oh, mr president | H.S.

FOURTEEN: Broken Fools

"Frequently the more trifling the subject, the more animated and protracted the discussion." - Franklin Pierce

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F O U R T E E N : Broken Fools

Over the course of a week, Ophelia and Harry have opened up to each other on certain topics. Ophelia is still scarce about the discussion of her mother's relationship with her, but she has comfortably explained her troubles dealing with her father's structure childhood specifically for her. They've gone on three more dates since the stalker incident, and their fights have been limited to only five times a day. Which is great for them.

        Similarly to any day of the week, their opposing views cause them to collide explosively. Harry finds it frustrating that they fight so much and Ophelia agrees, but the sexual tension afterwards is almost enough to pull two opposite ends of a magnet together.

         Today, Ophelia did not favor the way Harry spends a large amount of last week with Jacquelyn. Harry, growing furious at her accusations, shouted against the claims and dodged the clothing items of hers that she threw like daggers to him. She had spent the night in the presidential suite after his request, but the morning after was ruined after Jacquelyn called him three times while they were in bed. Ophelia was angered by the disruptions and rose the question. Now, they are screaming at each other and inflicting ear damage to the security service agents outside the door.

          "Ophelia, stop throwing clothes at me like some five year old!" He belted, "I told you I wasn't seeing Jacquelyn anymore since we've been going on dates!"

        "Then why did she call you three times today?! I wouldn't give a damn if she was just some random employee, but you and her slept together!" Ophelia angrily shot one of his tee shirts at his torso before she began to stuff blouse inside her pencil khaki skirt in a rush.

        "I told you that doesn't matter! We are going on dates so it has nothing to do with her now!" Harry's fingers buttoned up his shirt while staring into the tall mirror in the far corner of his bedroom. "You are throwing a tantrum, so stop being a child!"

         "I'm the child?" She scoffed under her breath as she slipped into her pumps. "Oh, please!"

        "Yes, you are acting like a baby! She is my press secretary, so what do you expect for us to do, Ophelia?!" He yelled as he snatched the tie that was chosen for him, and he tossed it over his neck. "Can you do this for me?"

        Ophelia was bent over picking up the scattered clothing she threw to re-pack her suitcase, and her head snapped up at his voice asking for something. Her hazel orbs narrowed at him, giving him a face that gave the chills upon his spine. "No! I'm not doing something for you!" She stomped to the vanity to apply her makeup for the work day.

         "Fine!" He pouted, repeating the process his father taught him when he was five years old. When he completed his appearance to look suitable, he took a few steps to a seated Ophelia in front of the mirror applying her foundation. He stood quietly, watching her cover up the small, unnoticeable freckles that he had the privilege of seeing. "You know, you don't need makeup, Ophelia."

         "Shut up," She hissed as he groaned and yanked the tools she used from her pale fingers to slam to the counter. His hands gripped on her shirt's material, shifting her forward for their lips to meet.