In Love and Diplomacy

Chapter Eight: Don't Rolo-ver

"These streets are yours, you can keep them
I don't want them
They pull me back, and I surrender
To the memories I run from"

- Bastille, "These Streets"

Chapter Eight

On Tuesday, I worried I had more caffeine in my veins than blood.

On Wednesday, I had to spend most of the day sitting, afraid the room would keep spinning if I stood up. The lack of food and sleep was catching up to me with a hazy flourish.

In the heat of an early Thursday morning, I prayed I'd make it through the next forty-eight hours. I was supposed to leave Friday afternoon, when I'd pack Rolo and my few belongings into my car, and I'd drive far away.

I'd drive until I was surrounded by Capitol buildings. I'd drive until it was all a bad dream, and I could pretend all of my problems were on the West Coast, thousands of miles away. I'd drive until I could sleep again, until I could trust my surroundings again. I would drive—and I didn't know if I would come back.

You will. You will stand at the altar in four months, right beside Kennedy, and smile. You will grit your teeth and count down the hours until you can leave California again.

I would drive, and I would be done. But my job wasn't over yet—I wasn't done yet.

So I pounded through piles of cases, lists of former and present employees, countless emails. I spent hours dissecting every threat, every sneeze in the wrong direction, every questionable detail in court records. Everything was turned over to the authorities who worked their own investigation. What little time I had left after work was spent at the hotel, relaxing with the one consistent good in my life.

"Good boy."

Rolo looked up with a wide, drooling grin.

Walking a dog downtown could be difficult. While Rolo was used to living in apartments, he wasn't used to walks surrounded by busy crosswalks and dozens of pedestrians. There were a million things to see, smell, and hear. Though, I never walked too far from the hotel; I preferred to take Rolo in circles, maintaining a close proximity to the building.

Staying downtown is good practice for D.C.—We'd both better get used to this, bud.

I'd had to get used to a few things too, including security at the hotel. I'd met Julian, who warmly greeted me each morning in the lobby, and his partner Sam, who always stood watch on the other side. When I got back to the hotel in the late evenings, Tyson greeted me instead; his partner Brian was stationed in Sam's spot. In the parking garage, Dirk or Trevor watched as I got into my car.

I'd found peace in the familiarity, in knowing they were there. They were trained and ready, and even though my heart would pound when a stranger walked by, I knew I was safe. At the very least, I was safer than I'd be if I was in my apartment alone.

I am safe. I am safe. I am safe. I am safe.

Rolo became very friendly with the team, often dragging me to say hello to his new friends. Even the hardened, stoic bodyguards cracked a smile when Rolo crashed at their feet begging for attention.

My hand tightened around the leash as we hurried towards the hotel doors. Rolo was panting as we entered the cool air of the pristine lobby; despite it being relatively early in the morning, the California sun felt intense as it burned between the concrete. Both Rolo and I were exhausted from the heat.

We sluggishly made our way toward the elevator. I twisted one hand securely on the leash as we did, using the other to hold my itchy hair off my damp neck. I briefly dropped the frizzed curls to send a wave to Sam and Julian, the latter of which was standing in the corner talking on the phone. His hand shot up in a short wave before he returned to the call. Sam nodded from across the lobby.