When the elevator slides open, I send the kids upstairs with a promise I’ll stop by before I leave.
Then I force myself to walk down to the West Wing.
Elliot’s office door is closed. I’m one of three people, besides Secret Service, who are allowed to open the door without knocking first, if it’s closed.
Shae and Kev are the other two.
Not even Elliot’s own chief of staff has permission to walk in without knocking and waiting for a response. It’s one of the few ways Elliot can silently defer to me around others without it raising eyebrows. If it’s ever needed, we’ll use the excuse that I’m conducting business for the president and I require immediate access.
Today, since it’s Sunday, Elliot’s alone in his office, and all of his staff—at least the ones based over here and who don’t work out of the EEOB—have the day off.
I’m supposed to have the day off, too, but we already know howthatworked out for me.
I stand there for a moment with my hand resting flat on the cool surface of the door while trying to make up my mind what to do.
I’m frustrated, I’m hurting…and I don’t know if face-time with Elliot right now is a smart move on my part.
Except I love him. I know he loves me.
And I’ve already lost so much.
There’s a lot of relatively fucked up mental and emotional garbage in Elliot’s head, garbage that he’s been unable to adequately address because of his self-made prison and futile attempts to earn his family’s approval and respect.
That’s in addition to a heaping dose of PTSD and survivor’s guilt that he’s never truly sought help for.
I have two choices.
I can shove Elliot away once and for all and complete the destruction of my personal life, meaning I walk away from my job and Washington altogether. Staying if I’ve broken up with Elliot would hurt too damn much, and I’m no masochist.
Then again, all these years spent circling Elliot have been emotional masochism, haven’t they?
Except leaving also means shredding Elliot emotionally, and the thought of doing that guts me. It would also mean letting Chris down and opening the triad to exposure, and the thought of that grates on me even worse. I’ve been asked to uphold a trust. I don’t take that lightly. Especially considering who Shae is.
Or, my other option is that I can suck it up and try to deal with this like an adult.
Like the “master” I claim to be.
Unfortunately, I currently have zero confidence in my abilities in that area. I know Elliot’s hurting, but my resentment is making it difficult for me to set my pain aside.
I take a deep breath, grab the doorknob…
And find it’s locked.
My left hand’s already squeezed into a tight fist and halfway up to angrily pound on his door before I catch myself and common sense takes over.
No. I willnotdo this.
Especially nothere.
I’m a fucking adult, and this is the goddamned White House.
The burner in my pocket is one of three cell phones I usually carry, and it’s exclusively used to text and call Elliot. I leave it in my pocket and head upstairs to see the kids one more time, clarify with Shae it’s all right if I take off for the rest of the day, and then I head out. I’m three blocks from the White House when I pull out the burner and fire off a text.
Stopped by office & door locked. Message received. See you whenever next wk. GD
Yes, it’s passive-aggressive—emphasis on the aggressive—and I’ll fucking own that.
Unfortunately, I’m currently out of fucks, flying or otherwise. It’s best I separate myself from him for now before I say or do something I cannot take back.
