The President's Wife

by Kathy Myme

  No, she isn’t my woman. I have to be careful... really fucking careful. I’m walking such a thin line.

  Fuck David, what are you doing?

  This isn’t being in control. This is chaos. I’ve taken what I want with no thought for what it means.

  What if she’d pulled back? What if she’d said no? The media would have torn this charade apart. That would have been it... the end of me.

  No, I should have controlled myself. I need to stay in control. But how can I?

  How am I supposed to have controlled myself, sitting across from her when she’s looking like that? That dress, with the neckline that dives so deep…

  It’s a miracle I’d just gone for a kiss.

  I wish things were different. I wish I could tell her the truth, that I want her. And not for the media’s benefit or my career’s. I want her because she makes me happy. Because she’s beautiful.

  I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this way for a woman before. So deeply, so desperately. I need her, and-

  No, David, no. Stop it.

  Stop thinking about her. You can’t do this, you can’t catch feelings for her. Remember why you’re doing this. To save your career. Not to get laid. Not to fall in love. To save your career.

  That’s why you took her to dinner at your favorite restaurant in DC. That’s why you slid your hand up her soft thighs. That’s why you kissed her hard. That’s why you’re grinning like a schoolboy.

  Oh dear, it’s really too late, isn’t it? You’ve fucked up David, you’ve taken things too far. You’ve let things go too far, and now you need to reel them back.

  I look out the window, at the press. They are why we are here. The parasites, leaching the humanity out of what could have been a genuinely beautiful moment between two people. But instead, it has to be an act. It has to be fake. Because if it were true…

  Why can’t it? No, why can’t it be true? Maybe I can make it work. We would sneak around, just like I’ve claimed we have been. A quick kiss in the corridor when no one was around. A quickie during the five minutes between my meetings. Veronica sneaking into my bed, every night.

  I feel a throb, and I harden slightly at the thought. I could have her then, anytime I want. I am the President of the United States, dammit. I should be able to have what I want, and if that’s Veronica…

  Maybe I should just tell the media to go fuck themselves. Do the American people really care? Hell, I’d probably get a stack of new votes if people believed I was fucking Veronica in the White House. They would lap it up like the newest reality television show.

  I could, then. I could have her like I want to. I could end this playing about, the presence, and replace it with the real thing. I could kiss her like that as much as I wanted. I could tear that dress off her and fuck her hard. I could make her scream for me and pump her full of me like she’s practically begging me to do.

  I realize I am now rock hard and I flush slightly. Good thing I’m sitting down or one of the photographers might get a rather interesting photo of their president. And it wouldn't exactly be the type of front-page coverage I’m looking for.

  I shake my head slightly. It’s all very well to think about how much I want her, how much I need her. What does she want? Does she feel the same way about me?

  I could go for it, but so much hangs in the balance still. If she rejects me or takes it the wrong way, this house of cards will implode. If she goes to the press, I will be ruined.

  No. I can’t risk my career and my position as president in an attempt to get my dick wet.

  I can’t. I shouldn’t.

  I check my watch. It’s been ten minutes now since she left. Was it the kiss? Have I scared her off, have I been too forward? Should I have waited before I kissed her?

  Or is it something else?

  I think for a moment. Maybe I should go check on her just in case. If something has gone wrong, it’s vitally important that the press doesn’t find out.

  And it’ll also give us some privacy. We can talk in the bathroom, away from the press and the actors filling the restaurant.

  Yes, I’ll go check on her. I’ll go talk to her. I stand up and walk towards the bathrooms.

  I’m definitely not going there to try to fuck Veronica in a restaurant bathroom. That would be incredibly foolish. No, I won’t push her up against the wall, pull down her underwear and push myself into her. I certainly won’t cover her mouth with one of my hands so no one hears her moans. And there is no way I’m going to fill her with my cum, look her in the eyes and tell her how much I need her.

  No, the large erection in my pants is a total coincidence and nothing to do with anything.

  I knock on the bathroom door. “Veronica, are you alright in there?” I call out.

  There’s no response. I wait a moment, before pushing the door open and calling again. “Veronica, I just want to talk. Is everything okay?”

  No response. I look around and then step inside. The stall doors are all open, and there’s no one here.

  Shit. Shit shit shit. Where is she?

  Veronica

  I don’t know where I’m running to. But I have to get out of here.

  I’m careful enough to climb out the bathroom window rather than use the front entrance. It’s a tough squeeze, but having a scraped knee is a lot better than the press catching me. The last thing we need is a series of headlines about how the President’s new fiancée runs away from him on dates and bolts into the outdoors.

  But I simply couldn’t endure another moment of him. One more half-smile or risqué comment… one more brush of his hand against my leg…

  He’d said he was going to seduce me. And as much as I hate it, he’d succeeded.

  It’s not like I won’t go back. But god, do I need a breath of fresh air. Something to cool me down. Something to stop me thinking.

  Nobody else has ever had this effect on me. Nobody else has been able to take me from the strong, capable woman that I’ve always been… and change me into little more than a blubbering mess. Nobody but President David Shepard.

  With Trevor, I’ve always been the one in control. The one who knows what to do and what to say. I’ve never felt this helpless.

  Across the street, there are a few more shops and behind that… a park. I set my course, striding confidently towards it. If there’s anywhere I’m going to be able to clear my head, it’s a park.

  If nothing else, it’ll be pretty secluded in there. All I want is to be away from the prying eyes of photographers. Although going somewhere so isolated at night is against my instincts, the only feeling I embrace right now is my flight-or-fight. And I’ve definitely picked the former option.

  The park is just as empty as I’d hoped. I turn down the first path the trail offers me, hoping to get deep into nature. To my delight, I find a little park bench along the way.

  I’d expect places like this to be creepy at night, but now that I’m here… it’s oddly relaxing. Maybe it’s because of the Day From Hell I’ve had, but the chance to be so free and wild is just what I need.

  I lie flat down on the bench, my back pressed to the wood.

  President David Shepard is a mystery, and being around him only seems to grow more and more dangerous. Tonight might have been a well-crafted plan for him or another stage in his game, but for me…

  The way he looked in that shirt.

  The way his fingertips had felt on my inner thigh.

  His husky voice. “Are you attracted to me?”

  This isn’t a game. Not for me. Because as much I’m desperately fighting and pleading with myself, I’m catching feelings for him. Real feelings.

  And that’s absolutely sure to make this whole thing a lot more complicated.

  My phone buzzes in my bag. My heart sinks as I read the name. It’s from Stephanie. Veronica. Publishing an article on you and Trevor tomorrow. Just thought you might want to know so you can tell your side of the story too. Xx

  Fuck. I shouldn’t have waited t
his long. Whatever Stephanie knows… well, even Trevor’s existence just doesn’t look good for me.

  Can we talk about this? Are you in DC? Xx. The kisses on the end of the message I send back feel sickeningly fake.

  Where are you? Xx. Her reply comes back lightning fast.

  Taking a deep breath, I look at the GPS on my phone and send her the exact coordinates. I have to get this over with soon. And considering I have men in black suits breathing down my neck during every second of my day usually, this brief chance to be alone with her might be my only opportunity.

  Eventually her reply comes. I’m in the area. We can meet. Xx

  How long will you be? I shoot back.

  I wait for her reply. It never comes. Impatiently, I tap on the wooden bench underneath me with my heels.

  Who knows where Stephanie is? She could literally be anywhere. And maybe she’s changed her mind about meeting me.

  I wonder how long I should wait. How long I can wait. Surely people have started to notice I’m missing by now. I bet my fancy starter is stone dead cold on the posh dinner table.

  “Veronica?”

  I bolt upright. My name? Out here?

  I’d assume it’s Stephanie… but that was definitely a man’s voice. From memory from the press conference, Stephanie’s voice is practically a falsetto.

  Well, of course someone is looking for me. The President probably sounded the alarm as soon as I didn’t return in his perfectly scheduled time-frame. There’s probably a national alert out on my safety as we speak.

  Such a control freak. He can’t even let me have one moment alone.

  “Hello?” I call out, trying to work out where the voice had come from.

  There’s no reply.

  I frown, closing my eyes. All I can hear is the sound of the breeze blowing through the trees.

  Had I imagined the voice? It has been a long day. If I’m allowed to be a little bit crazy at any point in my life, it would be right now.

  I could lie back down on the bench, but it’s probably around the time I should be getting back anyway. I get to my feet, looking back at the trail I’d come down. I probably have some explaining to do. The President won’t be pleased.

  I step forward, thinking about how pissed off he’d most likely be, and-

  I feel an arm close around my waist.

  The scream that leaves my mouth is piercing, but it only lasts for a moment. Fingers clamp down over my lips.

  “Don’t fucking move,” growls a voice from near my ear.

  I can’t explain the rush of emotions that washes over me. The voice speaking is so familiar to me. I heard it every day for years. Through the whole of high school, and even after that… that voice is the voice of the person that knew me best.

  Trevor.

  I splutter, squirming in his arms. I must catch him by surprise with my strength because his fingers slip.

  “What the fuck, Trevor?” I pant, trying to throw off his arms that are still around me. “You don’t call me for days and now you show up in the middle of the night - all the way in DC - and grab me?”

  I expect to hear him laugh. To watch him drop my arms and apologize for scaring me. To have him tell me it was a stupid joke.

  But he doesn’t do any of those things.

  “Stay still, Veronica,” he commands, his voice deathly flat.

  I try to twist my body, struggling to see his face. I don’t like what I see. The Trevor I know isn’t the person holding me. In his place is a man with bloodshot eyes and a pale, haunted look on his face.

  “Tr-Trevor?” I ask nervously. “What’s going on?”

  “What’s going on,” he spits, “is that you slept with the fucking President.” His grip on me is getting painfully tighter by the second.

  “Trevor, no,” I gasp, frantic. “It’s all a lie. We’re not engaged-”

  He roars, shaking me with venom. “I know you’re not fucking engaged, bitch. I don’t care about whatever piss-poor excuse for a cover story you came up with for the media. How long did it take you to jump on his dick?”

  “No-”

  “Do you think I don’t know you?” His fingernails are digging into my skin. “Did you just conveniently forgot the fact we’ve spent our whole fucking lives together?”

  He’s not acting right. This isn’t the Trevor I know. My Trevor might get grouchy and snappy sometimes, but never downright sadistic. He’s scaring me.

  “I asked you a question, bitch.” He yanks one of his arms and the next thing I know there’s something pressed to my throat. Something hard and unyielding. A knife. “How long did it take you to fuck the President?”

  “Trev, please-”

  “You’ve only just moved to DC. But I’m guessing it took you days - maybe hours - to forget about me. When did he first have you?”

  He’s completely insane. I feel something wet sliding down my face… I’m crying, without even fully realizing it.

  “Trevor, we can talk this out. If you’d just listen to me-”

  But there’s no reasoning with him. He grunts and the flat edge of the knife is suddenly choking me.

  Is this how I die? Sliced into little bits in the middle of some random park, hurt by my own boyfriend? The idea is maddening. Dying is one thing… but I can’t get all the hypothetical newspaper headlines out of my mind. If I die here, it’ll just be another front-page story for ClickBoom News and all the stalkerish paparazzi. I’ll just be another story for Stephanie to write about.

  Stephanie. I’d almost completely forgotten her messages from earlier.

  “Trevor, have you been talking to a journalist? Stephanie from ClickBoom News?” I try to keep my voice calm, slow, and relaxed. If I panic, that’s only going to set him off further. “I don’t know what she’s been telling you, but it’s her job to get a reaction out of you. None of it is true.”

  “It’s all fucking true,” he yells, shaking me. My throat tenses up against the blade. “That bitch didn’t have to tell me anything. Nothing I didn’t already see plastered all over the news.”

  “So you did talk to her?”

  “None of your fucking business, whore,” he snarls. “For once in your damn life, think about me. Slut.”

  Something like realization dawns on me. “Did… did Stephanie tell you where to find me?”

  “You’re damn right she did,” he says, his nose wrinkling. “Bet you didn’t see that fucking coming, did you?”

  He spits on me. It lands on my cheek, and I look down in humiliation.

  “Did you think about me once before you ran into his arms? Before you fucked him?”

  I take a deep breath. Every second here is valuable. “Trevor, I need you to stop and think for a moment. You know me. We’ve been together… for so long.” Tears hit my chin more rapidly. My whole body is shaking as if I’m about to explode. “All I’m asking is that you hear me out. That you listen to the truth.”

  His whole body goes still. For a moment I wonder if he’s vanished until the stillness of the knife at my neck reminds me of his presence.

  “Please, Trevor,” I whisper, “if you ever loved me…”

  A long pause. It’s as if he’s run out of steam entirely. Like his mind has come to a halt after a car crash.

  And then he speaks.

  “You never loved me, whore,” he hisses. “Whores like you deserve to die.”

  It all happens in an instant. Strangely, I know it’s coming. I know Trevor too well not to be attuned to every movement of his body, to be conscious of every tensing muscle.

  I’m not ready to die. But I don’t think I have a choice.

  There’s a lot of noise. I’m not sure if it’s me screaming or Trevor yelling or the world falling apart around us.

  I squeeze my eyes shut tight. But when I open them again…

  I’m covered in blood.

  Huh. I’d always thought getting stabbed would hurt a lot more than this.

  Getting stabbed really should hurt a lot mo
re than this.

  I blink. The blood… isn’t mine.

  The scene before me has unfolded rapidly. Trevor is leaning into me, shrieking and gasping for air hideously.

  “Trevor, your shoulder…” I try to keep him upright because without me it seems as if he’ll topple to the ground.

  “Drop the knife.”

  It isn’t Trevor speaking. I look towards the source of the voice, a few meters away from us.

  President Shepard. But there’s nothing presidential about him at this moment. His face is hard, ruled by nothing but cold emotion. He’s not a diplomat. He’s a man enraged.

  “David!” I call out. “You- did you?” My gaze rapidly switches from Trevor’s wounded shoulder to David. To the gun in his hands. “You shot him?”

  “He was about to attack you.” The President doesn’t flinch. “I did what I had to do.”

  I stand there, slack-jawed and speechless. What the hell has just happened?

  “David-”

  “Veronica, get down,” he commands me suddenly.

  This time I see it all like it’s in slow motion. Trevor raising the knife again, even with a bullet in his shoulder. David’s look of alarm as the blade comes towards me slowly.

  The look on the President’s face as I elbow Trevor where it hurts most and duck out of his grasp.

  “Fuck!” Trevor screams, covered in blood and almost spewing from the mouth. “Fuck! Fuck!”

  I sprint as fast as I can to where David is standing. I don’t want to cower in fear, but standing behind him makes me feel a whole lot safer.

  “Drop the weapon,” David repeats slowly. There is no sympathy in his voice. The husky tone has taken on a darkness I’d never even known could be there. “I’m warning you. Drop the knife or I’ll shoot.”

  “Do it, Trevor,” I plead. “You have to stop this.”

  From the distance I’m at now, it’s easier to see Trevor in full. He doesn’t just look upset. He looks… unwell.

  My hands clutch my stomach. I might be about to vomit. Did I do this to him? Has he turned into this… this monster all because of me?

  I feel as if I’m living in this moment forever. My boyfriend, snarling and deranged, standing covered in blood across from the President of the United States. The man that’s just shot him.