AN: The first chapter is the same as my Midnight Train to Georgia one shot. Hopefully I can get Chapter II up tonight.

"Is there anything I can get for you, Miss Pope?" The flight attendant asked.

"I'm okay…Wait. Is there a recent newspaper on board?"

"I would be happy to check for you, ma'am." Delighted to finally assist me with something. The young attendant retreats, red pumps padding the carpeted aisle.

It's one fifteen in the afternoon. The pilot announces our departure then the attendant walks to my seat smiling. She gives me the newspaper and apologizes for it being outdated, but it's only three days old. She offers me a drink, saying it'll ease my nerves.

"I'm fine," I say.

President Grant's party tricks

Since his victory in 2014, president grant has set a personal record for most bills signed in within 100 days of winning the elected position. Just 93 days into his second term, Grant has signed 4 bills and 3 executive orders. White House source says "he's just getting started"- Unnamed.

Many are impressed and pleased with Grant 2.0, and others are surprised to see him so active and full of life. Having lost his son and winning his second term in the same week no less…

I thought about him every day on that island. With the gold infinity reminder on my index finger, he's all I could think about. And if we could be saved. If somehow be unfazed from the damage Washington did to us. He's still handsome, his smile lines have faded, but he's focused and determined. I'm proud of him because he's doing everything I ever imagined him doing. Being the president and running the country the way it should be run. Blue, I've always admired him in a blue suit, showing his gentle side while simultaneously conveying his power.

We'll be landing in Bethesda in approximately five hours. The attendant announces over the intercom.

I fold the newspaper up and stash it between the seat and window, then I recline my chair, maybe I can sleep the majority of the flight away.

We were flying over Washington when I awoke. Suddenly my chest felt too small to breathe, and my heart was running a marathon. The white house came into view. I stretched my eyes over the lawn and up to the Truman balcony. It's impossible to see anything from this distance, but I watched anyway as if hoping to see him leaning against the rail with a half glass of scotch.

"Ma'am. Miss Pope?"

"Yes?" I say. "Did you say something?"

"I asked you to put your seatbelt on because we'll be landing soon." She says, then walks to her designated area.

When I looked up again, the white house was out of view, and the sky was shrouded in an orange ombre shade. It reminded me of the sunsets on the island and how the sun rested on the horizon just above the ocean. Most evenings, I marveled at the painted picture and dreamt of it at night. The attendant asks me if I need anything a final time, and I smile and shake my head.

The jet's doors unfold, and I see the bald, prickly top of my father's head. His arms are crossed tightly, and his jaw is set. I didn't expect a warm welcome, and I didn't anticipate my father awaiting my arrival. Unfortunately, I can already tell this isn't going to be me running into my father's open arms and him professing that he missed me and is glad I'm home.

"Hi, dad"

"I hope you're here because you're bored of the island and maybe want to see what Paris is like in the winter." He says. "Because let me make myself clear, you are getting back on that plane tonight."

"The scary part is that you're serious. But no, dad, I'm staying."

Across the lot are my town car and driver. My father is thick-skulled, I could say it in ten different languages, and he still wouldn't accept my decision instead of fighting in his pointless battle. I drag my suitcase to the car.

"Olivia, this isn't up for debate…It's an order."

I sigh. "Let's try this again. Hello, dad. Nice to see you. I missed you too."

"I won't play your game, Olivia. You should have stayed with your boyfriend. Washington has changed since you've been away. He's changed."

"You think that's why I'm back. You don't know me at all." I say.

"That's where you're wrong, little girl." He grits his teeth and shames me with his eyes. "I know more than you can possibly imagine. When are you going to learn your secrets aren't secrets."

This dance I'm doomed to perform with my father every time I see him is exhausting. I want to ask if he gets tired, but it will fly completely over his power-hungry head, and he'd mistake it for a white flag. And when he thinks my guard is down, he'll attack.

"I'm not twelve years old anymore. You can't just stick me in some faraway boarding school to hide whatever crimes you committed."

It's slight, but he shifts from one foot to the other. Like flipping a switch, the hangar chilled. He stepped closer to me and whispered, "I murdered the Presidents son."

In seconds Rowan stepped out of my father, took out a switchblade, stuck it in my gut, and dragged it up to my sternum. My lungs were punctured balloons fighting to keep me breathing. The sound came back when the driver honked the horn.

"I hate you!" Rowan didn't waver under the viciousness in my voice. Then again, what monster would? "Goodbye, dad."

Then he grabbed my arm and bared his teeth, the ones I always knew he had but never came face to face with. "I know you'll do Harrison's eulogy justice." He smirks.

I snatch my arm away and duck into the car.

The musty, stale odor creeps up my nose as I step off the lift. Rancid but familiar, it's the only thing that feels and smells the same. As I entered my neighborhood, I noticed not much changed in my absence. But the atmosphere is darker, duller than before. Less inviting. This isn't the fresh city I came to in my first year of college. Although it hasn't been that for some time now.

My key turns the lock, and when I'm inside, everything hits me. The weight crushes my legs, sending me to my knees. I mask the sound of my scream with my hands, and tears moisten my clasped hands. Bile rises in the back of my throat. I don't know how I made it to the bathroom in time, but my face is now acquainted with the toilet. The vanity is my crutch as I stand, and this cold washcloth is my hallelujah.

As I'm walking out of the bathroom, the front door is opening. I could be hallucinating. I wouldn't rule it out with the night I've had.

"Hi." I say

…

I'm happy to be back and I come baring gifts. Spring cleaning if you will, and I found a draft, and after some revising and editing I decided to post a piece to pique yall's interest. Of course I want to know what yall think and if you think I should turn it into a full story.

And I'm trying out a new writing style.

Thoughts, Questions ?