The Oval Office ✓ (Book One)

Chapter Forty Six

                                 Ryan's P.O.V

  I've spent over an hour crossing things out. Probably about half of that is from my head bobbing back and forth, trying my hardest to stay awake. Of course, I of all people have no right to complain, as I've just about had it the easiest out of the entire staff this week.

  It still, however, has been forty eight hours since I've slept, and that really says something. I'm gonna need a fucking vacation after this shit. I glance at the clock- and I've got five minutes before the press briefing. I take a single minute to compose myself, combing through my short, matted hair- and attempt, but fail to rub the wrinkles out of my shirt.

  "Here." One of my interns throws a spare button up at me as if he's read my mind. It smells clean enough and there are far less wrinkles in it than the one I'm wearing, so I quickly pull in over my head. "Three minutes." He reminds me.

Shit. I make the walk there, stopping just before the doors. "One minute."

  This feels wrong even though it's not. As the press Secretary, I do have to inform press on any important matters regarding the administration. As instructed, I'm not going to be giving them any details this time. In a couple of weeks or months, that will be for the First Lady to decide wether or not she wants to. But the press haven't seen her in a week, and as one of the strongest advocates for human rights in this country, that gives the people reason to worry.

  "Thirty seconds." Great. Now, I have to go out there and ask fucking vultures to be respectful. A brick wall would respond better to that than these people- as is evident by almost a thousand politicians having to ask them to basically "shut the fuck up about it" after what happened to her earlier this year.

  That's something I'll never understand. How one person can be so goddamn cruel and desperate that they'd constantly bombard a woman who was not in her right mind with questions about, what was, at the time, the second most traumatic thing to ever happen to her.

  As a friend of hers, she, just a couple of months ago, was able to heal fully from that, and used her trauma to be an even better advocate. She told me one time that if she absolutely had to rank the worst things that's happened to her in her life, it would look something like this:

  1. Watching my father shoot my girlfriend when I was fourteen years old
  2. The incident that happened earlier this year
  3. The loss of her baby that followed soon after
  4. Watching people jump to their deaths in person on 9/11 and holding the hand of a woman who somehow survived the fall itself as she died, seeing the life drain out of her in less than ten seconds

  As morbid as it is, and as much as I hate myself for even thinking it, I wonder what that list looks like now. I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the chaos inside the briefing room.

  "Ryan do you have any comment on the rumors that the First Lady has passed?"

  "Ryan can you tell exactly why the presidential motorcade was seen at Walter reed?"

  "Why isn't secret service allowing White House correspondents access to the inside of the hospital right now?"

  "Does the president have any comments on the allegations that he had his wife killed?"

  "If you'd all shut the fuck up for two seconds and listen I would be able to tell you." The press go silent. I don't think they've ever heard me say a single curse word- though I guess we're all acting a little differently this week. "Firstly, the White House is not going to given oxygen to conspiracy theories. I mean seriously- do you fucken hear how delusional and crazy each and every one of you sound right now? The First Lady is alive. The president is alive."

  "Can you give us any comment on why he has invoked the 25th for the second time in his presidency?" A reporter stands up, interrupting me.

  "I was getting to that." I say. "Please, sit down. Since there is obviously nothing I can say to make any of you calm down, I'll give you this. The president has been under a lot of stress with the events of this week which I do not have the authority to disclose as of yet. To the American people,
You may have seen reports the past week saying that the First Lady has been through some traumatic events again. While the Wells administration has prided itself on being one hundred percent truthful, now is not the time to address these reports in full. I'm sure that, at some point in the future- some details will be revealed, but for now at least, let's not have a repeat of what y'all have put her through for months. The First Lady has been through enough, and on behalf of the family, I simply ask that the media be respectful. Because if that was your sister- or your mother, you reporters wouldn't dare say half of the shit you've said about her the past year. Be fucking human beings for once, will ya?"

With that, I crumple up the piece of paper I wrote my script on, walking straight out.

——— Kyle's P.O.V——-

I wake up feeling like I've been asleep for a thousand years. To me, it's almost feels unnatural to get more than four hours of sleep in a day. Even now, I have to fight my eyelids to stay awake as my gaze immediately drifts over to Lauren when they fully open.

She's been propped up, and is now being fed by a cna because most of the skin on her arms is covered in third and second degree burns. "I've got it." I say, taking the tray from the nurse. "Thank you."

"Get out." Lauren says bluntly. There's the side of her most people don't get to see that made me fall in love with her. The one that's straightforward, even now.

"I am so, so sorr-"

Don't you fucking dare apologize for something that's not your fault again, godamnit I love you and nothing that ever happens is going to change that so suck it up and stop apologizing." Her facial expression is hardened- one of somebody whose blocking herself from feeling her real emotions so that she doesn't have to deal with them.

"I love you so much." I say. "Lauren, you're allowed to have human emotions, after what you've been through I don't know if I'd survive-"

"There's something you're not telling me." She interrupts, completely ignoring me. "We've been married for twenty years. I can tell when you're trying to protect me from hearing something because you don't think it's the right time to say it."

Somebody's going to tell her, I think to myself. And I don't want it to come from the news, or a reporter or a secret service agent or her sister. God, Taylor didn't take it well at all. She managed to get her best friend into the White House, whose currently her only support system. I'd go, but there's not really anything I could say to fix it. As far as she knows though, Lauren is just sick. She begged and begged the secret service to take her to see her, but from the text I received, while I was out Lauren gave them specific orders not to, saying she didn't want Taylor to see her like this.

"Kyle."

I brace myself, not knowing how she'll react. "Lauren, your mother... got shot and...died a few seconds after."

"That's it?" She chuckles. "That fucking bitch ruined my life for thirty eight years. I hope she suffered."

"She died saving me. Lauren, while you were missing she was an absolute wreck-"

"Am I really supposed to care about how she felt about anything when she was the one that was too much of a gold digging whore to leave that son of a bitch sperm-donor of a "father" I had before he shot the first person I ever had feelings for? Her saving your life and birthing my sister were the only good things she's done in her fifty three years. I.hope.she.fucking.suffered."

Jesus Christ. As much as I hate to even think it, she's gone. And the Lauren that I know isn't ever going to be the same again.