She was at my door.

It had been a week or so since the funeral. It felt like it’d been years, it felt like it’d been hours. I couldn’t tell; time was a blur anymore. It was a gray blanket, a dulling cloud over my senses that made everything feel fake. It was like I was seeing everything through a dingy film, my eyes covered by a transparent plastic. But, thankfully, some light was about to come back into my life. Mea was here.

I jumped up to let her in, excited about something for the first time in weeks. Days? I wasn’t sure. I wanted to see her, to know how to make the right decision. Would her presence sway me just because she was in front of me? How could I knowingly give her up when she was so close? I knew I had to hear her words, her advice, her perspective, if I was to give up whatever we had… for her. She deserved to have an opinion on it, at least.

I opened the door, awestruck as always. Today, her hair floated at her shoulders, each curling strand in a different direction than the one next to it. She smiled at me coyly, her dark skin glowing in my entryway light.

She frowned. “You look like shit.”

I frowned back, looking down at myself. I got dressed this morning, hadn’t I? I eyed the pair of comfortable pants I was wearing. Or had that been yesterday? I couldn't remember when I'd showered last. “Erm, oops. I guess.” I sighed. Too late to worry about that tnow. “Come in.”

She stepped inside timidly, eyeing the place carefully. She’d been here before, but she still looked uncomfortable. I didn’t like that. I wanted her to feel like anyplace with me was safe and warm. I wanted that to be true for me, too.

She watched me as I hurried to pick up a few stray items - a pair of sweats on the couch that I threw in the direction of my bedroom, a handful of takeout boxes sitting on the counter that I tossed into the trash chute, a pair of boxers that I kicked under the table. It would have to do. I sighed. There was no point in beating around the bush; she could see I wasn’t alright. Watching her realize this firsthand was both embarrassing and enlightening. If she really cared about me - and seeing as she hadn’t run away yet, there might be hope for us - then maybe she really would be able to help me now.

“There’s a lot I need to tell you,” I said finally. I had given up trying to tidy the place. She had seen the worst of it anyway, watched my futile and haphazard attempt of hiding my obvious failures.

“I thought so. Shall we sit?” She gestured to the couch, making her way there already.

I could tell she was warming up to the place, easing into this odd environment I’d invited her into. I hoped that was a good sign.

We sat together in silence. I didn’t know how to start. How does one begin to describe how their life both fell apart and fell together at the same time? How do you ask for advice on marrying another woman you don’t love, from a woman that you very well might?

I licked my lips. God, I’ve fucked up so badly. How did I even get here?

She waited patiently. I hoped she understood how strange this was; she seemed to get the importance of her visit. I felt so grateful and so indebted to her presence, I didn’t deserve it. How could I ask this of her?

“I can’t do this,” I said finally, the first words to exit my mouth after several minutes of mute awkwardness. “I can’t ask this of you.”

She stopped me, grabbing my face before I could turn away. She stared directly into my eyes, boring into my soul, her brown depths searing and burning into mine. “Stop. Breathe.”

I obeyed, thoughtless, the only functioning brain cells I had left were devoted to her.

“Tell me everything. I’ll just listen. Then we decide what we need to do. Okay?”

Dumbly, I nodded. I took a deep breath. “My father died.”

Those weren’t the words I intended to say, but apparently, they had to be. And true to her word, she didn’t say anything, just listened. She leaned in, resting her head on her hand, supporting her bent elbow on her knee as she watched me speak. I found myself telling her every single thing that had happened in my life, ranging from the nagging sensation that my stepmother had a hand in the death of my father, all the way to the inconsequential bad days at work.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“...so I suppose it comes down to this. Can I sacrifice my personal life to fulfill my father’s last dying wish, my life’s work, to become Prime Minister? Can I give up… you?”

She hadn’t moved a muscle in the whole time I’d spilled my guts, every last thought I’d ever had in the last several months, every single thing I’d ever done since I’d met her. She knew it all, now, had seen me at my worst and then some, and still sat there. I hung my head down, staring at my feet. My socks had holes in each foot, one my big toe protruded from, the other foot exposing my pinky.

“I can’t tell you what to do with your life,” she said.

Her words sunk me even lower.

“But neither can your father, dead or alive. You have to make that decision for yourself. Ask yourself this: what do you want? For the long run, for the rest of your life?” She studied me closely. “Don’t say me. Don’t you dare say you want me. This is too new to stake the rest of your life on.”

I blinked, looking up to stare at her. She had put so plainly something I refused to see myself. “I want to be Prime Minister,” I said, the words spilling from my lips before I could stop them, her trance on me like truth serum.

As I said the words, I knew they were true, and were more true than anything I’d ever said. What had been torturing me was guilt for desiring this power, this position. I felt it in my bones. I would pay any price, do any deed, if it meant I would succeed at my lifelong dream. But that didn’t mean I didn’t feel guilty of my privilege, my actions, the costs I would pay. But what would she say?

Her eyes flicked between mine. “Then do that.”

“Mea… I can’t have both you and the Ministry…” I whispered. “And I want both. Why can’t I have both?”

Her eyes narrowed mischievously, her lips teasing into a smile that caused my heart to leap. “Who said you couldn’t?”

I leaned in closer to her, aching for her embrace. She closed the distance between us, her lips a searing heat on my mouth, a gulp of water after months in the desert, a sea breeze on a sunny day. She was everything; my saving grace, my comfort, the port in the storm I was stranded in. I grasped at her like she was the foothold on the mountain I was climbing, like she was the only thing holding me to this earth. She was gravity, she was a vacuum in space, she was a shooting star that burned as it fell. I drank it all in, the sensations overwhelming and making my head light.

We found comfort in each other, our bodies finding a rhythm built in nature, like two people who had no other purpose. Her breath was hot in my and against my neck, she was the sun, bright and life-giving, blinding in her beauty.

We had found our way into the bedroom, the lights dim and the shades partially closed, the light filtering through and painting stripes on the floor. I was drained, exhausted, and complete. Laying there with her, after she had saved me, I knew I would never be sane without her.

~

“I accept,” I said to Bateman.

He sat across from me in his office, fingers knit together as he watched me. I had come in first thing in the morning the next day, but somehow, he didn’t even look surprised. He looked pleased, though when he smiled, it never quite reached his eyes.

“You accept?” he questioned, turning around to a filing cabinet behind his desk. He opened the drawer and rummaged around in it.

“...Yes.”

“Then you’ll have no problem signing a contract.” He rifled in the drawer, shuffling papers here and there, muttering to himself. “Ah, here it is.” A stack of papers thudded onto the desk, the top page fluttering with all the effort. “It’s all standard, I assure you. Just sign.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’ll have my lawyer look at this first.”

Bateman shrugged. “Sure. But we can’t start until you sign.”

I nodded. I knew the clock was ticking, but it would be stupid to sign this giant packet right now. The Montgomerys had a family lawyer that dealt with things like this; I would have her look at it after this.

“But before you run off, let’s review the terms. Laymen speak. Yes?”

“Fine,” I said.

“First,” he pressed on his index finger to count,” we fund your campaign.”

“Right.”

“Second,” he said, pressing on the next finger, “we can fund your ventures after you’re elected.”

“Yes.”

“Third,” he said, counting on the ring finger. “You marry Alyss, my daughter. Consider yourselves engaged as soon as you sign, but she deserved a proper proposal. I even have a ring you can use.”

I gulped. “Of course.”

“Alright then. We have a deal, son.” He grinned widely as he spoke, extending his hand to shake.

Swiftly, I took it. Sweeping up the massive stack of papers in my hand, I swirled out of the office, eager to depart. As I stepped further and further away from his office, images of Mea flit through my head. As long as I knew she was mine, I could get through anything. She showed me that.