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Here I am on Christmas Eve, standing in the Oval Office with the lights off, watching the snowfall outside. The air is frigid and the wind is picking up, and I'm alone tonight, and I feel like I deserve it. Or so it seems to me, at least.
I sat down heavily in my chair, letting my eyes close for a moment as I breathe deeply and try to clear my head. The office smells like cigars, but the scent doesn't bother me; in fact, it's kind of comforting. The Republicans decided to use my personal transgressions as a reason to impeach me. They're going through this whole convoluted legal dance because I lied about my affair, and charged me with perjury and obstruction of justice in the process.
I did expect some political consequences for my actions, I'm the President after all, but not this level of scrutiny. I'm at risk of being stripped of my power—or worse. I was already being held accountable for my conduct under the circumstances; now that my infidelity is public knowledge… they're liable to do something drastic to get rid of me.
I open my eyes. The office is silent except for the whirring of the heater running against the wall. There's an odd quality to the quiet, though—a hush in the otherwise cacophonous room. A hush that feels almost anticipatory, somehow. I turned on the TV in the room and watch as the news reports start to come on. There are shots of the House of Representatives meeting in session about my impeachment proceedings, which I don't know if anyone is even listening to anymore.
As I watch their decisions being made that could probably take days, weeks, or even months before the House decides what will happen to me, I sat there, motionless, tears threatening to spill over, trying desperately not to break down and lose control of myself. If this had been any other circumstance, I would have let my guard down and started bawling like there's no tomorrow, but it's not, and I'm trying not to let my fear show through the cracks. It isn't easy.
The news changes onto a more lighthearted one, with families celebrating the holidays around the country. And just like that, my anxiety returns full force. My people are happy for Christmas, but here I am, the most powerful man in the country and I feel all miserable as my family is probably on the verge of breaking into pieces because of how much hurt I caused them. Because of who I am. Because of my mistakes, and my lies. All the years I've tried to be strong and reliable, and yet I couldn't even hold myself together for so long.
What good is a president if they can't protect their loved ones? What kind of protector am I, to lie to my own wife, to keep her in the dark and hide the demons within myself from her? I feel sick with guilt and shame every day, wondering what might've happened if things had gone differently. Wondering if maybe I'd done the right thing, and stopped myself. Or if I'd told her the truth instead of lying through my teeth.
I look back outside and see the lights of Washington twinkling far off in the distance, illuminating the world and making my heart ache. In a few hours, Christmas will be here again, bright and shining on everyone's faces, and I'll be spending the night by myself, thinking about everything that can gone wrong. The fact that I haven't slept well in a week and barely ate all weekend only makes it worse, making the darkness in my head darker still.
It's strange that the holidays are such a huge part of life in this country. The celebration and festivities of the holidays always bring a sense of hope and happiness to the entire nation. They make us forget our darkest moments, and remind us why we live and love each other, because nothing matters more than family.
Right. Family. The word sends a shiver down my spine, bringing another wave of sadness. I don't think we can celebrate Christmas properly this year, considering my current position. But I need to do something to make my family and I feel a little closer again, even if it may be a bittersweet thing. Something to ease my guilt. To lift the heavy weight on my shoulders. If only I knew where to go from here.
A knock on the door jerks me out of my reverie. I turn toward the sound, and the door swings open to reveal one of the White House secretaries. He looks apologetic as he walks in and shuts the door behind him. "Sir," he says softly. "Hm?" I hum, confused. What could possibly matter at this hour? "You're almost late for the Christmas dinner."
I stood up, my legs feeling stiff. "Didn't I say the dinner is at 8:30 pm? It's only 6:00 right now." He nods, holding his hands behind his back. "Um, we figured out that you could be a little bit more punctual, 'cause, errr.." His face flushes red when he realizes he has to continue. "...you have a reputation for...being late...and that it won't hurt anything...to be on time..." He looks away, staring intensely at the carpet.
"I have some stuff to do first," I reply dismissively, rubbing my eyes. I really didn't want to deal with this today, especially not right now. I felt exhausted from the stress of dealing with the media fallout of my recent testimony, and then the stress of trying to figure out how to fix all these messes. "I'll get ready soon" I promise quietly, motioning him to leave. He does, and leaves the door cracked open, so I can hear him pacing back and forth outside.
I look over to the other side of the desk and picks up one of the files sitting neatly atop the stack. I skim it over a couple times, marking what's needed to be highlighted and jotting some notes down on paper beside it. Most of files left are for various ambassadors to multiple countries, but occasionally I come across things that require more information or more research. When I finish writing down my notes, I pick up the stack of papers and place them inside the filing cabinet.
My attention goes to the small Christmas tree placed strategically in the corner of the room, near where the Lincoln portrait was hung. I walk over to it and stand next to it, sighing as I stare at the large, golden star. My one wish this holiday season is that I make amends with everyone close to me, considering the people are scared because the world could end once the millennium rolls over. That I make up for everything I ever put them through.
Since I killed some time off, I decided to get myself groomed for the dinner later. I went to the residence hall, to the closet to grab a custom-tailored tuxedo and a fancy bowtie I found in the bottom drawer. But before that, I need a bath. I haven't bothered to bathe earlier, and I'm starting to become reacquainted with my body's scents. I open the door to the bathroom and immediately flinched as I saw Hillary in the porcelain tub, peacefully resting in the water.
She raises her head carefully and opens her eyes to see me standing there, her expression neutral. She sits up and leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, staring at me. As much as our ongoing counseling sessions help us work through issues, it's difficult to maintain some semblance of normalcy with her sometimes—especially now. She sometimes shuts me out completely. Even though she knows the both of us are still hurting and dealing with a lot, she's still distant with me.
She still finds it difficult to trust me. And that hurts—but not as much as having to see her like that. Seeing her sitting in that tub, in that moment, made the pain in her eyes seem so real—so much deeper and harder to bear. I can see the anger and bitterness, and the frustration boiling beneath the surface. I know it too well, and I hate to admit it, but I can sympathize with that. Hell, I'm furious at myself too. I stood there awkwardly for what seemed like forever, unable to find the right words to speak. I thought to myself that I should just take a shower and I slowly walk out.
"Don't leave." Hillary doesn't raise her voice; I wonder if she even realized she said that out loud. Her gaze never wavers from mine as she speaks, and she doesn't look particularly angry. Rather, her eyes convey concern. I look at her, dumbfounded, for several seconds without saying a word. I can't decide whether I'm glad or disappointed that she said that. On the other hand, I expected she wouldn't talk to me at all tonight, or that she would try to act like she hasn't noticed my presence. Not expect her to want me to stay here, or that she wants me here now.
"I wasn't planning to," I tell her in an almost defeated tone. "I was thinking about taking a bath but you're here and...well, I thought it might bother you." I try for a smile but it falls flat as my jaw drops and my head hangs low. She doesn't respond, simply continues to watch me silently. After several minutes, we remain frozen in that uncomfortable silence, until finally she decides to break it. "You can join me, if you want."
The invitation catches me off guard, and my head shoots up. Hillary looks at me, and I know she means it. She isn't pretending. She really wants me to join her in the tub, and not just because the whole situation sucks. She knows I can't handle being alone, no matter how bad things are going in our lives, but she needs comfort right now as much as I need solace. And the last thing I want to do right now is disappoint her further. So I nod and start unbuttoning my suit jacket and my pants, dropping them onto the floor as I walk towards the tub, pulling off my shoes and socks.
After tossing my clothes into a heap near the wall, I step into the hot water and sit down with my back against the edge, facing her. Our legs touch under the water. It's quiet for a while as we simply sit in the warm water together, watching and listening to the soft splash of the water hitting the sides of the tub. I tried to remember when was the last time we bathe together. It feels like years ago, but I can't quite pinpoint exactly when the last time was.
Hillary looks at me with no sign of animosity or disgust on her face and waits, waiting for a reply from me. "Thank you," I mutter, still not able to find any courage to look at her straight in the eye. My voice sounds hoarse, and I can't seem to stop my hands trembling a little as I rub my palms on the tops of my thighs. She cracks a small smile and a chuckle.
"Heard that your approval ratings were shot through the roof yesterday. Everyone was talking about it." My cheeks flush pink, and my brows furrow a little. "How did that happen, anyway? The country is making fun of me right now," I grumble, sinking lower in the water. Hillary takes my hand, and I quietly gasped at the contact. I looked back up at her, my breath hitching, and she squeezes my palm comfortingly in her grip.
"They don't know what you're doing," She pauses to correct herself, "We're doing to get better." I nod slowly, not sure whether to believe her or not. "I don't know if I'll ever get better," I mumbled lowly, looking down at our joined hands. Her thumb strokes absentmindedly over the back of my hand. "You will, I know you can. I made my fair share of mistakes too, I should've noticed that you needed help, and we could've avoided all of this if I just knew what you were going through." She lets go of my hand and starts running her fingers through her hair, letting it fall loose around her shoulders.
"None of it is your fault. I didn't follow my conscience and got carried away. I should've been brave enough to tell everyone the truth and explain my side in the first place, and even if I didn't do it, I should've asked for help in the beginning. There's no excuse for my actions, and I can't turn back time to fix them. I'm stuck with the consequences, forever." I let out a sad laugh, not really finding humor in the situation.
I can't recall how many times I apologized to her for my own shortcomings. How many times I told her how sorry I was for pushing her aside and making decisions for me without consulting with her. I feel sick to think about the countless conversations we've had over these past few months, most of them ending in us yelling at each other. We both agreed that we couldn't continue to ignore or avoid the feelings that were slowly destroying us from inside. It was time for us to finally face everything we've shoved down for years, to face the problems that we've kept bottled inside, and deal with them as best we could.
"I'm still really thankful that you decided to do counseling with me, even if it's not your ideal way of dealing with situations like these. You could've asked for a divorce immediately after I came clean-" Hillary grips my hand tight again, squeezing it in reassurance and keeping me grounded to reality. "I said we would have a divorce if we think being separated is the best thing for the both of us. I wanted to give myself some time to heal the wound you inflicted."
I knew how hurt she was when she found out. The sight of her standing in front of me crying, trembling, and looking so betrayed, screaming 'Why did you do this to me?' and 'Why did you lie?' left a lasting impression on me that will always be present no matter what happens between us from now on. I kept on saying that I wanted to protect her and our daughter, but deep down I was scared that she'd leave me. Scared that our family would end. The prospect of her leaving felt unbearable. It was hard enough trying to juggle my personal life and my professional one, the amount of stress I put on myself and the workload I had to carry on top of that.
This feeling of failing to protect my family and disappointing them has stemmed from my childhood trauma. From not meeting my biological father, my stepfather being an abusive drunk who mistreated my mother and brother. His alcoholism made him unpredictable and often violent, threatening us with weapons at random intervals. And I had to be the man of the house, defending us and acting as a shield against his threats and beatings. This type of role was far more stressful than I can even comprehend, and yet the only thing I could do was keep on smiling despite every single blow he dealt and stand strong when my mother needed comfort, and brother needed guidance. But as time went by, I got busy with my studies and I had to leave them for England for about two years. When I returned though, I made amends with him but the wound remains until now. I've been hiding all of these struggles of my childhood and through my own personal therapy these days, I found out how my past can affect my adult behavior, and I needed to know it, as much as I didn't want to.
Hillary seemed to read my thoughts, or maybe it was just instinct, because she places her hand on my shoulder, gently rubbing my skin as I continue to stare forward at the opposite wall. "I know there's no excuse for what you have done wrong, but you've been through so much so early on in your life that it must've weighed heavily on you. And I understand that," she says softly. "You probably never realized how much pressure you put on yourself. I can see the cause of all of this is just that, you were protecting your heart so it won't be hurt by someone who will leave you in a heartbeat once they learn all of the secrets you're willing to bravely expose. And I feel like the people are seeing this side of you. The media is the only one who is turning our situation into a laughing stock. That's why I've been trying to make them see sense and respect our privacy."
"That's my only question left, why? Why are you standing up for me? I've put you through hell and back, and you've gone above and beyond. You've sacrificed so much for me, and I know I'm not worth any of it." Hillary smiles sadly and reaches out to caress my cheek, tracing my jawline. "It was easy for me to defend you as my President because the reason for your impeachment is not counted as valid, and it was unprecedented. It took me a while to decide if I should defend and fight for you as my husband, but you were ready to accept help and change. You don't run away from the people you love, you help them, and I know sometimes I think you deserve the pain you're experiencing right now, but you're a good man, who's kindness and generosity and compassion towards everyone outweighs the wrongful things you have done, honey."
Honey.
The word strikes a chord in me. It's the name that I've been longing to hear, and hearing it again in such a tender, gentle tone makes it all the harder to hold the tears back. I can feel my eyes welling with wetness and my throat constricting painfully as I try not to sob loudly in front of her. Just then, Hillary lifted my chin up so our faces would line up, and before I could say anything she kissed me. Soft lips press against mine, and my eyes widen automatically, letting my tears fall freely down my face. I let her take the lead, and she pulled me closer to her, cradling my face in her hands and stroking my tears as they fall. Her lips linger upon mine for another minute before pulling away slowly, allowing me to breathe again and regain my composure.
My tears have dried up by now, but because the fact that she still is in love with me, after everything that happened between us in the last few months made my eyes well up another round of tears. My mind is racing a million miles an hour, and my head feels dizzy with conflicting emotions, but I just need her here, by my side, so we can talk about everything calmly. After a moment of silence between us, she pulls me into a tight embrace, burying my head into her neck, and I cling to her tightly. Her arms wrap tightly around my shoulders, holding me against her. We stay that way for a long while, and she holds me close to her as she shushes me softly, rocking us slightly back and forth, "I love you!" Hillary whispers the three words I desperately needed to hear. "And I love you too. So much."
We stay wrapped up in each other for about fifteen minutes, until we felt the water was a little too cold for our liking, and I reluctantly pull away, wiping my eyes dry and we jumped out of the tub, wrapping ourselves up in towels and drying our hair as best as possible. Once our hair was dry, we went to our, well her bedroom for the meantime, I still sleep on the couch, and carefully put on our clothes and fixed our hair while she puts on simple makeup. A smile forms on my face when I look in the mirror and notice the new haircut she had cut for herself. I hadn't gotten a chance to see it yet, but it looks incredible on her.
Hillary offers her hand to me once we finished fixing our appearance, and together we leave our room and walk downstairs into the dinner room where we'll be joined by our daughter and a lot of staffs and politicians for the annual White House Christmas Eve dinner. She turns toward the table where everyone else is sitting waiting for us to show up. Hillary looks back at me and smiles as we sat down, our hands linked underneath the table as we indulge in the feast. Maybe I won't spend this Christmas alone. In the middle of my impeachment, I am at peace with the woman who decided to stand by me even when I didn't deserve it, and this is what I need, for now. Our better days are ahead of us.