Madam President ✓

48. Interviews

Tanya

    I close my eyes and let the champagne trickle down my throat to distract from the aching in my feet. It's been a long fucking day for everybody- especially Darrel, who gave the go ahead for his interview with Meg Haines to be aired. Sitting across the couch from me now, it's clear how tired he is- not just from a lack of sleep but from having to deal with other reporters asking for comments all day.

  He downs half of his first glass in two seconds, only slowing down because I make him.

  "I'm sorry she was... so awful to you. You didn't deserve that."

  "Yeah well...." He stares off into space, thinking. "At least she's awful to everyone."

  -Darrel's P.O.V, 5 days ago -

  I try to rub the tiredness from my eyes but only end up making it worse. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror I hate myself for agreeing to this. I'm not ready. I know that, but I can't run away from the fact that I was supposed to be the president for eight years. I was elected by the people twice. The only reason I'm not sitting in that desk is because of what happened- the exact reason I've tried to avoid reporters.

I let her into my house because the rumors were getting out of control. Some conspiracy sites say I'm involved in the bombing- that I was the real organizer and my wife and daughter are stowed away somewhere safe. Others have gone as far as to say I had their body doubles killed and chopped up for the funeral. You'd think a grieving former president who lost everything would get more respect than this, but no.

  "Mr.President-" My head of security knocks on the bathroom door, making sure I haven't tried to overdose again. The past year, he's had to protect me more from myself than outside threats. I know I've put that man and the very few friends I have left through hell, and that I'm teetering on the edge of being court ordered to see a psychiatrist, but I can't help it. "Ms.Haines is here."

  "Okay I'll... I'll be down in a few minutes." I tuck the greasy piece of hair that normally sticks to my forehead behind my ear and shake my head. As the president, you have official stylists and makeup artists that make sure nothing is out of place. It's not that I don't have the money to now, it's that the process of hiring new employees takes up more energy than I have. So today the world will see me as I am- not the touched up version they're used to.

  I adjust my jacket and walk out into the bedroom, immaculately kept by the housekeeper despite my near constant refusal to leave it. My head of security still stands by the door. He looks me up and down, thinking he's being subtle- checking for anything off.

  When he's satisfied I step past him. I stand at the top of the stairs and listen to the movement in my living room. A familiar woman is barking orders at a cameraman, her attitude completely different than when she's on air. Ah, I guess everybody in D.C is a fucking politician now-

  "Sir? Are you okay?" Another agent asks.

  I turn my whole body towards her.

  "What the fuck do you think?" I ask ironically. "You have a daughter right? She's nine? Tell me, would you be fucking okay?"

  "No sir." She regrets responding the second the words leave her mouth. "But... you don't really have a choice. Regardless of how you feel you are a former president. Whether you want them to or not people look up to you."

  "I know that." I shake my head. "What else  do you think goes through my head in the five hours I toss and turn before I don't go to sleep at night?"