Trump x Pence

Afterwards

    Nerves and static and heat. Then cold and hollow and dry. Now somewhere swaying in between the two. It was so surreal that Trump was questioning whether or not it had actually happened. And if it did happen, how did it happen? It was a frightening display of passion, but was it reciprocated? Trump was, for the first time in his life, truly scared. Pence had a way of drawing up new emotions in Him. He wasn't sure if he had overstepped his bounds, no he definitely had. But maybe Mike kissed back, no he pushed away. Circling, racing thoughts swirled into a rampant storm in his mind. There was no more calm. He remembered the sweet taste of his lips and the warmth of his timid embrace, but it was a mistake.
   He paced through halls once again, there was not a more certain sign of emotional turmoil than if Trump paced through the halls. It was brisk and harsh and passionate and ugly. His frustrations were splitting him into pieces and those pieces split again and fought amongst themselves. He dreaded another sleepless night in agony, but somehow he walked himself tired and drifted to unconsciousness.
     He awoke not to the warmth of the morning light, but to his passionless, frigid wife, Melania. She was back from her trip already. "Wake up!" she ordered him. He startled awake, "Melania, you're back already?" She looked at him with disdain "Why you not remember when I come to home?!?" Trump shrugged her off, he couldn't deal with her, not today. Not after all that had happened. She stormed of the same way she entered. Trump could hear the echoes of the slamming doors and the distant humming of a car engine.
    At least she's gone, with any luck she's having an affair. Then there would be a reason for them to divorce. A horrid aftermath plagued his brain, he was tired and torn. All the afternoon his brain kept running, reality came to welcome him and his anxieties grew. The whole situation finally set in and he realized how horrible it was. Never peace always turmoil always two states of mind always one or the other. He convinced himself that Pence was appalled, that he was going to file a lawsuit. At the same time he imagined himself lying in bed with Pence his naked body in front of him the soft and- No he thought. It was wrong, Pence pushed away. He pushed away because you are a disgusting, horrid creature. 
   He had to do something about it, he couldn't keep on like this, he had to call Pence, he had to know. He always had to know. He was shaking now half on the brink of insanity his blood rushing to his face, the face of a mad man. Pacing and racing through the halls like the most terrifying, pathetic monster plaguing the Earth. Wrought with anguish he picked up the phone from the pocket or the table or in the hall. He dialed the number and he sunk further and further from reality. The ringing screeched out as sweat ran down his face. The hall turned to a bright blood red and he fell to his feet.
   Then Pence's voice through the phone "Donald, Donald I want you." He heard him say "Donald wake up! Don't speak to me ever again!" And then it turned distorted and corrupted. In the silence and the dark of the hall. His mind was quiet, was this peace? he thought, is this finally it? No, it wasn't it was a terrible mix of confusion, exhaustion, and terror. What time was it? What happened?
   He got up from the floor, his arms stiff he hobbled to his bedroom to look at the clock. 5am. What all had happened, he didn't know. He was defeated and overcome with sunken sorrow. So in distress he cried in pure innocence. Without realizing it he called Pence. "Hey Donald, are you ok?" Trump tried to steady his voice, "Yes, uh did I happen to call you last night? I had been drinking a little to much last night haha." There was a slight pause, "Ya, I must've been sleeping, you called at 1am!" He took a great breathe of relief, "Mike, I have to tell you, about last night..." And another pause this time lasting for quite a while, "I, I don't know- I don't know if you know- I have a alcohol problem, I was clean for the longest time but I slipped up, you know how it is the rich scene, people everywhere all the time with the drinks and..." Trumped hoped that it sounded realistic as he waited for Pence to say something anything. "Yeah it sure was something last night haha." Trump didn't know how to react to this, Pence didn't seem to mind what had happened.
   Trump scrambled for a response, something that would give him more information about the situation. He couldn't come up with anything so he said "Are we good?" "Yeah, we're fine. I'll talk to you later Donald." "Hey, before you hang up I got word that the interview has been pushed up to this Thursday." He lied. "Oh, hmm I think I can make it work." "See you there."
    Every time he spoke to Pence all logic was replaced with desperation and madness. How was he going to move the interview. But more than that, Pence's responses were troubling to him. Did he truly brush the whole thing off as a joke. He looked at the situation with logic, as if it could apply to such outlandish circumstances. Pence is a bit numb brained, but not an idiot surely he must know, right? Could he believe the alcohol abuse story, I suppose it is common enough to believe. But could he really have thought it to be a joke, because the way he looked at me last night and the way I looked at him- Surely he must know. He can't be unbothered by this whole situation!
    He took a deep breath. He needed to ground himself, he had to keep up with his lie.