flashes of what felt like half-memories surfaced—Kamala's touch, her smile, the way she looked at you today, all those things you couldn't quite place but now seemed to make sense.
You began remembering everything
"But... Why didn't anyone tell me?" you asked, your voice shaky. "Why didn't she tell me?"
Maya shrugged, her gaze softening with sympathy.
"I think Kamala's been afraid to bring it up. She didn't want to overwhelm you while you were recovering, and she probably thought it'd be better for you to get your memories back on your own. She doesn't want to pressure you, especially since you're still piecing things together."
You sank back into your chair, feeling like the ground had shifted beneath you. Kamala—the woman you'd admired and secretly crushed on for so long—wasn't just a distant, unattainable figure in your life. She'd been your girlfriend. And now, after everything, it seemed like Kamala had been holding back, waiting for you to remember on your own terms.
Maya reached across the table, giving your hand a comforting squeeze. "Look, Jess, I know this is a lot to take in, but you've got to give yourself time. You don't have to figure everything out all at once. Kamala's still there for you, even if she's being cautious. But I can tell you one thing for sure: she still has feelings for you. Big ones."
Your heart thudded in your chest, a mix of confusion, excitement, and a bit of fear swirling inside you.
"So... Kamala's just waiting for me to remember?"
Maya chuckled softly. "In a way, yeah. She's being careful, but from what I've seen, it's killing her."
You bit your lip, the weight of Maya's words settling over you. The idea that Kamala had been holding back, possibly out of fear of hurting you or pushing you too soon, made your chest ache. You hadn't just lost memories—you'd lost something that had clearly meant a lot to both of you.
And still even being told, you still couldn't remember.
"I don't get it"
"What?"
"I don't know why I can't remember her!" You exclaimed s you cover your face, tears streaming down your face in an instance
Maya leaned back, her eyes twinkling with sadness.
"Do you want her back?" she asks in a huff
You blinked, your heart racing as you considered her question. Did you want Kamala back? The answer came to you almost instantly—yes. Yes, you did. Even if you couldn't remember every detail, the feelings you had for her were still there.
"Yeah," you said softly
Maya smiled warmly, nodding in approval.
"Maybe you let her know. You don't have to wait for all your memories to come back. Just be honest with her. I promise, she's been waiting for you this whole time."
March 16th, 2025
All day, when you were not busy with random pieces of paper that needed to be copied or faxed to another department. Or chasing down the nearest staffer to ask where a room or thing was, you were called to most meetings. You were told you weren't needed. So, you quickly became acquainted with the various twists and turns of the White House hallways.
You seemed to be settling in just fine, despite your downtime.
You were grateful that the job wasn't all-consuming... yet.
But you couldn't help but try to hush your curiosity.
You found yourself scrolling on your computer, reading article after article about everything that had happened. It was almost like a morbid curiosity, reading the details of everything that the public knew and found out. Trump was fighting the charges, as always, and Jessica and Marcus... well...
Not much was known beyond the fact that they had made a plea.
You reoccupied your mind with these thoughts once again as you walked to her office. The routine of your morning was disrupted once more by another phone call.
Encrypted
She wanted to see you in her office first thing in the morning.
Shocking.
You had every intention of telling her that you knew what you, and she, had been. You just found it easier to busy yourself with anything but that.
You wondered what she had to say to you so early.
You wondered when you were going to tell her that you knew.
You were equally on edge about both things, but as you got closer to the door, your stomach twisted in a knot. The familiar feeling filled you, though you knew in the back of your head that you couldn't come all the way together. Those memories still seemed so distant, so quiet, the missing voice that you couldn't place, the silhouette you couldn't see—a love.
You knew it had to be her, but you just couldn't *see,* and that was bugging you to your very core.
"Good girl, get up and lay on the bed, now," her voice was a growl as her hand moved from between you to cupping you, her fingers pulling at areas you never thought existed, her hand pulling up, keeping the pressure.
You open the door and step inside, immediately greeted by the sight of Kamala, her eyes scanning paper after paper, her hand moving fluidly to sign each one with a practiced ease. The light from the windows behind her cast a soft glow, making the moment feel heavy, like something was about to break.
The thud of the door closing behind you announced your presence, and you could feel the weight of her attention shift toward you, even though she hadn't yet looked up.
"Jessica, please, have a seat," she says without looking up from her papers. Her voice strikes you, and your heart flutters in your chest. You swallow hard, feeling a rush of nerves you hadn't anticipated.
"I-I just have something I need to talk to you about... yesterday..." Kamala's voice falters, catching your attention. Your heart skips a beat.
She finally pauses her work, the pen hovering above the page, and with a slight exhale, she looks up at you. "Can I pour you a drink?" she asks softly, the words lingering in the air like an unspoken question. Her eyes lock onto yours, a flicker of something vulnerable flashing across her expression.
"You might need it," she adds with a small, knowing smile, but there's something in her voice—something weighted.
You stand there, suddenly speechless, your mind scrambling to find words that could somehow unravel the tension between you both. The memory of her hand brushing yours, the heated glances—everything from the day before comes crashing into your chest. And then, you see it: the pain in her eyes.
Kamala stands up, the chair creaking slightly as she moves toward a nearby liquor cabinet. She takes two glasses, her movements deliberate, controlled, as though she's bracing herself. The sound of the liquid pouring into the glasses fills the room, mingling with the silence that's grown heavy around you both.
She hands you a glass without a word, her fingers brushing against yours for a brief moment. You can feel the warmth of her skin, and it sends a shiver up your spine. She sits down in the chair opposite you, her expression unreadable as she takes a sip from her glass.
As her lips leave the glass, she sighs and leans into the armrest, her legs crossing, and the fabric pulls around her thighs...
Kamala sighs, leaning back into the armrest, her legs crossing as the fabric of her pants pulls tight around her thighs. She takes another sip from her glass, eyes drifting away from you for a moment, as if preparing herself for what she's about to say.
You're sitting there, your heart pounding in your ears, barely able to focus on anything but the way her lips move against the rim of the glass, the way her fingers wrap around the stem. The memory of the day before, the heated looks, the tension between you—it's all rushing back in vivid flashes. You feel your cheeks heat, the room suddenly too small, too close.
Kamala clears her throat softly and looks at you again, her expression more serious now.
"Jessica, I want to apologize," she begins, her voice steady, but there's something restrained about it, as if she's holding herself back.
"The way I acted yesterday... It was unprofessional. I crossed a line, and as the President, I—"
You barely hear the words. Your eyes are on her—on the way her lips form the words, on the soft rise and fall of her chest, on the tension that lingers in her posture. The room feels thick, the air heavy, and you're barely breathing. Every part of you is focused on her, but not on what she's saying.
"...and it was unbecoming of me, especially toward you," she continues, her voice filled with regret.
"I never should have let things get that far. It was a mistake, and I want to assure you that it won't—"
You don't even realize the words are coming out of your mouth until they're already spoken.
"I-I love you, Kamala. We were together."
The silence that follows is deafening. Kamala's eyes widen in shock, her lips parting as if she's going to say something, but nothing comes out. You can see her struggling to process what you've just said, the sudden vulnerability in your voice, the rawness of your confession.
Her fingers tighten around her glass, and she blinks, as if trying to make sense of the moment. For a long second, she just stares at you, her breath shallow, her composure slipping.
"You... remember?" she finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper, the weight of your words hanging between you both like a fragile thread.
"No" You confess, your heart in your throat, barely able to believe you've said it out loud.
"I remember enough, Maya told me the rest" you say
Kamala sets her glass down on the table with a trembling hand. She stands, pacing for a moment, clearly caught off guard, unsure of what to do next. Then, with a heavy sigh, she turns back to you, her eyes filled with a mixture of surprise, confusion, and something deeper—something more intimate.
Her gaze softens, and for the first time, you can see it—the pain she's been carrying, the feelings she's been trying to keep hidden.
"I never stopped loving you, I regret getting you into all of this, those things that happened to you shouldn't have happened..." she confesses, the words tumbling out before she can stop herself.
"I wanted you to figure things out without me complicating them, I should have told you!" You watch as she hesitates to grab your hand, her head tilting to the side, and eye softening
Kamala's hand hovers between you both, fingers twitching as though she's trying to decide whether to make contact. You watch her, the weight of her confession sitting heavy between you.
Her lips part, but instead of speaking, she steps forward, her hesitation lingering in the air. Her hand finally reaches yours, gently clasping it. The touch is warm, familiar, like something you've been waiting for without even realizing it. Kamala's eyes search yours, looking for something, anything, that could make this moment easier.
Then, with a soft exhalation, she leans forward, her lips brushing yours tentatively, as if testing the waters. It's soft at first, gentle—just the faintest contact of skin on skin.
But the spark is undeniable.
You feel it course through you like electricity, reigniting something that had always been there, buried under the weight of forgotten memories.
For a moment, you both let it happen. The kiss deepens, the tension between you dissolving as your lips move in sync, the unspoken feelings finally given a voice. You reach for her, pulling her closer, your body remembering something your mind still hasn't fully grasped. Everything feels right, like this was how it was always meant to be.
But then, just as quickly, Kamala pulls back.
Her breath is ragged, and her eyes are wide with a mixture of fear and guilt. She leans back, her hand still clinging to yours but loosening its grip as if she's about to let go.
You can see the conflict in her, the way her body wants to stay close, but her mind is telling her to step away.
"I-I can't," she stammers, shaking her head.
She stands up, taking her glass in hand.
"This isn't right... You don't remember everything... I—" her hand slipping from yours.
You reach out instinctively, grabbing her wrist, desperate not to lose that connection. "Kamala, what are you doing? What's wrong? What did I say?"
Kamala doesn't answer. Instead, she bites her lip, her eyes welling up with tears. She turns away from you, setting her glass down after draining the rest in a single gulp. Her hands tremble as she places the empty glass on the table, her back still facing you. The silence is thick, heavy with everything unsaid.
You rise from your seat, moving toward her, but she quickly steps away, her back still turned.
"I don't want to hurt you, Jessica," Kamala says, her voice breaking.
"I don't want to take advantage of you when you don't remember everything... I—" She chokes on the words, her shoulders trembling as the tears begin to fall.
"Take advantage?" you repeat, confused. "Kamala, this isn't—why are you saying that? I told you, I know enough! I want this. I want us."
Kamala shakes her head, her hands gripping the back of the chair for support. She doesn't turn around, doesn't look at you. Instead, she stands there, trying to hold herself together.
"It's not just that," she whispers, barely audible.
"There's... there's something else. Something I've never told you. I-i didn't even know myself" Her voice cracks, and you can see the pain in her posture, the way she's carrying something heavy on her shoulders.
You step closer, gently placing a hand on her arm. "What is it, Kamala? You can tell me. Please."
Kamala squeezes her eyes shut, her body stiffening at your touch. She finally turns to face you, her eyes red and wet with unshed tears. Her lips tremble as she tries to form the words, but they won't come out.
"It's about Vanessa," she finally breathes, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the name alone is enough to reopen old wounds.
"What she did to me... a long time ago."
"I can't... I won't do it to you, especially when you can't remember what we were... we just need to start over..."
"No, we don't have to do that. I like you, you like me, we've done it before? What's different now?"
She still doesn't look at you, as you can see her disturbed expression.
Your heart sinks, Vanessa. The name stirs something deep inside you, a buried instinct to want to punch her in the mouth, but you know—whatever Kamala is about to say, it's something she's been carrying for far too long.
She shakes her head again, wiping at her eyes. "I didn't want to burden you with it, not when you were just starting to remember things... I didn't want it to complicate things. But now I think about seeing you coming back... and I just... I don't know how to handle it."
You step even closer, your heart aching for her. "Kamala," you whisper, reaching out to her again.
Kamala finally meets your gaze, her tears falling freely now. "I just—she... she hurt me, Jessica. Vanessa hurt me in ways I can't even begin to describe. And I've never known... I'm afraid that if I'm with you, I'll hurt you. Or I *hurt you before, and you don't know it, I—"
You don't hesitate. Without a word, you close the distance between you, pulling her into your arms. Kamala breaks down, sobbing into your shoulder, her body shaking as she lets go of the emotions she's been holding in.
You hold her tightly, refusing to let go even as tear-filled sobs come as pleas for you to release her.
"Jessica, you don't understand what she did to me..."
"I love you, either way, Kamala," you murmur into her ear, your voice steady.
Kamala clings to you, her fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt as she cries.
"Just tell me, please," you say once again as you lean back into your seats with her.
There is silence between you both, and she breathes in and out, her lips parting to give you an answer.
"Vanessa drugged me before I hid you at a bar and took me home. She stole my house key and... she... we—she did something I didn't know. I didn't even know what happened until a month ago, and..." She pauses, her voice cracking as she tries to articulate her thoughts racing in her mind.
Her eyes don't meet yours. In fact, they don't stay still on one thing for more than a moment before darting to the next.
Whatever it was she was trying to outrun, it wasn't hard for it to follow her.
"And she almost got you killed. I couldn't live with myself if you had died!" She says, her fingers clenching around the padded armrest of the chair.
"Calm down," you say lowly, but loud enough to make her body shiver and her voice silence itself with ease, her breathing still hurried and uneven.
You stand up slowly, the chair creaking as you rise. Without a word, you move to stand in front of Kamala. Her eyes are fixed on the ground, her chest rising and falling rapidly with each shaky breath.
She doesn't look at you, lost in her spiraling thoughts, and the sight of her makes your spin.
You kneel down, lowering yourself until you're face-to-face with her.
The air between you feels heavy, but you don't rush.
You place your hands gently on the armrests of her chair, your touch light but reassuring.
Her fingers are still clenched tightly around the fabric, knuckles white, but she doesn't pull away.
"Kamala," you say softly, your voice steady but gentle. "Look at me."
She hesitates for a moment, her breath still coming in uneven gasps, but eventually, her eyes lift to meet yours. You can see the storm of emotions swirling behind them—fear, guilt, anger, and something deeper, lust.
Her lips part, but no words come out, just a ragged breath.
"I'm right here," you whisper, leaning in closer, your forehead almost touching hers. "I need you to breathe with me, okay? Just breathe."
Her gaze wavers, but you stay steady, guiding her. "In... and out." You inhale deeply, showing her the rhythm you want her to follow, and slowly, hesitantly, she starts to mimic your breaths.
"In... and out," you say again, your voice calm, almost soothing. "Focus on my voice. Just breathe."
Kamala's breaths begin to even out, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly as she follows your lead. Her eyes remain locked on yours, the fear still there, but something else is beginning to seep in—trust.
You stay like that for a while, breathing together in the quiet room. Her hands slowly release their grip on the armrest, her fingers trembling as they rest in her lap.
"That's it," you murmur, offering her a small, encouraging smile. "You're doing so well."
Kamala takes in one more deep breath, her body finally starting to relax. And then, without thinking, you lean forward, your movements slow and deliberate, and press your lips gently against hers.
The kiss is soft, tender, and hesitant, but there's a warmth in it, a sense of comfort that flows between you both. Kamala doesn't pull away, but you can feel her hesitation, the way her body tenses for just a moment, as if unsure whether to let herself give in.
You pull back slightly, your eyes searching hers, and you can see the conflict written on her face. She wants this—wants you—but something is holding her back. You reach up, cupping her face in your hands, your thumb gently brushing away a stray tear from her cheek.
"Why do you keep pulling away from me?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
Kamala swallows hard, her gaze dropping to the floor. She struggles for a moment, as though the words are too difficult to say. Then, with a shaky breath, she stands abruptly, knocking back the rest of her drink before placing the empty glass on the table. Her back is to you now, her shoulders tense as she tries to compose herself.
"I... I don't want to hurt you," she says, her voice thick with emotion.
"I'm afraid I already did, and you don't even remember."
You stand up, moving toward her cautiously, your heart aching at the sight of her trying so hard to hold herself together. "Kamala, what are you talking about?"
Kamala turns to face you, her eyes red, tears threatening to spill over again. Her lip trembles as she finally forces the words out. "Vanessa... she... she hurt me in ways I didn't realize until it was too late. She drugged me, Jessica. She took advantage of me. And I... I don't know how to be with you without being afraid that somehow I'm going to hurt you the same way, or that I already have, and you just don't know it."
Her confession hits you like a punch to the gut, but you don't move, you don't flinch. Instead, you take another step forward, closing the distance between you once more. You reach for her hand, squeezing it gently, trying to anchor her to the present.
"You haven't hurt me," you say softly but firmly.
You begin leaning in, her eyes following your lips, your hand moves a slow path up her arm, testing to see if she'll move away.
She doesn't.
Your hand moved higher up her arm keeping pace with her quickening breath, you begin to move closer, ever so slightly closing the distance between you to. You wonder if she'll pull away this time?
She doesn't.
Both your lips meet, and everything she needed to say melted right from under her. You could feel her lean into you as her eyes fluttered shut.
The tension in her arm released.
A soft moan escapes her as you pull away.
You smile at her, watching as she falls back ever so slightly, your eyes half lidded as you looked at the obvious lip print left across her lips. Her expression surprisingly frazzled as you move away.
"Come over for dinner..." She says as she looks away from you, her skin flushes as you give a slight hum in response
You reach down to grab your bag and walk away, you reach the doors of her office and look back at her, she doesn't move or say anything else, she just sits there waiting for you to leave
"Was that a question, Miss Harris?" You ask, hoping she'll give you the response you want
"I won't ask again..." She replies rather quickly
"Humph... Let's see if I remember" You say as you pull the door open and make your exit