Mr. President

“That’s right, Roger, the Hamilton campaign pulled off an impressive feat this year until, well, that incident where Hamilton failed to appear and give comments on the rumors—” the anchor is saying, and I grab the remote and shut off the TV, glancing at Charlotte in silence.

It bothers me to have the media speculate about her, and today I have no patience for it.

Her crystal-blue eyes look at me and pink crawls up her sweet cheeks. There’ll be no kissing the pink away from those cheeks. And suddenly the feeling of impotence bothers me too.

The room falls silent as I toss the remote aside. Carlisle lights up another cigarette by the window, and I soon leave Jack on the couch and join him. I can almost hear the clock ticking in my head when Mark barges inside.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

“Turnout was unprecedented,” Mark begins.

She looks at me helplessly for one second, and my eyes meet hers, the excitement in Mark’s voice crackling in the room.

“You’ve won enough states to secure the electoral college vote.”

A chorus of gasps and exclamations follow the declaration.

“Holy crap!”

“OH MY GOD!”

“Fuck, I knew it!” This last remark from Carlisle.

The second it takes my mind to process what I heard, I am with my father. He’s standing in this room wearing that proud grin he used to when he talked about me, and he’s telling Charlotte, He’s going to be president one day …

My eyes seem to have a will of their own as they slide unerringly to lock on Charlotte.

She’s looking down at her lap, with a smile on her lips and a single tear on one cheek as she stands to face me. It seems to take her a moment to fully realize what she heard too. She’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen as she wipes the tear away, leaps like a girl, and clasps her hands together. Her pulse flutters, and my mouth wants to be right on hers, I want my hands on her, I want myself in her.

She keeps a distance and allows the others to come and congratulate me first. Hugs and cheer, and claps, Carlisle booting up the TV for even more confirmation, and I look at the screen, strongly resolved to take care of what I’ve been given. America is mine.

I’m being engulfed by Carlisle, hands shaking, everyone congratulating.

“Matt! Now’s the time for champagne.”

Someone is bringing back the bottle I made them remove earlier.

Charlotte hangs back, and it isn’t until everyone in the room has had their say that she steps forward, her voice betraying nothing.

“You’re this close to being president, Matt,” she says, showing me with her little fingers.

I smile and think to myself, Not as close as I was to telling you I loved you back.

She’s the last to hug me, and when I pull her small frame into my arms, she pulls back hastily; Charlotte making sure I hugged her for the same length of time I hugged each of the others.

It’s not enough.

I hug her with my damn eyes as she lets go. She gathers her things and tucks a glorious strand of red hair behind her ear, and then walks away.

I’ve never been so aware of the price I paid for my victory.