Trail of Desire:
Finale
The Ashes
It is still dark when you wake at the insistence of your bladder. 4:25 am, to be precise. Slightly earlier than your 4:40 am alarm. Good, you think as you slip from under the comfort of Fitz's arm. There's plenty of time for you to steal away to your own room, clean up, and get back on task for the day before anyone is the wiser.
Your knees wobble on the first step. All that fulfillment depleted you, and not until you try to walk do you feel weak. You tip-toe instead, not wanting to wake Fitz. Your center still thrums from multiple rounds with him. Biting your lip at the memories your body holds is involuntary, but when you look back at his sleeping form, it is on purpose. Still naked, and so are you. You never sleep naked.
He looks angelic as he sleeps on his stomach. One hand under his pillow and the other languishing in the warm spot you just left. Your face twists into concern when you spot a frown on his beautiful face. Its cause replaces all other thoughts, even when your bladder demands that you turn away and hightail it to that porcelain throne.
Your long stream of release leaves you time to keep thinking of his frowning face. Is he having a bad dream? The campaign? Maybe it's the upcoming breakfast? One look and your mind is occupied with him. You laugh at yourself, feeling as silly as a girl.
But his adorable, youthful pout still burns warm in your cheeks. The feeling travels your whole body. You grab at that space between your breasts, wondering what is happening to you. To be this besotted after one night is pure insanity. Tonight was a glazed cherry on top of a Sundae of feeling—a carefully constructed dessert of many flavors and textures. You allowed yourself a night of indulgence in that sweet treat. Sugar high, you want more. The crash and the guilt are over yonder, too far off for concern. Who are you right now? Just a girl whose heart was pierced by a boy's lovely daggers many moons ago.
You stretch out the kinks in your body, paying special attention to your thighs. The stretching helps, but parts of you continue to ache deliciously from the tangled web the two of you wove for hours. Four hours of deep sleep did you well; you cannot deny how good you feel. So good that when you hug yourself to stretch your arms, your skin is as smooth as the velvety petals of an Amaryllis flower; it tingles against the cool night of February in Georgia.
You have dispensed with turning on the light as to not disturb his sleep. It is still too dark to see or feel Shame. To sit with it and its cousin, Consequences. In this room composed of hard marble and glass, something pliant and green roots itself inside you, ready to bloom in an impending spring of abundance. This is how he makes you feel: fresh, verdant, hungry to be fed and watered. Pruned and tended to. Cared for and to care for him in return. You think about how he closes his eyes each time you sweep a hand down the side of his face. That he does this even if he is in the middle of talking makes you smile like an idiot.
Shit. You do not remember which of these black bottles holds the soap and which holds the lotion; which knob is the one for hot water? The light flickers to life. You wash your hands.
And just like that, a dark thought scurries across your frontal lobe like an unwanted cockroach. In the seconds it takes to dry your hands and apply that thin, racist lotion, your brain flattens the texture of the two times you made love to him—and that glorious midnight fuck that knocked all sense out of you—into a desolate field where only lust grows.
Maybe he just wanted to fuck you…
You look in the mirror at yourself. At your nakedness. Like Eve, you were comfortable and happy until realization dawns, altering your perception. Until now.
Or maybe the dick is all you wanted. It's been a while…
You spin around as if a specter just whispered it in your ear. It is your own brain conjuring this. That critical, protective part of you that evaluates the probability of every potential outcome. Who are you kidding? This night was a fantasy, a hormonal binge of indulgence. You do not know if any of that was true. And you do not have time to examine why those thoughts are even there.
Reality's tick-tock will be at your doorstep soon. You have work to do, so you had better prepare.
These thoughts straighten your spine as you walk upright across the threshold into the bedroom. Your eyes are fixed on the floor, hunting for your undergarments. You spot your bra first and lunge for it.
A lamp flickers to life.
The Talk
"Hi," Fitz says. His baritone is full of night as he sits up in the bed.
"H…Hi," Olivia responds. She is clutching the white bra to her chest with one hand while the other covers the triangle at the top of her thighs. "I didn't mean to wake you. I was just—"
"I know…" he yawns. "…what you're trying to do."
"The pancake breakfast starts in less than two hours, and I—"
"The place is 10 minutes away, Liv." Fitz dismisses as he simultaneously stretches his hand toward her. Barely above a whisper, he adds, "Come here."
Olivia remains anchored to the spot near the bottom of the bed, still panty-less, her breasts shielded only by a façade of lace. "Governor…"
Fitz raises an eyebrow with bored indignation. "Fixer," he playfully mocks in a serious tone. "Do you hear how that sounds?" Turning soft and serious again, he returns to his invitation.
Before she knows it, Olivia is on the bed, flush against Fitz's body. His hands cradle her back in his warmth. He holds onto her like a life raft in stormy seas. Her bra languishes in the empty space on the bed. Against his skin, she feels like a letter slipped easily into an envelope made just for her. The fit is perfect, bespoke. She shakes herself out of this thought because he does not belong to her.
"How could I let you leave that way?" he says against her neck, and sweet kisses follow.
Does he want to fuck you one last time before you leave? Olivia squints her eyes shut to banish the dark thoughts that followed her from the bathroom.
Fitz inhales the scent of her skin like it is morning coffee, and each inhale makes him feel more alive. "I love the way you smell," his voice is still coarse, sexy.
"You mean you like your smell," she smirks into his mussed curls. "Because that's what I smell like—you."
Fitz whips the duvet up and around Olivia's body, tucking it in on the sides for extra warmth.
"No," he takes another whiff. "You smell like us together."
'Us together'hangs mid-air, suspended like a water balloon, waiting to be caught by one of them. Instead, it falls on a concrete of silence, splashing Olivia with a cold, wet reality.
She moves to exit his arms. "I need to leave and get a hot shower."
"Wait. I need to tell you something about last night. I can't let you leave until I do". Fitz steadies her with a large hand, holding her in place—not forcefully, but pleadingly.
Olivia's heart beats out of her chest and pounds in her ears. This is exactly what she wants to avoid. She could not look at him. She looks at his Adam's apple as it bobs up and down with each swallow. This is suddenly more fascinating than the impending bad news that would surely exit his mouth. She knows what is coming next:"I made a mistake,"... "This can never happen again..."or some other empathetic version of"My wife doesn't fuck me, and I really wanted to have sex with you."
The dark recesses of her mind conjure impotent inventions to mask her fears. What should she think? That the man who would be President covets an attachment to her? And dare she feel the same? What could grow in the ashes of morning following last night's fire?
Olivia's head remains against Fitz's chest, and she can feel how calm his heartbeat is. Either he has waited until now to be a smooth liar, or he is going to be honest.
Fitz takes a deep breath. "Last night was…I can't… I'm so…" He struggles. He wants his words to be perfect, with pinpoint accuracy and not a shred of fright.
"You don't have to say it," Olivia saves him the trouble. "If you'll let go of me," she says, twisting her body forcefully as she wriggles away from Fitz. "I plan to take your advice from last night: go into my room and pretend this never happened."
Fitz could feel in her resistance the raw pulp of something unsaid. He let go to find out.
When she was on her feet, she added, "That can apply to the rest of the campaign. I'm a big girl. This need not affect how we work together." She spotted her bra and quickly put it on, her back to the bed. "I came here to do a job and intend on doing it." Unless you're trying to fire me again." There is mild horror on his face when she observes him through the mirror while gathering her jewelry. But he does not take her bait.
Dropping that conversation, Olivia continues moving about the room, getting dressed along the way. For the life of her, she cannot find her panties. She looks under the bed and in every corner of the room. She remembers exactly where Fitz was when he took them off. Frustrated, she puts on her slacks sans underwear. What did it matter? She is heading to her shower in her room, which is just twenty feet away.
Fitz emerges from the bathroom clad in a Navy t-shirt and pair of shorts. He saunters over to his bedside table. "Looking for these," he asks, closing the drawer. The delicate peachy silk material hangs from his forefinger.
Olivia looks pointedly at Fitz, not with offense but with dark curiosity. Snatching them from him, she proclaims, "I will not let you keep a trophy."
The panties he had rescued from the floor were too pretty and delicate to mingle all night with the filthy foot traffic on this carpet. He did not need to keep them; he had not planned on it.
He watches her stuff the panties indelicately into her tote. It makes him smirk. He wonders if she would remember that they are there once she gets back to her room.
Save a hairpin or two, Olivia believes she has collected all her things and is ready to leave. Her hair remains down for now. Bags in hand, she shoots toward the door, where she stops shy of opening it. Her head and heart are at odds again. She should say something; she does not wish to be rude.
Fitz sits on the edge of the bed, his mouth on the verge of ejaculating feelings in Olivia's direction.
"I'll see you in the lobby in forty-five minutes."
"Don't go."
Two very different sentences are spoken simultaneously. Heard by both.
"Fitz, you know I can't stay. The breakfast…the prayer meeting…" Olivia turns around. The face staring back at her is plaintive and true.
"I don't mean now," he says. Again, he reaches for her. "Please."
Olivia accepts his hand and sits side-saddle on his lap. She supposes they should discuss how they would move on from this night, in public and in private.
Fitz looks at her face for a long time, watching her eyes tune until they reached the easy listening station.
"Hi."
"Hi."
"I promise you that I'm aware of the time. I don't want you to go, and I could feel that you…" His thumb brushes across her lips and slides down her neck until it reaches that place between her breasts. "You," he taps her skin, "were leaving. You, who's been with me all night. I don't want her to go."
Olivia didn't wantherto go either. That girl who flowered in the moonlight did not want to go back to a tight bud. But the two of them need to be realistic. Olivia takes Fitz's finger to her lips and kisses it. "I know, but what are we doing?"
For him, that answer begins with what they have already done. "How was last night for you?" he asks.
A question, not instructions. This, she did not expect.
"I don't think now's the right time to reminisce. We have to…"
"Ok, then I'll go first" His arms forms a circle around her. "I was…am overwhelmed with what I feel for you. Love… simply won't do without you, and neither will I."
That word again. Her eyes find no hyperbole in his face.
"I meant what I said, and I'm not afraid of it. You are an incredible woman, and I. Am. In. Love. With. You."
His staccato eliminates any confusion. Scare her or not, he had to repeat these words, for they are the foundation on which he stands.
"Last night was the first time I could show you. I have more than that for you if you'll have me."
He has gone a lifetime without her, and from this morning on, he does not plan to miss her at all. He never wants the sun to go down, only to bask in a perpetual summer of her existence, never far from his side.
His'If you'll have me'repeats in Olivia's head. It is a lovely sentiment that warms her and scares her, too, because sunshine exists in the context of rain.
She tries to imagine the end when their deeds in the dark would be forced into the light. Ruin for her was the only sure outcome; a reputation in tatters. That is how it is for women. And what of him? These are not new thoughts. They had all been considered before she entered this room.The question is not, do I want you. You are not mine to have. She would not say that, of course. Instead, she said the next verifiable thing.
"I have never betrayed my professionalism in this way. Never." Her eyes brim with emotion.
Fitz grabs a tissue to catch their fall. "Tell me why," he queries. "Why did you do it for me?"
Fitz's 5 am alarm blares, and he violently quashes it before Olivia can heed its call to spring into action.
"Please," he continues. "I know what I felt and saw in you last night, but I need to hear it from you." He searches her face.
"I didn't do it for you; I did it for me."
Those words transform his face. Serene inward feelings percolate under the warmth of his ray. The circles he rubs into her back bring her some calm, blotting out immediate concerns about time and obstacles.
"Transformative," she begins. "Last night was transformative. And I believed your public love declaration the first time. Believed what I saw in your eyes the day you looked into mine. I betrayed my own ethics because I believe you. I have since the beginning. Since you all but admitted your attraction that first day. It didn't bother me because you wouldn't be the first. But what's a first for me is that I started thinking about you, too, in the between times, as someone other than the Candidate. But I wouldn't let myself admit it. Until the elevator. That night in the elevator, the way you looked at me…" she shivers involuntarily as the sense memory makes her nipples pucker. "Fever."
Her hand entwines in his, "Fitz, I respect you—the man you've shown yourself to be on and off the Trail. Your shrewdness, empathy, intelligence. I could go on…I just need you to know that respect runs deep for me. And it's—"
"Trust me, it's mutual," he interjects. "Your mind is my favorite thing about you. I look forward every day to what you'll have to say. How you'll dazzle me with a perspective I hadn't thought about. Even when you chastise me for not living up to my highest ideals. It's all part of the attraction. But you must know that you are more than some banal attraction. You're a dazzling solar system."
Olivia takes a deep breath. What does she say to that? "There is nothing banal in our attraction to each other." It is otherworldly. "What you said on the bus? No one has ever made me the axis of their world."
Fitz closed his eyes to sit with that declaration and how it matches the feeling of revolving around her.
"Thank you for being so vulnerable with me." Bringing her hand to his lips, he gently kisses her palm.
"Oh, but there's more…"
"Tell me."
"What will happen now, when we leave our rooms and back on the road? And when you win? What then? And then…Fitz, we—."
He stops her.
"You believe I'll win? You believe in me?"
Her mouth twists into a sympathetic smile. "I don't back losers."
Fitz tickles her ribcage, and Olivia erupts in laughter until they are both back on the bed. Fitz lay prostrate between Olivia's thighs as she kneels over him, attempting to torture him the same way. He refuses, grabbing both her wrists with one hand.
"You are implacable. You won't let me leave."
"Oh?"
"Yes, downright incorrigible."
"You're right; I am stubborn. If I wasn't, I wouldn't know how you truly feel."
She could not deny that.
"But also, to answer your question, what happens now is we continue the rapport we've been building. By day, I'm the Candidate, and you're the Campaign Fixer. Behind closed doors, we're us. That's the only certain thing. So, can we start there?"
Her agreement is sealed with a searing goodbye kiss.
"If you don't behave yourself, you will have new rules, Mister."
"Aye, aye, Captain," he says in salute before they hug for a long time.
It seems simple and yet so complicated. When the door closes behind Olivia, and she walks down the hallway, she cannot help but think: Surely tragedy points in this direction, on this path where she follows love. But then…what was love without tragedy?
A/N: Thanks for going on this journey over well-trodden territory. I've always wanted to put my spin on it. Let me know if you enjoyed it.