by Mia Villano
“Is she?” He laughs and sets his empty glass on the table. “She left me. Said I spent too much time away from our marriage. She moved out until this election is over with, and maybe forever. She took my two kids to her parents in Connecticut.” Picking up my drink, I tilt it to my mouth and let the whiskey burn my throat. I’m a selfish bastard, I’ll be the first to admit it. Vick and his wife knew what they were in for when I asked him to be my campaign manager.
“Come on, Vick. She’s used to this. You both knew this going into the campaign.” Vick’s putting on his coat, making his way to the door.
“Yeah, I did, but you are going to ruin everything if you don’t leave this girl alone.”
“Why should I leave her alone, Vick. What's the real reason?” I won’t leave Daria alone until she’s mine.
“Because, I think your brother is in love with her and that's why he’s hurting your campaign. He knows more than what you think.”
I hesitate and think about it. That can’t be true. Garrison never had an interest in Daria.
14
Daria
Blowing a strand of hair out of my face, I tackle the unpacking still sitting in front of me. Putting it off long enough and staring at the stacks of suitcases, I realize it isn’t going to disappear on its own. After emptying one and becoming instantly bored, I decide to get out for a while.
I go out for lunch, and shopping at the Eastern Market before starting my new job in a couple of days sounds like a plan. My smartwatch chimes then, reminding me of an appointment. Almost forgetting about my monthly visit with my therapist in about an hour, I hustle to get dressed. Sounds ridiculous, being a psychiatrist myself; however, what happened to me is still a raw subject that needs to be addressed by a professional.
In record time, I step out of my condo and into the heat of early September in Washington. Everything about this city grabs me in its clutches. The sounds, atmosphere, and intensity of heading towards a presidential election are buzzing around me. Living here all my life doesn’t dampen the effect of what this city is all about. Daily proceedings on Capitol Hill, demonstrations, and scandals make living here intriguing and electrifying. The political climate is always changing and the world’s eye is forever on this city.
The condo I live in is on Capitol Hill, one of D.C.’s most historic neighborhoods. Besides living in Paris, there is no other place I would rather be. Walking to the Metro station, I prefer to use public transportation rather than drive into the city.
My therapist is the first stop. The bright side of my visit is, Dr. Thoreau is a family friend and someone I trust. She knows everything about me, including my unrelenting love for the presidential candidate, what nearly killed me six years ago, and my low self-esteem I can’t seem to shake. During my time in Paris, she would counsel me on the phone or through video chatting. Dr. Thoreau is an older woman, petite, and perfectly put together, with kind eyes and a warm smile. Having not seen me since I arrived back from Paris, she embraces me in a hug.
“Daria, you’re looking amazing. Paris has done wonders for you.” Hugging her back, I can’t help but smile. She was the one insisting Paris was a good idea, and pulled strings for me to begin my residency at Sainte Anne Psychiatric.
“Thank you, I feel amazing.” We take our usual seats; hers in a huge leather chair and me in the matching leather recliner opposite her. She believes recliners in her office help patients to relax and feel more comfortable. Dr. Thoreau slides her finger across her iPad, reading her last notes she entered.
“The last time we spoke, you were in Paris still getting ready to come back to the States. So, you’re back now for good?” I nod in agreement. Her eyes study me and even though I have known her forever, I still feel slightly uncomfortable.
“Yes, I came back a couple of weeks ago and I start my residency at George Washington Monday.”
“That’s wonderful, Daria. That’s been the hospital you’ve wanted to work at. How has it been, other than that? Have you seen Sebastian? He’s all over the news lately.” I look down at my hands. The sound of his name hits a direct spot in my heart.
“Yes, I saw him. I was invited to a kickoff party for the Democratic Convention.”
“And what happened?” She’s tapping her iPad and I always wonder what she’s putting in there. Telling her what happened, almost every detail; down to the part of him ripping my thong off, stopping by my condo, and the things he told me. Her head comes up and she looks at me astonished.
“And how are you feeling after all that?” I stiffen in my chair, not knowing what to say. I hadn’t really thought about how I’m feeling. The elation of being around him and the thought that he still loves me are mostly what has been on my mind. I hesitate before I answer.
“Daria? Remember you went through something extremely devastating. You were beyond depressed after you left, and you walked out on Sebastian without telling him why. You moved across the ocean and had not seen him for six years. You have to know how you feel being around him.”
My breath leaves me as I try to establish how I feel other than lust, passion, and love. I only have to think of him to want him and I’m sure it shows on my face. “At first, I was nervous, but once I was around him and he kissed me, every feeling I had pushed away for so long came rushing back. The love for him never left me. Being with him again, in an intimate way, scares me. I’m terrified to give myself to him again. What if…”
“You can’t dwell on the what-ifs. Remember we talked about that many times. What-ifs will make your life miserable. You mentioned he kissed you.”
I look away from her, remembering how his mouth intensely took mine. His lips were so soft and warm, yet so demanding and masculine. They felt the same way all those years ago.
“Yes, he kissed me.”
We fill the hour with talk of what-ifs and how I can’t let what happened in the past hinder me from what I feel for him now. After more talk of my new job, my parents’ retirement, and how I am coping with the tragedy that nearly tore me apart, our hour is up. After our session, I feel better, not so afraid, and possibly a little more confused. Bringing up Sebastian and being questioned about how I truly feel around him has me reeling.
I’m suddenly struck with the knowledge I’m keeping a huge secret from him. Loving him as much as I do, he has a right to know what happened and why l left like I did. If we were going to be a couple, I need to tell him everything. The overabundance of emotions I feel has my heart racing and my body shaking. If I wait to tell him, will he resent me? If I tell him now, will it hurt his campaign? Christ, I’m overthinking again.
The pain in my body intensifies when I really think about the two of us and how dysfunctional our relationship has been since day one. I miss him so much. I miss his touch, his adoration, and his gentle love. My craving for him is insatiable and only seems to grow stronger the more I talk about him.
Heading into the first day at the hospital, I’m dragging. Not having to set an alarm for so long has been luxurious and welcome. Now, reality has set in and I’m hesitant to be back to the grind. That doesn’t last long when I meet my mentor and my day is suddenly filled with patients. Even though this is my third year of residency, my shift is a lot different than what I dealt with in France. My day is filled with listening to patient stories and deciding which course of treatment, if any is needed, determine what medication is best, and whether the patient is severe enough to be committed. If not, they are sent home with the prescribed treatment.
It doesn’t take long to become accustomed to my new routine. I’m at work by seven, seeing patients from eight to five and, if I’m lucky, I get a half hour lunch break. One day a week, I’m attending a lecture of some sort, which I enjoy, and the rest of the week, I’m meeting with patients daily for medication management and learning therapy. It’s a crazy profession but I love it and wouldn’t change it for anything. I’m so happy my heart wasn’t into politics. My passion for helping patients with mental illness drives
me to strive to be the best.
Seeming as if it’s never ending, my days pass by quickly and I’m on my way back home again, only to repeat the very same thing the following day. Always the introvert, making new friends and going out more is something new for me. Many nights, I’m off to dinner or drinks at the trendiest places downtown. It’s while dining at the overcrowded Capital Grille where I overhear talk about Sebastian. Ignoring my table of friends, I eavesdrop intently and hear that someone has leaked out who he picked as his running mate. Imagining how pissed Sebastian must be, I wonder myself who went to the press. However, in the back of my mind, I think I have a good idea.
15
Sebastian
As instructed by my campaign team, we decide to announce my pick for VP and act as if whoever leaked it is irrelevant; however, the news speculates it’s within my inner circle. Flying my running mate out to my home, I invite a news crew into my office to announce he’s the man for the job. Lance brings his wife and children, and we take the opportunity to also make a campaign commercial.
Cooking out on my back porch, we show how happy and family-oriented we are. The entire time, I’m fuming over my brother’s blatant act to attack me. Vick’s idea that it’s because he’s secretly in love with Daria is absurd. Its drug money, plain and simple. I hold in my outrage and plaster a smile on my face, not even telling my mother what has happened. Now that Lance has left and the cameras are gone, I slip on my coat and decide to pay a visit to my brother. Apparently, he is back to his newly-remodeled home and I’m not letting him get away with fucking me over. Not this time, not ever again. He’s going to fess up to me tonight. I’ve kept quiet long enough and when he messes with my campaign, I will come out swinging.
Cameron picks me up and, after a short drive, pulls up to his house. I slip out without any security, except for Frank. Not wanting a circus to follow me, I try to be careful not setting Vick off, or letting him find out what I’m up to. I notice his lights are on and there is music blaring outside.
Frank jumps in front of me as I start to walk up the steps to Garrison’s door. “Don’t do anything stupid, Boss.” Frank is wearing a velour track suit and a white wife beater underneath; it looks like we’re on the set of The Sopranos. Patting him on the shoulder, I reassure him, “I won’t. I’ll leave that to you.” I want Garrison’s ass and I’m damn well going to get it. If I must beat the living shit out of him, no one is going to stop me, not even Frank. It’s bad enough he thinks he can take money from our mother and use Daria; he isn’t going to try to end my presidency.
Pounding on the door as hard as I can, I yell out his name. “Garrison?” The music stops and as soon as he opens the door, I lay into him.
“How could you do this to me. I’m your fucking brother, for God’s sake!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” A scornful smile appears on his face.
“You know damn well what I’m talking about. Don’t fucking mess with me.”
“Why don’t you get to the point instead of playing politician.”
My brows furrow together and I swear I’m close to punching him in the face. I’m in no mood for his bullshit.
“Why?” I yell even louder.
“It’s always about you and what you want, and I’m fucking tired of you.” Standing in the foyer of Garrison’s house, I realize the place is too nice for a fuck up like him and the remodeling had to cost my mother a pretty penny. Nestled in an old warehouse, the masculine décor of antique aviation and leather oversized furniture fill every corner. The air is filled with smoke and he has a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, with a look of astonishment that I’d found out the leak was him. He’s wearing low slung sweats, a ripped t-shirt, and a smirk on his face. I shrug off my suit coat and loosen my tie as I pace his apartment, wanting to pick up something and bash him over the head. It astonishes me that we are from the same gene pool. My mom had to have slept around and Garrison’s the product of it; or better yet, he was adopted. There is no way this ass is my brother.
“You know what? I’m done with you. I have picked your moronic ass up enough and covered up your bullshit long enough. How could you fuck me like this?”
“You have no proof I did anything. I could care less about you and your presidency. Stay away from me. I don’t need you. I never have. How about you stay away from Daria Stewart too.” I stop dead in my tracks, my back to him. I decide to ignore his comment, though he wants to keep on.
“Did I hit a nerve, glory boy? I’m fucking on to you. You think you can hide what I already know.” He laughs and lights another cigarette.
“You want to hurt me, go ahead, but I swear to God, I will make your life a living hell. I’ve worked too damn hard to get where I am. I will fuck you up worse than the heroin you’re pumping through your veins.”
“Fuck you, Sebastian. I’m so tired of you and your self-righteous image. You aren’t perfect.”
“I never said I was, you piece of shit.” I walk up to him and get in his face.
“What did you do this for, Garrison? Do you need drug money that bad, or are you the one after Daria?”
His cell phone rings and he quickly answers, as his gaze bores into me with a smirk on his face.
“Hey, babe.” I turn away, sickened by whoever is on the other line. Another girlfriend? My hand is clenched in a fist beside me.
“I’m here with Sebastian. Just some brotherly banter. When will you be back in the States?
Ok... Sure... I fucking miss you, baby. I can’t create without you here. How about I call you later and get you off?” Jesus Christ, I’m going to puke.
“I love you too.” He throws his phone back on the table and I turn around and stare at it.
“Dior and I are back together. No, to your question on both counts. I don't have a thing for Miss Daria, and I certainly don't need money. Like I said, I know everything and you don’t want to threaten me right now. I know about your past with Daria. Everyone fucking does. I know why she broke it off with you too.”
“Tell me. If you know, tell me, dickhead.” He laughs and walks away from me.
“You couldn’t handle the truth. No, I’ll let you wonder for a while. Let it eat at you while you try to become the president. You’ll figure it out soon enough.”
“You’re nuts, you know that? Whatever story you have conjured up in your fucked-up brain is from the drugs. Don’t you threaten me, you little fucking junkie.” I have my fists so clenched my nails are digging into my skin. It’s taking every bit of strength inside me not to beat the shit out of him, if not kill him.
I don’t know how long I stand there in the silence, wondering how someone I’m so close to could be so hateful. I squeeze my eyes shut to push out the pain.
“Big brother wants to punch me. I can tell. Go ahead.” He laughs hysterically.
I don’t answer him right away. I let him think he’s won. I let my anger ease, knowing in the back of my mind he would fuck up again soon and have no one to pull him out of it. I must be patient this time and wait.
“You have it bad for her, just like you did when you were fucking her while she was working for you. You want Daria so fucking bad you can’t stand it.”
“Go fuck yourself, Garrison.”
He laughs, lighting yet another cigarette. Throwing his lighter on the wood table, it echoes in the vast room we’re standing in.
“I don’t have to fuck myself, Sebastian. That’s taken care of for me. You, on the other hand, are good at fucking yourself. Seems no one else is, not even your sweet Daria.”
The blood rises in my face and I fight the urge to kill him. Grabbing the back of my neck to massage the knots, I feel my heartbeat pound in my ears. Keeping my face an emotionless mask, I couldn’t let this bastard think he’s getting the best of me. He eyes me warily.
“What, Mr. President has nothing to say?” He stares at me for what seems like an eternity, then laughs. I surge after him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.
My other hand is already raised in a fist ready to punch him. Through gritted teeth, I find words to say before I clock him. “I want nothing else to do with you.”
Frank must have heard the slight scuffle because he comes rushing in the door, pulling me away from Garrison just in time. He doesn’t say a word but keeps a tight grip on my shoulders. I shrug him off and walk back up to Garrison, pointing my finger in his face. The smirk tells me he’s daring me to hit him.
“Stay away from me. Don’t come crying to me when you fuck up. I’m done, Garrison.”
I must get out of here before something bad happens between us that can’t be reversed. I walk quietly and slowly to his door. My hand’s on the door handle and just as I’m about to turn the knob, I spin around to look at my pathetic brother, smiling at me as if he won the match of the season.
I look at my watch.
“You’re about due for another downfall, but you know what? I don’t care. I won’t be there to pick you up this time. I won’t be there to hide your embarrassment when they pull your ass out of a crack den. You, Garrison, are on your own.”
He laughs. “Fuck you, I don’t need anything from you. Now get out, I have a date with a beautiful woman.”
16
Daria
Waking up the next morning, I have a dreadful hangover. The Capital Grille has the best chardonnay and I tend to overindulge when I’m there. The company of new friends, the atmosphere, and the need to stifle my thoughts of Sebastian all contributed to my numerous glasses. Thankfully, I’m off and can rest most of the day. After an extremely long shower, three cups of coffee, and some dry toast, I manage to get dressed and make my way to the couch in the living room. The first thing I do is turn on the news. Breaking news on every channel tells me the same thing. Someone in Sebastian’s inner circle had leaked who he picked for his running mate. News reporters were outside his home, trying to get a statement from Sebastian. Watching all day, Sebastian finally comes out to announce that yes, someone in his team released the information.