The studio was silent, she knew that Fox had canceled most of their morning programming to air this uninterrupted, and no matter what you said they wanted all of it on tape. The shame, the fear. All in hopes they wouldn't believe him.
"President Harris?" The anchor's voice said, pulling Kamala back to the present. Her breath felt shallow, and she blinked rapidly, trying to ready herself.
She cleared her throat, gripping the armrest of her chair, so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her heart pounded violently in her chest, as though it were trying to escape. Each beat sent a wave of panic through her, making the room tilt slightly.
"These are photos of Jessica... taken after she was found on an abandoned highway," Kamala began, her voice steadier than she felt. "Beaten. Severely concussed. Without her memory."
The words tumbled out slowly, she hadn't prepared beforehand, only willed herself the knowledge that they would pry. She didn't dare look at the images again, but the audience's murmurs told her everything-every bruise, every wound, every part of Jessica's suffering was now public.
She took a breath, forcing herself to press on.
"And... those," she motioned to another set of documents on the screen, "are our medical records. They detail the extent of both of our injuries... and the process of recovery we went through." Her voice faltered for a moment, but she straightened herself in the chair, determined not to crumble.
Then came the hardest part-the video.
The one thing she had rehearsed over and over in her mind but couldn't prepare for emotionally. Seeing the label flash across the screen had frozen her in place.
Sensitive material, no shit.
"The video..." she began, but the words caught like thorns in her throat.
Kamala sat up straighter, uncrossing her legs and planting her feet firmly on the ground. Her hands folded stiffly in her lap. She shifted her shoulders, tilted her head, and pressed her lips together. Finally, she forced the words out, each syllable tasting bitter and metallic on her tongue.
"The video... is a recording of my assault."
A pause, heavy, filled the studio.
The anchor opened his mouth, but Kamala wasn't done.
"At the time, I wasn't aware it was happening. I couldn't... I didn't consent. I believed I was safe with an employee I'd known and worked closely with for years." Her voice cracked slightly, but she didn't stop.
"She fooled me. She was working with Trump behind my back for God knows how long, and this video... this was just one of the many things she orchestrated without my knowledge."
Her lip trembled, and she bit down hard to stop it. She tasted blood on the edge of her tongue, but she welcomed the sting, it was real, something to focus on other than the crushing weight of the room closing in around her.
A single tear escaped Kamala's eye, but she refused to acknowledge it.
She let it slide down her cheek, where the studio lights caught it, and the breeze swept it away. She didn't blink or brush it aside; instead, she locked her gaze on the anchor, daring him to respond-to make a joke, to question her sincerity, to break the tension in the air.
The silence stretched on, heavy.
The anchor's expression faltered; his eyes flickered with discomfort, the practiced calm slipping away. His lips parted, searching for the next question, but there was a hesitation.
This isn't the measured, rehearsed response he had expected.
Kamala tilted her head, just slightly, fixing him with a look that held vulnerability and a quiet, defiance. Her jaw tightened as she waited, making no effort to soften the tension building between them. The pressure in the room was palpable, like the calm before a storm, and she had no intention of easing it.
"President Harris," the anchor finally managed, his voice edged with uncertainty, "would you care to-"
"I would not care to disclose names," Kamala interrupted, her voice low and steady.
"As I wished then, and as I wish now, I hope to move forward from the past to a better future. I have my support system, and I am... seeking the help I need to heal." Her words were sharp, deliberate, already anticipating the line of questioning she had prepared herself for.
The anchor's brow furrowed, taken aback by her firmness. He quickly regrouped, pressing forward.
"Well, that's good to hear. But, President Harris, are you confirming that former President Trump had your own staff members collect private information and political secrets from your campaign to sabotage you?"
Kamala's silence hung in the air like a blade, sharp and dangerous. She took her time, letting the question linger, as if considering whether it was even worthy of an answer. Her gaze narrowed, a flash of disbelief crossing her face at the audacity of the inquiry, especially when court proceedings had already exposed much of the truth.
"Yes," she said at last, her voice even.
"Two associates within my campaign, without my knowledge, shared documents and other materials that could have been used to disrupt my run for president. But to clarify-private information, no. Neither were close enough to access anything personal."
The anchor didn't miss a beat, leaning in slightly as if sensing an opportunity.
"But one of them was close enough to get you alone in bed, in what our Fox investigators have come to believe is your own home?"
The room fell into silence. Every breath had been sucked from the air, the tension tightening around Kamala like a vice. She didn't flinch or look away, but the accusation echoed in the stillness, the implication hanging between them like an open wound.
The anchor's smile curled into something cold and predatory as he leaned back, his expression smug.
"If you're comfortable, of course," he said, his tone edged with a subtle mockery, as though knowing he'd backed her into a corner with her own vow to tell the truth.
Kamala's jaw tightened, her fingers digging into the armrest as she composed herself.
She had come here to tell the truth, no one had ever said it would be easy.
Her face tightened, and her fists clamped onto the nearest object.
"I'm going to make this clear," she said, her voice controlled but with an underlying frustration.
"I was not a willing participant. I let my guard down with someone I trusted, someone I had worked alongside for years. I believed I was in a safe environment, surrounded by people I could rely on. What happened to me was something that was done without my consent, without my awareness!?" She paused, the words pressing down on her, her irritation bleeding into every syllable.
Her eyes were reddened by this point, dry and scratchy.
The anchor raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued by the shift in her tone. Kamala could feel his gaze boring into her, but she didn't relent. Her voice hardened, trembling slightly with the strain of containing her rising anger.
"That night, I was taken advantage of. In my home, in my bedroom, somewhere I needed to be for my safety, I'd reached my limit and was not going to drive home... I was manipulated, and what occurred was out of my control. I woke up the next day with any memory of the incident, nor any understanding of what had happened until years later, when the attempt on my life led to a confession from them"
Her eyes flashed as she stared directly at the anchor, the weight of everything she'd endured rippling through her.
"So no," she continued, her voice edged with defiance,
"I didn't consent to anything. I didn't choose to be violated or recorded. And if you think for a moment that I'm going to sit here and let you twist this into something I willingly participated in, then you're mistaken."
The anchor's expression shifted as he leaned in, clearly emboldened by the exchange.
His voice took on a colder, almost clinical tone as he pressed forward, his next question laced with a ruthless edge.
"President Harris," he began, his gaze steady
"If you were not truly unaware of what happened that night, then how can you account for the fact that there are images suggesting otherwise? Images showing you in positions that imply... well, let's just say a level of engagement that doesn't exactly look unwilling." He paused, letting the insinuation hang in the air, as if daring her to contest it.
"Did you ever consider why someone would have taken such measures to record you, or why there was no trace of this 'manipulation' you claim, until it was conveniently uncovered during your presidential run?"
The question reverberated through the studio like a gunshot. Ironic.
A murmur rippled through the audience, their hushed voices mixing with the static buzz of the equipment.
The lights overhead felt even harsher, intensifying the flush of heat rising in Kamala's chest. She clenched her jaw, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. Her pulse pounded in her ears, each word cutting deeper as the anchor pushed her to confront the ugliest fragments of a past she hadn't asked for.
She stared back at him, her gaze piercing and filled with a mixture of fury and exhaustion. For a moment, the air between them seemed to crackle with an unspoken challenge.
Kamala's lips tightened into a thin line, and she shook her head slightly.
"I'm not doing this," she said, her voice low but firm.
"I will not be..." she inhaled softly, cutting herself off before tears flowed
Without another word, Kamala stood up, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor as she rose. The studio fell into a tense silence, everyone watching with bated breath as she turned on her heel and walked off the stage, leaving the anchor behind to fumble for his composure. She moved swiftly, her heart racing, the clamor of the audience fading behind her as she pushed through the heavy backstage curtain and into the quiet hallway beyond.
As the studio erupted into chaos-producers scrambling, the anchor stammering to recover the show-Kamala kept walking, her breaths coming in short, uneven.
It was over, right?
She had said all she was willing to say, and there was nothing more to give, someone tell her she was right?
Kamala's heels clicked sharply against the polished floor as she stormed down the hallway, her stride quick and purposeful.
Voices echoed around her staff members, producers, even security calling out her name, trying to stop her, asking what had happened, what went wrong-but she didn't look at any of them.
She just kept moving, her jaw set, her eyes fixed on the path ahead.
Her fists remained clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms as if to anchor herself.
Her eyes were burning, the threat of tears pressing painfully against her resolve, but she refused to let them fall.
Not here, not in front of anyone.
She kept her gaze forward, her breathing growing more uneven with each step she took. The fluorescent lights above seemed to blur together, and the surrounding voices faded into an indistinct hum. All that mattered was reaching the dressing room, somewhere she could be alone...
Somewhere she could finally fall apart.
When she reached the door, she grabbed the handle and threw it open with more force than she intended, the wood slamming against the wall before she yanked it shut behind her. The loud thud reverberated through the small room as she sank back against the door, her legs finally giving out. She slid down to the floor, her back pressed against the cold surface, and buried her face in her hands as the tears she had fought so hard to hold back broke free.
A sob tore from her throat, raw.
Her fingers clawed at her shirt collar as though it were choking her, yanking at the fabric in a desperate bid for air.
Her body trembled with the release of pent-up frustration and sorrow, the weight of the interview's aftermath crashing over her all at once.
For a moment, the only sounds in the room were her choked cries and the dull thud of her fist as she weakly struck the floor in frustration, over and over again.
There was no one to witness her in this state, no cameras.
"Well everyone, we have not gotten word from president Harris team whether she will be rejoining us or not, so considering the sensitive nature of these questions and the promises made by Harris we may be completing this interview another time, we will hope to receive further answers"
"Miss Harris, are you returning?" She heard from the other side of the door, the door handle giggling
"I-" She opened her mouth to respond, it was too low for them to hear
"Miss Harris, are you returning?" The handle jiggled once more, and she clenched her jaw.
Kamala took in a shaky breath, willing herself to calm down.
She only had one chance.
One chance to clear the air.
She swiped at the tears on her cheeks, her fingers were still trembling, she straightened her posture. Fixed her collar.
This wasn't over, not yet.
She couldn't be reduced to a spectacle.
She pushed herself from the floor, her legs unsteady beneath her. As she moved toward the mirror, she caught a glimpse of her reflection: red eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, hair disheveled.
For a second, she hesitated, the doubt creeping in again.
But she gritted her teeth, running a hand over her hair, smoothing it down, and dabbing at the smeared makeup. She took another breath, deeper this time, and forced her expression to settle into something close to composure.
The voice outside the door broke the silence,
"Miss Harris, they're giving you five minutes"
" Give me a moment."
The knocking stopped, and Kamala turned back to the door, stealing herself. Her hand gripped the handle, but she didn't open it right away. Her heart pounded in her chest as she thought of the cameras waiting, the audience still murmuring. She hesitated, her mind racing, as the weight of the next step loomed over her.
Then, a voice, the anchor's voice, crackled through.
"Did you ever consider why someone would have taken such measures to record you, or why there was no trace of this 'manipulation' you claim until it was conveniently uncovered during your presidential run?"
The words hit her like a punch to the gut, and she gripped the door handle tighter, her knuckles turning white.
She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, a surge of anger mingled with humiliation. It was a calculated blow, designed to provoke her, to twist the knife deeper. For a moment, she almost retreated back into the dressing room, almost let the door handle slip from her fingers.
Kamala pulled the door open. The corridor was emptier now, only a few staff members lingering, their eyes tracking her as she emerged.
Her steps were slow, deliberate, as she walked back down the hallway, her heels clicking against the floor in a rhythm that matched the pounding in her chest.
The hush that followed her as she made her way back to the stage.
The studio lights blinded her again as she stepped into view, the applause hesitant and uncertain as she crossed the stage, retaking her seat.
Her hands trembled slightly as she folded them in her lap, but she kept her gaze locked on the anchor, her jaw set.
The anchor's smirk was barely concealed, his eyes gleaming with a predatory interest.
"Thank you for rejoining us, President Harris," he said, his voice dripping with a false courtesy.
"Shall we continue?"
Kamala tilted her chin up, her voice steady, though her heart still raced.
"We shall. And I apologize... it was rude of me to have walked off that way" She said nodding to him, hoping that maybe there was a little empathy in him.
"So President Harris would you like to move to another question or?"
Her lip curled.
"No, your question just overwhelmed me, as you could imagine" she gave a strained smile
"I would surmise that the financial incentives offered by former president Trump, as detailed in the evidence provided, were likely what drove those two individuals. The 'manipulation' to which you refer involved the use of a substance-specifically, a drug known as propofol. This substance is commonly encountered in criminal cases, and I've become familiar with its effects during my time as a prosecutor, where it was often used to decrease the victim's level of consciousness"
"On that particular evening, I had consumed an excessive amount of alcohol at a bar. My employee offered to drive me home, foolishly I accepted, and she assisted me into my residence. However, as she confessed, she succumbed to a moment of temptation and..." She said slowly, being sure to be careful with her words
Her eyes caught on a nearby clock, the interview was to go on for another hour.
"How awful"
"To give you a moment to sit with this, let's pivot to Jessica Rose, your lover of recent months, are you and miss rose still involved?"
"Yes"
"Is Miss Rose aware of the allegation-"
"Not allegations, but Miss Rose is aware, the things that happened to her were misplaced attempts on my life that left her within an inch of her life. But I thank Miss Rose for caring about me enough to stay and support me as we both recover with time."
The minutes dragged on, the anchor firing question after question with a relentless pace.
Kamala remained seated, her posture firm, each question came layered with insinuations or framed in a way that urged her to slip up, to say something out of turn, but she refused to be provoked.
Her responses were measured, each word carefully chosen.
When pressed to answer quickly, she took her time, letting the silence stretch just a little longer than was comfortable.
If she had to suffer, so did they.
The anchor's demeanor shifted subtly-he would shuffle his notes with a hint of impatience, clear his throat more frequently, or press her for a more definitive response.
But Kamala stayed, refusing to be rushed. She was deliberate, composed, even as the hour wore on.
At times, she would catch herself clenching the armrests, her knuckles turning white, or her gaze drifting momentarily to the cameras, but she would quickly pull herself back, centering her focus on the questions. She spoke evenly, her voice unwavering, though the strain of the interview seeped into the edges of her tone.
Finally, as the last few questions loomed, she could sense the audience's restlessness. The anchor, too, seemed to grasp the interview's impending conclusion, his questions growing broader in scope.
"President Harris, as we draw to a close, is there any final message you'd like to share with the American people?" he asked, his tone now feigning politeness.
Kamala took a moment before responding, her eyes sweeping over the studio, the weight of the moment settling over her. She shifted around to look into the cameras, she forced herself to take a deep breath, and addressed the cameras directly.
"I want to thank the American people for their support, for their belief in my ability to lead this country. I understand that times are difficult, and there are many questions, many doubts, but I promise you this: I will continue to work tirelessly to earn your trust and to be the best president I can be. I am committed to serving you, to protecting the values we all hold dear, and to building a future where we can all thrive. Thank you."
She offered a brief wave to the cameras, then rose to her feet as a polite applause rippled through the studio.
The anchor began to thank the audience, but Kamala was already making her way offstage.
Her steps quickened as she passed through the backstage area, ignoring the hurried chatter of the production crew and bypassing her aides who tried to catch her attention.
She walked directly to the waiting SUV parked outside, the vehicle's door held open by a Secret Service agent. Without breaking stride, she climbed in, the door shutting behind her as the SUV pulled away from the curb, taking her back to the White House. The moment she settled into the back seat, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, her shoulders sinking in exhaustion.
- - -
"Jessica, there were some slight issues but-"
Jessica's voice was tense as she paced the room, shaking her head in disbelief.
The TV in the room muted.
"Slight issue? Karina, they practically crucified her out there!" You barked
"Did you see the way he kept pushing? That wasn't an interview-it was a trap, and we walked her right into it."
Karine, seated at the large oval table in the West Wing press briefing room, sighed heavily.
"Jessica, I understand you're upset, but the public reception is great. People are seeing Kamala as resilient-someone who can take tough questions. The response online is in her favor."
Jessica stopped pacing, her brow furrowed in disbelief.
"In her favor? What in the hell do you mean, Karine, they aired her trauma for ratings! They pressed her until she almost broke on live television. How is that a win? She shouldn't have had to face those invasive questions at all!"
Karine's voice grew firmer.
"Listen, Jessica, that is the job. The American people want transparency, and that means tough interviews."
"Kamala came out of it looking strong, even if it was hard for you to watch. This isn't about you. Her showing up after walking off? That was a powerful moment. It shows she can handle adversity."
Your temper flared.
"This isn't about handling adversity! They were poking at her, Karine. They knew exactly what they were doing. And now you're here, spinning it like it's some kind of political win when Kamala's got torn apart in the process."
There was a sharp pause, two of the closest people to the president for two separate reasons were butting heads alone in a room together. Her voice raised and shook the walls of the room.
Karine stood up from her seat, irritation seeping into her tone.
"That's the reality of politics. Kamala's not fragile. She knew what she was stepping into, and she kept her word. The public respects that. You can't coddle her every time it gets rough!"
Don't laugh.
Jessica stepped closer to the desk, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge.
"This wasn't about coddling her. They didn't respect her as a leader or a human being. They reduced her to a scandal, and you're okay with that because it played well with the public?"
Just as the tension hit its peak, the door to the room opened sharply. Kamala walked in, her expression unreadable but her eyes flashing with anger.
Both women immediately fell silent, turning toward her.
Kamala's gaze flicked between them, her jaw clenched.
"Enough."
"Please, I can't deal with anything else" she said In a shaky tone.
The plea hung in the air, freezing both Karine and Jessica in place. Kamala's voice was low, but the intensity behind it made it clear she wasn't in the mood for discussion.
Jessica stepped forward, her voice softer but still laced with concern.
"Kamala, I-"
"Enough," Kamala repeated, cutting her off.
She crossed her arms, the weight of exhaustion and frustration clear in the lines of her face.
"I don't need the two of you fighting over what happened. What I require is for both of you to remember that I'm not a victim here. It wasn't easy, but it's done."
Karine lowered her gaze slightly, nodding. "Of course, Madam President."
Jessica, still tense, took a breath and nodded too.
"I just... I don't want to see you like that again."
Kamala's expression softened for a brief moment.
"Miss Jean-Pierre, would you mind leaving us for a moment, please don't go far, I'd like to review the-the" She stammered as she rubbed her forehead, her head was pounding, and her mind didn't seem to want to focus.
"The statements?'
"Yes' Kamala said as she shook her head, a silent thank you as she gathered her thing and left the room
It was cool in there, no one else, just the silence that had come after the yelling.
"Jessica, listen to me." Kamala said, turning towards Jessica with a dull smile on her face
"Please, I understand that you are worried about me, but you can't fight the staff because you don't agree with them..."
"But Kamala, her and everyone in the room sent you into an interview where they-"
"I told them to arrange it this way. We allowed fox to ask any questions they wanted because we knew they'd ask hard questions, Jessica, I know what I'm doing... I'M fine." Kamala said, grunting as she stepped closer
She looked down at you as she stood there, her expression of worry mixed with amusement as you stared at the floor
"They ask me exactly what I expected, I know, I took a moment to collect myself, I came back, I finished the interview."
"I know but-"
"But you are my chief of staff, and you aren't supposed to be fighting with my staff about presidential PRESS matters" She said as her hand snaked up your neck taking purchase on the nape of your neck and pulling you softly towards her
Your lips meet her in a soft kiss, you think about the night before, the feeling bubbling in your core driving you wild.
But as you try to lean deeper into her kiss you can see the slight tremble in her hand as she tries to move further down your body, you pull back for a moment to look at her.
"Are you shaking?" You ask as she gives a weak smile
"I'm fine Jessica, just running off of adrenaline is all?" Kamala responded as she looked into your eyes
She was lying.
"Kamala?"
Kamala's hand remained on the back of your neck, her touch gentle but slightly unsteady. Her smile was forced, her eyes a facade. You could feel the tension coiled in her hands, her free hand found its way to your arms, fingers curling to gripped you.
This wasn't affection but out of a desperate need for control.
"Kamala..." you said softly, searching her face. "You're shaking. What's going on?"
She looked away quickly, her lips pressing into a tight line.
"I told you, it's just the adrenaline. The interview was a lot, and I just need some time to decompress."
But you knew better. She pulled you closer, you don't dare to try to pull away.
Her hand trembled as it grazed your arm again, searching for what to do, you tried to reach out to her again, to offer her some comfort, she stiffened, pulling away slightly.
"Kamala, talk to me." You kept your voice gentle
"What's really going on?" you say, knowing she's lying
Her eyes flickered with something-fear, or anger.
Both.
She avoided your gaze, her fingers twitching a soft brush against her skin.
"I just... I need space, Jess. Please, stop prying and let m-"
You reached for her again, wanting to soothe her, but the moment your hand brushed against her arm, she flinched.
The reaction was small, almost imperceptible, but it was enough to make your heart sink.
Suddenly, a whisper flashed through her mind: "Stay still."
Her breath hitched, and her body tensed even more, pulling back from you with a quick jerk. "Don't fucking move Kamala"
"Using one hand is harder than you think, you'll live"
"Jessica, just stop, please!"
The word came out harsher than she intended, and you froze, your hand suspended in midair. She'd thrown them up in defeat and stepped back, her hand clenched into fists.
"Kamala, I'm just trying to-"
"I said don't!" she snapped, her voice louder now, filled with a frustration that wasn't meant for you but was spilling out nonetheless.
"Calm down. Please?"
Kamala pressed her fingers to her temple, her breathing becoming shallow.
The memory of that voice-Vanessa's voice-echoed in her mind, and her heart pounded harder in her chest.
You took a step back, watching her closely.
"I just-"
Kamala shook her head, trying to shake away the rising panic.
"I don't need your help, I just need you to do your job, Jessica. I need... I just need to be alone. I need to breathe."
You blinked, her words cutting through the air like a slap. "Kamala, you were just kissing me, and suddenly you're acting like I disgust you or something?"
"Stop being noisy, alright! Go, I don't need you on my back about everything" she snapped, her voice rising sharply.
"Kamala?!" You respond shocked
"You don't need to know everything, God, you're too fucking close. Back up!" she snapped again
Her chest tightened, and her hands trembled as she backed up, her fingers curling into fists.
"Kamala?" you said softly.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you that way!" Her eyes flickered with panic.
The regret was immediate, you could see it in the way her body sagged slightly, her hands unclenching as though she'd realized what she had just said.
She almost dropped to her knees as she stepped quickly towards you, you step back, knowing better than to try to touch her again.
"I'm sorry," she stammered, her voice breaking.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. I didn't mean it-please, Jessica, I'm so sorry."
You saw the desperation in her face, the way her eyes searched yours for forgiveness, and for a moment, there was a little.
"Please, I-" Kamala's voice cracked, and she took a step toward you again, her hand outstretched, but you shook your head, your lips pressing into a tight line.
"I'll leave you... I'm sure Karine it's waiting to discuss further matters with you" you said gently, stepping away from her, although she followed you kept your distance
"There won't be any more issues, I'll leave you to your duties" You say with a professional tone as you move to leave
You can see a slight twitch in Kamala's hands, a glimpse of a slight attempt to stop you.
Kamala didn't respond. She just stood there, her gaze fixed on you in a blank expression, her shoulders trembling slightly. She knew she'd mess up.
You didn't want an apology.
You turned away, slowly stepping toward the door. The sound of your footsteps echoed in the quiet room, but Kamala didn't stop you.
As you reached the door, you paused, glancing back one last time.
"I'm sorry to upset you, Miss Harris" you said, your voice soft, but there was a finality to it.
You stepped out, closing the door behind you with a soft click. You don't dare to stop as you begin down the hallway, your chest tight as you choke back a cry, but the tears still fall.
Inside, Kamala stood alone, staring at the door as if willing you to come back. Her body trembled with the weight of what had just happened, her hands still tingling from her outburst.
Regret settled in her stomach. "I'm sorry," she whispered to the empty room, her voice breaking again.
But you can hear her at that point.
The rest of the day passed in a strained silence. Neither of you scheduled any more meetings.
Instead, you retreated to your office, the door closed, the earlier confrontation pressing down on you.
Sitting at your desk, you stared at the blank page in front of you, your pen idles in your hand.
The thoughts swirling in your mind drowned out any attempt to focus on work.
"Did she mean it?" you whispered to yourself
"Did she really mean what she said?"
You shook your head, frustrated. You knew Kamala. Not only that, but you knew the pressure she was under.
But this... this was different. There had been something in her eyes, something that made you question everything.
"She didn't mean it," you told yourself, trying to believe it.
"She's just overwhelmed. She's struggling." But doubt clung to your mind
Down the hall, in her own office, Kamala sat at her desk, staring at the phone. Her hand hovered above it, her fingers twitching with the urge to pick it up, to dial your extension, to ask you to come back.
A bead of sweat dripping from her forehead. But she couldn't bring herself to make the call.
Her eyes burned from holding back the tears, her thoughts were a mess of regret and anger. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to call you, to apologize, to explain herself.
"But the words are stuck in her throat" She heard behind herself, Vanessa, She was mocking her
Hours dragged on, daylight outside began to fade, and long shadows cast across her office. Finally, as the workday came to an end, something inside her snapped.
She pushed herself up from her seat and lunged across her desk, taking hold of the landline.
In a sudden burst of anger, she hurled it against the wall. The loud crash followed, the phone splintering into pieces as it hit the floor. She stood there, her chest heaving, her fists clenched at her sides, her body trembling with rage.
The sound had barely settled before Secret Service agents rushed in, their eyes wide with concern.
"Madam President, are you alright?" one of them asked, his hand hovering near his earpiece, ready to call for assistance.
Kamala stood frozen, staring at the broken pieces of the phone scattered across the room. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. The adrenaline coursing through her veins left her shaking, her breath shallow and uneven.
"I'm fine," She finally managed, her voice strained, she started towards the private entrance to the presidential quarters.
- - -
12:13 A.M.
Your phone glows, the screen lighting up with notifications. Groggy and half-asleep, you squint against the brightness, your hand fumbling for it in the mess of blankets. You're sleep-deprived and desperate to try to slip back into some sort of rest before work, finally as your eyes adjust, you see a string of missed messages, the timestamps scattered throughout the night.
No wonder you couldn't sleep, your phone had been vibrating into your back the whole time.
8:45 P.M.
Kamala: "Jessica, I need you to understand... I didn't mean to push you away like that."
9:30 P.M.
Kamala: "Please don't be mad at me. I know I messed up. Please talk to me."
10:15 P.M.
Kamala: "I don't want this to end like this. I'm sorry. I love you."
10:57 P.M.
Kamala: "Just come back"
10:58 P.M.
" I can't sleep. I'm sorry, I really am."
11:10 P.M.
Kamala: "Vanessa, please don't do this to me" (message unsent)
11:30 P.M.
Kamala: "I need to fix this."
"I can fix this"
"I didn't mean to say her name."
"Please forgive me."
11:35 P.M.

"Please... I'm begging you to forgive me, Jessica."
11:45 P.M.
Kamala: "You don't have to answer, but just... please come back. I don't want to lose you."
12:05 A.M.
Kamala: "Vanessa... I won't say anything else if you come back. Please."
12:09 A.M.
Kamala: "Vanessa... I'll do whatever you want, just don't leave me. I'll fix it, I promise."
12:12 A.M.
Kamala: "I'm sorry... just come back. Please."
Your heart sinks as you read the messages, the confusion between your name and her name sending chills down your spine. You clenched the phone in your hand, reading her words again, over and over.
"Vanessa... I won't say anything else if you come back."
You felt guilt creep into your mind.
Part of you wanted to throw on your shoes, rush to her, hold her, tell her everything would be alright. You knew she was hurting. You could see her trembling hands, her red eyes, hear her voice breaking, you could hear her slip from her carefully maintained front into you. But she had pushed you so far away earlier - screamed at you like you were nothing to her.
You thought back to earlier that day, the way she had snapped, the way she had lashed out at you when you were only trying to help. It felt like a knife in your heart, the pain still fresh.
How could you help her if she kept seeing Vanessa when she looked at you?
But what if she's right? What if leaving had only made it worse?
You stared at the time on your phone. 12:14 A.M. The texts, weighed on your mind. What would happen if you stayed away? Would confront you? You'd never forgive yourself if something happened to her because of you. The thought flashed in your mind, you such your eyes and push it away. But then the hurt crept in again, that small voice inside asking: What about me?
Your thumb brushed the screen, hesitating. Do I call her back? Do I forgive her?
You closed your eyes, part of you needed to hear her voice again, feel how her hands would work wonders on you, to know she was okay.
But did she mean what she'd said?
You glanced at the message, the Bible verse, and your chest tightened. Psalm 51:10.
With a shaky breath, you set the phone down on your nightstand, unable to respond. You needed time. You required space. Even if every part of you screamed to run back to her, to hold her, you had to protect yourself, too.
You throw your head back and close your eyes, a whole new worry settles in your chest.
The Night Before
Kamala stumbled through the dimly lit halls, her steps unsteady, her vision blurry. Her hand clutched a half-empty bottle of whiskey, the glass neck slick with condensation as her fingers fumbled for her phone. Her breathing was erratic, ragged, each breath was a battle. She hiccuped, swaying as she reached for her phone again, squinting at the bright screen through tear-streaked eyes.
11:45 P.M.
"You don't have to answer, but just... please come back. I don't want to lose you."
Her thumb pressed "send" and she staggered, catching herself on the back of the couch, the whiskey bottle sloshing in her grip. The room spun, the shadows on the walls twisting in strange, nauseating ways. The furniture seemed too far away, the air too thick.
She was here again, messed up beyond belief... Vulnerable
She threw herself onto the couch, her head lolling back as tears burned hot trails down her cheeks.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but all she could see was her.
Vanessa's face, her mocking eyes, her cold hands. The way she whispered those words,
"Calm down, you're a politician, you already know what type of video this'll be." she could hear from that video, she wished she couldn't hear it, everything shed said, the fear that held her down growing heavier
Kamala's eyes snapped open as she fumbled for her phone again, her chest tightening as anger surged through her.
12:05 A.M.
"Vanessa... I won't say anything else if you come back. Please."
Her fingers hovered over the screen, trembling, her heart racing. She knew it was you she was texting, knew it deep down. But every time she closed her eyes, every time she reached for you in her mind, Vanessa's image forced itself into place-her desperate smile, her begging for forgiveness. She shook her head, trying to banish the vision, her hands shaking so hard the whiskey bottle slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
She didn't care. She grabbed for another bottle from the table, hastily unscrewing the cap with clumsy fingers and taking a deep, burning gulp. The alcohol seared her throat, but she welcomed the pain, welcomed anything that might dull it all.
12:09 A.M.
"Vanessa... I'll do whatever you want, just don't leave me. I'll fix it, I promise."
Her voice broke as she whispered the words aloud before hitting send, her body curling up on the couch.
"Why won't you answer?" she muttered to herself, her voice thick with alcohol and frustration.
"I'm sorry... I'll fix it, I swear."
But then the anger surged back, stronger this time.
Why weren't you there?
Why did you leave when Kamala needed her the most? Her mind twisted, caught between her face, and you're offering to comfort her. Kamala wanted to hold her, to feel her comfort, but all she could picture was Vanessa's cruel hands gripping her, controlling her.
"Stop being so noisy," echoed in her mind, Kamala slammed the whiskey bottle down on the table, her vision blurring with rage and helplessness.
12:12 A.M.
"I'm sorry... just come back. Please."
Her hands trembled as she sent the final message, the weight of the night collapsing onto her chest like a boulder she couldn't move. She was spiraling, her thoughts crashing into each other, making her feel both guilty and sick with the realization that she couldn't get Vanessa out of her head.
The phone slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the floor as Kamala leaned back into the couch cushions, her eyes half-lidded. Her entire body felt heavy, weighed down by whiskey, guilt, and exhaustion. She tried to stand, but her legs wobbled beneath her, sending her stumbling toward the middle of the room. In a haze, she fell to the floor, the cool wood pressing against her cheek. Her body curled up on the ground as the room spun around her, the weight of everything pulling her under. Vanessa's voice still haunted her, mocking her weakness, her fear. And every time Kamala tried to think of Jessica, tried to ground herself in her love, Vanessa's face pushed its way back into her thoughts.
- - -
12:34 A.M.
Kamala lay sprawled on the living room floor. Four whiskey bottles lay scattered around her, one empty, two half-drunk, the fourth still clutched loosely in her hand. The room was silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional hiccup that broke through her weak breathing.
Her head throbbed, her throat dry and scratchy, but all she could think about was the string of frantic texts she had sent. The desperation, the slip.
"Vanessa." Kamala whispered slightly frustrated as she reached her phone, she took hold of it and tapped the screen softly, it came to life, her lock screen springing to life.
1 new message
12:56 A.M.
Katrina: Trump wants to have a sit down with you for reasons his team are refusing to disclose. A one on one meeting with no advisors, no cameras, just you and him.
Kamala groaned, struggling to sit up, as the weight of the whiskey and the lingering remnants of last night's desperation pulled her back down. She blinked blearily at her phone, the message barely making sense through the haze. Trump wants to have a sit-down... no advisors, no cameras? She slowly stood, feeling the room tilt as she swayed.
As she staggered toward the bathroom, Kamala's fingers tapped her messages almost without thinking, scrolling back through the frantic texts she'd sent Jessica, one after another, each more pleading, more desperate than the last. Her thumb hovered over one particular line, her heart catching in her throat.
"Vanessa... I'll do whatever you want, just don't leave me. I'll fix it, I promise."
She exhaled sharply, dropping her phone to the counter as she braced herself against the sink.
What did I do?
Did I scare her off?
She has to know that... she's got to know I didn't mean it.
Kamala's head felt clearer now, but the clarity only brought more dread, more guilt. Jessica. Why did I ruin it? She splashed her face with cold water, hoping it would sober her faster, the icy sting on her skin a small relief.
Pulling on a fresh suit, Kamala's mind kept returning to Jessica, to the look she must've had reading those messages.
"I can't lose her."
Grabbing her phone, she hesitated, wanting to reach out again, but another notification caught her eye-a news alert, bright, and bold. She tapped it, the article loading as she walked toward the Oval Office, her stomach churning with unease.
New York Gazette Headline: Kamala Harris: Assault Story or Stunt?
Kamala's breath hitched as she read the article's subtext: The recent allegations regarding the president's alleged assault have ignited questions over the timing of this announcement, especially following her assassination attempt. Is this just another political maneuver?
Her eyes skimmed the paragraphs, growing wide as they zeroed in on a single line: Our sources reveal the alleged assailant as one Vanessa Young, a woman of interest who has shadowed the president for years as a former assistant.
"Political maneuver," she muttered bitterly, tasting the words like poison.
"They think I'd exploit that? That I'd use..." Her chest tightened, her anger flaring. She hated that they'd dug up Vanessa's name.
Her phone buzzed again, snapping her out of her thoughts. It was another message from Katrina.
2:45 A.M.
Katrina: President Harris, I know you aren't awake, but this is urgent. Please text back or call at your earliest convenience.
Kamala's fingers tightened around her phone as she moved swiftly through the halls of the White House, her heels striking the marble in sharp, timed beats. The dim light of the early morning cast long shadows down the empty corridors, giving the historic walls an eerie quality.
Her mind was swirling with thoughts of Jessica, Vanessa, the article, each competing for space in her head.
She'd set out for the Oval Office, needing to clear her head with work, bury herself in policy briefs. But as she approached, her steps slowed, and the feeling of exposure ran sharply across her skin. Her chest tightened again, and suddenly she was overwhelmed by the thought that it wasn't safe there-that nowhere would be safe.
Not without the security she'd come to rely on, not without something she could hold in her own hands if anyone dared try to take you from her again, or try to take your own life. Abruptly, she turned on her heel, heading back toward the presidential quarters. She slipped through the halls with purpose, brushing past agents who nodded but barely took notice of her. As she turned the final corner, the guarded hall to her quarters stretched out before her, flanked by two agents stationed at her door.
Kamala paused, swallowing the rising agitation that had twisted in her gut since she'd seen Vanessa's name in the article. She didn't want to be followed, didn't want anyone watching her. Without a sound, she took a quick detour, maneuvering through an alternate route until she slipped past the guards unseen. Once inside her quarters, she grabbed the first set of keys she could find, her thoughts already racing ahead, her sense of pulse increasing.
She was on it now; she needed to go back to her own home, her own space.
She needed the comfort of something she knew she could use, something she trusted.
By the time she reached the auto dock, her voice was tense, and her fingers were white-knuckled around her phone.
"Take me to my home," she demanded, the agent's brows twisting in surprise.
"Madam President, with all due respect, it's highly irregular to take an unscheduled trip back to your residence. Security-"
"I didn't ask for security's opinion." Her voice rose.
"I'm the president, and I'm telling you to take me there."
The agent exchanged a wary glance with his colleague. "We can't allow that, ma'am. The protocol is clear, especially with the recent threats."
Kamala's hands clenched as a flash of paranoia gripped her.
"Are you not listening to me?" she snapped, her voice edged with growing frustration. "I am ordering you to drive me. Now. Or ill drive my damn self"
The agent hesitated, catching sight of the determination in her eyes, and he sighed. "Madam President. You'll need to fill out a transport request"
As she sank into the back seat, her hands finally began to still.
She knew what she needed: the familiar weight of her Glock, her own protection in her own hands. She couldn't stop herself from glancing at her phone, thinking about Jessica-if she could reach you, if you'd pick up when she called, if anyone might be waiting for her, just out of sight, just ready to tear everything apart.
Kamala finally reached her home, stepping out of the car with a caution that only grew as she approached the front door. Her fingers clutched her keys, fumbling briefly before finding the lock, her gaze darting over her shoulder every few moments, checking for anything-or anyone-that might be lurking. She slipped inside, the house quiet as she locked the door. Every creak and groan of the settling wood sounded louder than it should have, amplifying her exposure, she thought. The closet door opened with a muted click, and her eyes landed on the small, black gun safe on the top shelf. Her fingers brushed over the case, each second bringing a shaky, grounding calm as she opened it and looked down at the Glock inside. She lifted it carefully, feeling the familiar weight settle in her hands.
Kamala's gaze lingered, tracing the sharp lines of the gun, its cold metal unforgiving.
She imagined her standing there, looking up at her with wide eyes, pleading. The vision blurred with memory-Jessica had worn that look once before, at that moment she'd begged Kamala to stop them, to save her. Spare her, she tightened her grip for a moment. The thought twisted in her stomach, nausea rising. Her chest tightened, rage spiking through her at the idea of being caught defenseless, her mind sharpening around the need to be ready this time.
Snapping herself out of the spiral, Kamala took a breath and secured the Glock in its holster, the strap clicking in place. She adjusted it on her hip, concealed under her suit jacket, but the weight of it remained present. It was her own protection-something she could wield if anyone else dared to try to take her down. She pressed her jacket to her side, her fingers brushing over the hidden metal as she made her way toward the door, she didn't need anyone but herself.
Before leaving her home with a renewed sense of security ventured into the kitchen grabbing two bottles of wine from her cabinets before leaving.
-
2:15 P.M.
You sat across from her, silent, her gaze unwavering. The quiet stretched between them, filling the room with an almost tangible tension. She didn't say a word, her expression unreadable as you looked at Kamala, waiting.
Kamala's hands tensed in her lap, her eyes flicking up to meet yours. The calm, practiced control she had so carefully put on was felt brittle
Jessica's words were steady, each one carefully chosen as she started, though she couldn't help but notice Kamala's absent gaze, her eyes lingering far away.
"Kamala I've been thinking about yesterday, I'm not angry, you're right i- I have a job to do, and I'm losing sight of that... maybe we need to keep the our- the... our personal matters out of the White House" you suggest catching yourself before you said relationship
You didn't have to say that, but you were hurt, and you weren't afraid to admit it. What she'd said hurt, a lot, you don't feel the same love that she had that night for you.
"I just think... what I'm trying to say is this role deserves someone who can fully commit, someone who can focus on the job without..." your voice softened, searching Kamala's expression for any hint that she was listening,
"...without all these complicated feelings getting in the way."
Kamala nodded absently, her eyes fixed on your features, but anyway not the ones that counted anyway. The warmth in Kamala's gaze was laced with something deeper, something reverent. Your stomach tightened as she saw the way Kamala looked at you, not as her Chief of Staff, not even as her partner, but as if she were the only thing grounding her in that mattered right then. But still you took a breath and pressed on.
"Kamala, I need you to understand," Jessica continued, her voice firmer,
"that this isn't just about the job, or about doing what's expected of me here." She paused, noting the way Kamala's hand twitched, barely restrained from reaching out to her.
"It's about me needing to know who I am, separate from you. As much as I care about you, I can't lose myself in... in this."
Kamala's mind seemed to slip further from the words, her gaze softening, trailing over your face as if memorizing each detail.
She watched the slight furrow in your brow, the way your mouth pressed into a resolved line, her own thoughts drifting. She could barely process what you were saying, but you could see the way her chest rose and fell with each anxious breath, the way her fingers twisted together in her lap.
How beautiful you are... how kind, how strong... Kamala's heart ached, but she felt strangely calmed by your presence, an anchor that kept her from drifting too far into her own anxieties.
You took notice, your voice trembling slightly as you kept on
"Are you even hearing me right now? I need you to see that this is hard for me too. I know you're going through a lot, but this is..." she hesitated, sensing how Kamala's thoughts had wandered,
"...this is not something I'm saying lightly. I think we need to take a-"
You fell silent, your frustration mingling with a pang of something almost like heartbreak as you realized Kamala's thoughts were miles away. Kamala hadn't said a word, hadn't shown any sign of hearing her, and yet, there was something almost desperate in the way she looked at you.
Without a word, Kamala slowly moved forward, rounding the desk and lowering herself to one knee in front of your chair, the action catching you off guard.
Her eyes finally met yours with full clarity, her expression open, stripped of the usual reservation. Jessica sat frozen, caught between her need to finish explaining herself and the sudden intensity in Kamala's gaze.
"Kamala... you're not making this easy," you murmured, your voice soft but steady, a gentle reminder that you were still waiting for Kamala to acknowledge you.
But Kamala stayed where she was, rooted to the spot, her eyes never leaving yours. And in that quiet, heavy pause, the only response Kamala could offer was the silent plea of her, and a slow deliberate kissed just below your skirt right on your knee.
You almost let your head fall back, feeling tingling spread through your core and heat rises in your face. She looks at you again, head tilted and needs cast upward to look at you as she continued kissing between your knees...
It feels amazing how such a simple gesture backs evrythingbinnyou light on fire, but still you remember that you were here to speak your mind, not lose it.
With a split second, you swat her hands from their hold on your thighs. And push her head backwards away from you. She looks up, slight frustration pulling at the corners of her lips.
You don't tell her any, instead you shake your head and stand up, hoping that she can't see the blushing beneath your tone.
"Kamala text... call me? I don't know when you will get yourself together." Standing she follows her body mere inches from your way you both stand her eyes fixed to yours, while you avoid her gaze at all cost.
You know how badly you want her.
"Jessica sit down please" she says sternly
"No, I'm leaving and I-" you said angrily as you try to, push past her, but she catches you in, her hand pressing firmly around Jessica waist
"Sit down, please Jessica... " She asks again, this time eyes downcast
"Let go of me now, President Harris" you say getting increasingly angered, you push her arm off of you and for a moment you find freedom
But damn... She is relentless.
"Sit back down," she said, voice lower now, her hand trailing down your leg, sending an involuntary shiver through you. You shifted uncomfortably, but we're pulled back in place, she tugged at the edge of your skirt, her eyes still locked on yours.
You stepped back, stealing yourself. "I said no. I'm not doing this right now," you said, determined to leave.
But Kamala's expression hardened, her voice taking on a commanding tone. "Sit down now, Miss Rose."
Her words cut through your resistance, and reluctantly, you lowered yourself back into the chair. Kamala didn't release you, instead taking hold of your wrists as she knelt down in front of you, her eyes searching your face. She held your gaze, her fingers lightly pressing against your skin, her grip firm yet gentle.
Kamala released your wrists, her hands trailing up your thighs as she pushed your underwear aside. She didn't hesitate, diving right in and beginning to eat you out. You tried to resist, but it was no use. Her tongue was relentless, and your arousal quickly took over. You leaned forward, arching from the chair as she continued to pleasure you.
"Kamala... Kamala! Please, please!" You cried, your voice hoarse from begging. She didn't listen, her face buried between your thighs, her hands locked around your wrists, pulling you into her. Her darkened brown eyes, hazy and red from something you could faintly smell, locked onto yours.
"No, I need to make things right, Jessica," she said, her voice low and husky. "This is what you want from me, right? You want me, I can make things right, Jessica." She continued to eat you, every word laced between a soft kiss, suck, or glide of her tongue running against you.
"K-kamala, what's wrong with you?" You managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper as you gave yourself away to the sensation of her touch.
"Jessica... I don't know how I let it happen," she began, her voice breaking, the words thick with regret.
All the while, while she kept her touch insistent.
"I've spent my entire life fighting for people like me, people like you. I've built my whole career, my whole existence, around protecting people... protecting myself." Her eyes dropped, filled with a shame she couldn't hide, eyes staring up at you unraveling from a hint of pride in her eyes clouded by her next words
"Vanessa-you found a way through the walls... you tore down everything I thought made me strong, everything I thought could keep me safe. And... it happened so easily."
"K-kamala you're starting to hurt me" you manage to say as you keep your eyes low and look at her still working you to your brink, but her nails now pressed themselves into delicate skin, almost clawing at you.
She didn't explain, or know one. She just continued to please you, and you got so caught up in the sensation that your eyes began to roll, and your legs began to shake. Her tongue fucked you, and her fingers worked on your clit, bringing you to the verge.
"I'll do whatever you want, I'll kill her, say you want me to, just for you... I can do that for you" she says against you, sending a wave of pleasure throughout your body.
But it quickly strikes you what she's said.
Shocked, you open your eyes and push her head away, although wanting so desperately to release it. Staring down at her until her grip loosened, you stand up quickly, fixing yourself.
Kamala followed, pulling you close into an increasingly tight hug, sending you a warning that you weren't going to walk off and leave again without a fight.
"Please, Jessica, please," she begged.
You can feel something solid press against your hip.
"You need help, Kamala, seriously," you replied, concern etched on her face as she tried to pull away from the embrace.
Kamala held on tighter, her eyes pleading with you. "Please, Jessica, don't go. I need you." She whispered...
Kamala's grip on you tightened, her face buried against your shoulder, her words trembling as they left her lips. "Vanessa... I won't let anything happen to you. I swear, I'll protect you from everything-from anyone who tries to take you from me."
Her words were frantic, barely holding together, as if she were piecing them together through a haze.
" I'll never let myself... be a victim." Her voice faltered, and she let out a shuddering breath, clinging to you as if you were the last thing she held dear to her.
You frowned, the concern mounting in your chest as her hold tightened painfully. Her words sounded desperate, hollow, each one spilling out like she was clinging to something just out of reach. You could smell it now, faintly at first but unmistakable, whiskey and perfume clinging to her suit.
"Kamala," you whispered, gently trying to pry her arms from around you. But as you moved, something hard-pressed against your hip, hidden beneath the fabric of her suit jacket.
"Please, Jessica," Kamala's voice broke, her grip loosening just enough for you to pull back slightly. Her eyes were rimmed red, her expression raw, undone.
"Kamala, are you drunk?"
Kamala looked up at you, eyes wide and hollow, the words she wanted to say dying on her lips as the reality settled between you both.
She was plastered or damn near it.
"Don't worry... I know what I'm doing, I know exactly what I need to do..." she said with a forced smile painted across her face as her vision blurred with tears
Before you can say another word, you're already turning on your heels and leaving, uncaring about what ever it is she's doing behind you as you leave.
What the hell was that?
The devil?!
You lean into the wall for head rested on your hand as you catch your breath and try to choke back your own tears. You go to your office and sit down at your desk. You try to begin doing the work you had not started during the day, since being stared at by Kamala in silence for an hour prior was not texting enough.
"Miss Rose, Miss Jean Pierre would like to have a conversation with you in her office she says it's urgent, she'd like to discuss updates about Miss Harris"
"Y-yes, I'll be right there"