Presidential Pursuit: A Kamala Harris lesbian love story

Chapter 19

I didn't stay much longer after the whole debacle. That shit Doug pulled made my heart drop. More than that, it made my skin crawl. I wanted to vomit. Kamala didn't protest; I think she was just as stunned, if not more. She seemed completely out of it, so I just grabbed my stuff and went home to think about what the fuck had just happened. I didn't even hug or kiss her goodbye. Nothing.

The next day, I got to work earlier than usual so I could talk to Kamala alone in her office. I knew she'd be there too. I just had a feeling. We operated similarly on that front—drowning out reality with work. It never worked, but we always tried.

"Come in."

She didn't look surprised to see me when I walked in and closed the door, but there was something in her eyes. I couldn't really place it, but I was sure I was about to find out in a few seconds. Here we go.

Before I even walked up, she sighed and dropped the papers in her hand.

"How can I help you, Miss Fields?"

Oh... I haven't heard that one in a minute...

I looked around the room toward the invisible audience, hoping someone—anyone, God even—caught how out of place her tone and the way she addressed me were, considering the weekend we had together.

"Uhh... why?"

"Why what?" she said, cluelessly.

"Why are you calling me that...?" I asked, crossing my arms in annoyance.

"Is that not your name?"

I let her sarcastic little comment linger for a few seconds, staring in disbelief. Then I sighed and dropped my hands to my sides. I wasn't in the mood, nor did I have the patience for whatever stunt she was trying to pull.

"Cut the shit, Kamala. Why are you acting like that?"

"I'm not acting like anything," she said, blinking her eyes with a slight shrug.

"You're being pissy, and I honestly don't care, so I'll just talk."

Her brows shot up, and her mouth opened to say something, but I didn't give her the chance.

"I don't understand why every time shit hits the fan, you act like it's my fault. I think you forget, 'cause for some reason I let you walk all over me. But please don't mistake that as your invitation to disrespect my feelings. You're the one who's married here, not me."

"I—"

"I wasn't finished," I said sternly.

Her mouth closed again, and she furrowed her brows, blinking at my sudden defiance.

"Usually, I keep this stuff to myself because I actually do respect you and would rather see myself suffer, but I'm getting reeeally tired of it. Your husband, Kamala? Piece of shit. Point blank period, and—"

"Emily, you cannot—"

"I still wasn't finished. You're gonna listen. And see, that's what I'm talking about. Are you actually going to sit here and try to defend him? Don't you see how manipulative he is? He's blackmailing us! FOR THE SECOND TIME. Why are you even with him, huh? Do you love him? Is it just political? Are you worried about your image? Is that it? You're the president already, for God's sake; you got the job. No one's going to take it away from you if you leave him. I mean, yeah, sure, you'd be the first one to do so in office, but you're also the first female president. Lots of firsts here, so why stop there?"

The last part came off bitchy, but I was so angry. I looked at her, dumbfounded, and scoffed. Saying it all out loud made the entire situation sound so ridiculous, and I could see her taking in every word.