Chapter 7: 7. You Don't Have to Want to

Way Down We Go - KALEO

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The White House – The Walls Closing In

Kamala stands before a row of flashing cameras, her face a perfect mask of composure. The press briefing room is suffocating, the air thick with barely restrained chaos.

"Madam President, do you deny the allegations that you used your office for personal affairs?"

"Madam President, is it true that you prioritized a personal relationship over national security?"

"Madam President, were you in love with—"

Kamala lifts a hand, silencing the room.

"This administration remains focused on serving the American people," she says, voice steady. "I will not be distracted by baseless speculation or politically motivated attacks."

The words taste like ash.

She doesn’t let it show.

Your Apartment

You’re staring at the TV, watching Kamala field questions with that same calculated, untouchable expression she always wears in crisis.

Your phone is vibrating non-stop. Calls. Messages. Some from numbers you don’t recognize. Some from numbers you do.

Doug.

You don’t answer. You already know what he wants to say.

Then, another call.

Diana.

Your stomach turns.

You pick up.

"Sweetheart," she purrs, as if nothing has happened.

"Go to hell." You practicly laugh out. If you weren't laughing- you would be crying.

"Now, now," Diana chides, her voice laced with amusement. "No need to be ungrateful. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For her to feel it?"

"I never wanted this." Wrong. Maybe you did want this- untill you realized what it actually all meant.

"Then you’re even more naive than I thought."

You grip the phone tighter, every muscle in your body taut. "I’m done with you." You said, you couldn't keep living the lie with Diana. No matter how great the sex was, or how gorgeous she was. She was a shitty person.

Diana hums, unfazed. "You’ll change your mind soon enough."

You hang up.

The room feels unbearably small.

Then, a knock at your door.

Your heart stops.

You already know who it is. There are only two people which it could be.

And surprisingly enought, its the less  expected person. Kamala doesn’t wait for an invitation. She steps inside, closing the door behind her with quiet finality.

For the first time since the leaks, you’re face to face.

You expect her to be furious. You expect sharp words, accusations, anything but—

But she just stands there, watching you.

"You destroyed me," she says finally. Her voice is quiet, but the words land like a punch. You did try to destroy her so it was no use making up excuses.

"Kamala, I—"

"Do you know what I’ve had to do to fix this?" Her jaw tightens. "To make sure this doesn’t bring down my entire presidency? Do you even understand what you've done? I mean yeah sure- getting personal revenge is one thing, but there must be some sort of line you cannot cross god damn."

You flinch. "I didn’t—"

"You didn’t think," she cuts in, stepping closer. "You didn’t think about what she was doing, or why she was asking, or how easily you were handing her everything she needed to ruin me."

"I never wanted to ruin you." Your voice is barely above a whisper. At this point, your not sure if your telling the truth or lying. You did want to ruin her in a certain way- to see her crawl back to you. But not like this.

Kamala exhales sharply, running a hand down her face.

Then she laughs. Soft, bitter.

"That’s the worst part, isn’t it?" she murmurs. "You never had to want it. It still happened. So it doesn't really matter. I guess this is how you felt."

Silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken things.

"Do you hate me?" you ask. Its the only thing that came to your mind, and it might have been cringe but so what? It did break the silence.

Kamala doesn’t answer.

Instead, she steps even closer, and for a moment, you think—hope—that she might touch you. Might give in to the tension crackling between you like a live wire.

But then, she pulls back.

"I don’t have the luxury of hating you, the luxury of hating anyone" she says, voice cold again. "I have a country to run."

She then turns around leaves without another word.

And you are left with the realization that this—this moment, this loss, this unbearable ache—

For a moment it feels as if it is entirely your fault. But then you remember the beggining. There are always two sides to the same coin.