My hands roam all over her shaking frame, unable to think enough to answer.
“Tell me…” I take her mouth again as she speaks. “Did s-something…” She whimpers when I cup her breast. “H-Happen?”
Between broken breaths and dizzying kisses, I force myself to slow down. Still holding her impossibly close as I cup her cheek with one hand. I know she needs answers first, my mouth later—hopefully.
“I lost Daniel Penner’s vote.”
Her eyes widen.
“But I still won because of you. You really do love me, huh?”
A glare immediately lands on my face, making me grin. But her lips twitch despite herself.
I slide both hands up to cradle her face, framing an answer to a question I know she hasn’t asked, but probably needs. “I would’ve been here regardless, by the way.”
Her smile disappears, and I see her searching myeyes. Looking for any trace of disappointment. Any hint that this only matters because I won.
Never, baby.
“There was never a version of today where I didn’t end up here.” My thumbs brush away the emotion already gathering in her eyes. “I would’ve been standing in this office even if the vote went the other way.”
Her bottom lip wobbles.
God.
My heart.
Her fingers tighten around the lapels of my blazer.
Then I feel it—a small tug.
The motion hits me right in the chest. Not because she needs a hug. I’m already holding her, so that isn’t it.
No.
This is something else. This is simply Cece wanting me closer than I am. Wantingme.
I bend down and kiss her forehead. Then her cheek. Then the corner of her mouth. Until she’s laughing through watery eyes. Until she’s leaning into me completely, pulling me in by my neck. Letting me devour her once again.
When I reluctantly pull back, we’re both a panting, breathless mess.
“Home?” I ask, albeit hesitantly. I can see she knows what I’m asking—hoping.
The answering, shy grin that spreads across her face feels more rewarding than the presidency ever could. “Yeah,” she whispers. “Let’s go home.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Cece
It’s been exactly four days since I started my new medication. And other than occasional headaches, I haven’t built much of a relationship with them.
The last time I was on Abilify was years ago. So, it almost feels like a new experience.
But it wasn’t until a few days ago that I realized something else.
I neverwantto build a relationship with any medication. The fact that this vocabulary even lives in my brain is a terrifying thought.
When I abruptly stopped Seroquel a few months ago, I had plummeted towards what felt like an endless, empty pit. That blackness had left little room for me to breathe through any kind of emotions—let alone identify them.
