by Sionna Fox
Ten minutes ago, I was basking in the afterglow of fantastic sex with a smart, gorgeous, amazing guy, wondering how in the world my quiet life had been turned so thoroughly upside down. I'd been thankful for Eli's encouragement. His faith in my ability to fight for my country and for the life of my students.
Now I don't know which way is up and which is down.
Or who the hell I just let fuck me.
"Look." He holds out his hand, and I flinch. Stung, he drops his arm, then squares his jaw. "I told you we needed to talk."
I shake my head. "But I thought that was about, like, your fear of commitment or something. Not your life as part of a conservative dynasty."
"I'm not afraid of commitment."
"But you are part of a political conservative dynasty and the campaign manager for the guy you told me I should run against."
The point of his jaw pops. "Well, when you put it that way…"
"What other way am I supposed to put it?"
He takes a step forward. I try to take a matching one back, only to run into the cabinet. Hemmed in, I grit my teeth. My chest heaves, and goddammit, I hate that this is turning me on again.
He closes in further, until there's only an inch of space between us. I can't decide if I want to punch him or kiss him or just…debate the tax code with him while fucking his brains out.
"Try this." The vein in his temple throbs. "I'm a guy with a nephew doing active shooter drills at school once a month, but who can't even bring up the idea of background checks with my family or my candidate without them biting my head off."
"Am I supposed to feel sympathy for you?"
"You're supposed to listen to me when I try to tell you that I agree with you. I've been trying to push this issue from inside my party since Sandy Hook, and I've been getting nowhere. And then you—you…" Something in his eyes softens. "You showed up in front of the building where I had all the power a guy like me can have, and you didn't give a damn. You spoke the truth. You stood up."
"Like an idiot."
"Like a hero. Guys like me—we're snakes. We make deals. We don't sleep so well at night sometimes—and Julie, I haven't been able to sleep at all since Parkland."
I falter. He sounds so genuine. "I'm not the only one trying to work on gun control."
"But you were the one with the message people needed to listen to. You were the one I could help."
"Is that what you think you've been doing? Helping?"
"Trying to."
"But running me against your candidate?" My eyes threaten to mist over again. "How was that going to work?"
His throat bobs. "That was what I was hoping we could talk about. You know. Over pizza."
"I hate pizza. I'm lactose intolerant."
"Wings, then—"
"How was this supposed to work, Eli?" My throat bleeds.
I'm not just talking about our preferences when it comes to take-out or even the campaign.
I'm talking about a conservative ideologue and a liberal teacher turned activist turned freaking independent party candidate challenging a Republican incumbent with deep pockets who this guy works for.
I'm talking about a man who represents everything that's wrong with this country, from money in politics to white privilege to nepotistic cronyism.
And me. Who's…
Nothing.
His expression crumples along with my heart. "I don't know. I hoped we'd figure it out."
A shiver of dread runs up my spine as cold realization hits me. "How?"
There's no way we can possibly 'figure it out'. He says he encouraged me to run because he thought I had the right message, but I'm clueless. I was counting on him to help me navigate this whole operation, only he'll be coordinating it for my opponent.
He says he wants action on gun control, but does he believe in anything else that I do? He's been working for these assholes. He's helped them get elected.
"You're one of them." My eyes brim with tears, my heart with disappointment. "You're complicit."
"I'm working from the inside to change things."
"Did you vote for them? November 2016. Did you vote a party line?"
"There were other factors to consider—"
"That's not a no."
"Is this a litmus test for you?"
"Maybe." I never would have imagined I would turn a guy down because of who he voted for, but these are extraordinary times we're living in.
This man is standing here, unapologetic, unwilling to take responsibility for what he and his family have helped to come to pass.
So I'm not making any apologies, either.
"I have to go."
I push past him. He moves to stop me, saying my name, but I ignore him.
In his bedroom, I search for my skirt. I'll have to get his shirt cleaned and mail it to him or something, because no way I'm stripping down again right now.
"Julie," he says, following me in. "Be reasonable."
"I think it's a little late for that." I find my underwear and skirt and pull them on, then step into my shoes. My bra and my shirt are on opposite ends of the room of course, but I grab them both and wad them into a ball.
"Let's talk about this."
He steps in front of me as I go to leave, and I stand up straight, looking him in the eyes. "We have nothing to talk about."
"We have everything to talk about!"
"You hid who you were from me."
"And you never asked. You think I'm complicit in something? Well, how about you? You hid your head in the sand."
"Right. Victim blaming. Typical." I move to go around him.
He shifts to the right, blocking me again. "How the hell are you a victim in this?"
"You mean besides literally having a gunman shooting an AR-15 in my direction two months ago?" My throat threatens to close. Because that's not the injury that's tearing apart my heart right now. "You lied to me. You deceived me. You—you let me have sex with you without being honest about who you were."
Informed consent is the gold standard, right? Well, I had none of it.
"I was going to tell you. We were going to order some food, and I was going to tell you."
"Well, you should have told me before." Sex with him was one of the best experiences of my life, but it's tainted now. I feel dirty. Used.
"I should have," he grits out. God, what a Republican. He looks contrite enough, but only after he's been caught. "I'm sorry."
"You should be. You lied to me about who you were—about everything. You lured me into this race under false pretenses. Now I get to have my name dragged through the mud, and I have no clue what I'm doing, and—" I hiccup, my airways constricting as the unfairness of it all hits me. Jesus, I fucked up. "And I have to run against you. You can't help me. You should never have helped me as much as you did."
"I had to do something." A pleading edge colors his tone. "Ryker wouldn't budge. He needed an opponent."
"To what? Drive him further right?"
"No—"
My heart spasms behind my ribs. "Was it ever really even about me at all?"
He laughs, dry and painful. "Some of it was." Reaching out, he cups my face, and I want to push him away. But I lean in instead. Just for a moment. His eyes go soft. "Julie, please. Don't go. We can work together. We can figure it out. I don't want to lose you. Isn't this—you and me—isn't it worth a chance?"
For a fraction of a second, I close my eyes. I let his scent and his voice wash over me.
But it's not enough.
Forcing my eyes open, I push his hand away. "Whatever chance we had…" My jaw clicks. My chest aches. "I'm pretty sure you threw it away a long, long time ago."
Something deflates in him. When I move to walk past him, he makes no further effort to stop me.
My knees threatening to go out from under me, I stagger down the hallway toward the door. I cast one backward glance at him. He's standing against his bedroom doorway, head in his hands. A wave of sympathy crashes over me,
but I have to stay strong.
But I can give him one chance. Can't I?
"Hey, Eli?"
He lifts his gaze. "Yeah?"
"If you ever decide to be honest. With yourself, your family." With your country. With me. "Let me know, okay?"
His mouth curls unhappily. "Yeah. Sure."
That's all I can do. It breaks my heart, but I turn away. I pull open his door.
And I walk out of his life for good.
7
As I leave Eli's apartment, all I want to do is curl up in a ball of misery. It's not just the sting of betrayal, either. I'm mad as hell at Eli, but I'm almost as angry at myself.
He wasn't wrong when he accused me of burying my head in the sand. I knew there were things that didn't add up. I got so carried away, though, high on actually making a difference in the world, high on Eli's smiles and his touch and his quiet faith in me. The signs were all there for me to see, but I ignored them, and now I'm paying the price.
There's no time to wallow, though. Jumping into bed with a guy I barely knew may have been a bad idea; letting him talk me into running for public office was a really bad one. But I'm in it now. Stupid move or not, I'm officially a candidate for Ryker's seat, so I kind of have some stuff I need to do.
After a quick crying jag in the car, I wipe my eyes and head for home.
The instant I walk in the door, I fire up my computer. I post an announcement about my candidacy on the online group for our protests, then start contacting everyone I know at the local news outlets. I'm braced for a backlash. This movement started with my silent vigil outside my representative's office. It wasn't about me or my ego, and people have every right to be pissed.
Only they're…not.
The instant the announcement goes live, my notifications start blowing up. Support pours in from all over the place. Everyone wants to volunteer and contribute, and where is my signup page and my fundraising, and crap—just like that, I'm in the thick of it.
I work late into the night, setting up stuff I probably should have gotten in place before filing, but better late than never, right? In a moment of indulgence, I even order a new planner and splurge on express shipping, because I basically need the thing yesterday.
By the time I finally drag myself to bed, I've already collected more campaign donations than I would have expected for the entire season, much less a few hours. I'm exhausted but energized. Happy but sad.
What I wouldn't give to go see Eli tomorrow and tell him how everything is going.
But I can't. I won't.
And then I get mad at him all over again, because I should be happy about this. Only I can't be. Not when I pictured doing it with him by my side.
Maybe naked. Or even not.
He's never been to my apartment. We only had sex once, only ever saw each other anywhere other than his office building and its surroundings once.
But I miss him. My chest hurts.
In the morning, after a crappy night's sleep, I start up the coffee maker and head to my computer. There are about a million alerts, which is awesome and exhausting. Mentally, I take a second to remind myself that this is the new normal, at least for the next couple of months. I'd better get used to it.
Most of the notifications are noise, but I take the time to like and comment and retweet where it makes sense. I bite the inside of my lip when I get to a video Winnie shared to our group.
Cringing, I press play.
It's our local news station. A smiling anchor speaks into the camera. "An unexpected development today in a race for the state legislature. With Democrats declining to so much as field a candidate, the seat currently held by eleven time incumbent and Majority Leader Reginald Ryker was presumed to be a lock. But WXQJ-TV has learned of a late entrant to the race, local teacher and newly minted internet gun control activist Julie Chao."
My face appears on the screen. It's footage from a rally we held outside the capital last week. I look…pretty okay, actually. A little shinier than I would prefer, but it was a ninety degree day. My voice floats over the sound of cheers, and even I can hear the passion behind my words.
If I take a step back, I can recognize the excitement in the crowd.
"But that's not the only news," the anchor says, appearing on the screen again. "We take you now live to a press conference being held outside Assemblyman Ryker's local office."
My breath catches as that familiar setting comes into view.
And then my heart just about stops.
Because standing at a makeshift podium is none other than Eli.
Eli who told me he preferred to work behind the scenes. Eli who told me he could never speak in front of a crowd. But there he is, and he…
Well, he looks like shit, honestly. Probably more or less the same as I feel. He covers it up pretty well, and Lord knows a perfect suit draped over a body like that can distract from a hell of a lot of sins. But even the thick frames of his glasses can't quite hide the dark circles under his eyes or the paleness of his skin.
"Thank you all for coming on such short notice. As some of you may know, my name is Elijah Braddock. Yes, that Elijah Braddock." He looks straight into the camera. "Dad, Uncle Manny, James, if you're watching, hi. And I'm sorry." His throat bobs.
But he composes himself.
"For the past three years, I have been proud to work as a strategist for the Ryker campaign. But unfortunately, in the last few months, I've found myself less and less proud and more ashamed. I have watched our office and our country descend into a sham of a democracy. I have watched young people gunned down in cold blood. And I have watched as politician after politician has offered nothing more than thoughts and prayers. No one has been willing to take action.
"No one on our side, that is." His jaw ticks. "And then I met Julie Chao."
My heart, dead and still inside my chest, lurches back to life.
Holy shit. Is he-? He can't.
But he is.
"I am here to tell you today that Julie Chao is a remarkable young woman. She's dynamic, she's passionate. And when it comes to fighting for our country, for our state, and for our kids, she is the right person to represent this district. She will go toe to toe with the NRA, and I honestly believe that she can win against them.
"Effective immediately, I am resigning my position with the Ryker campaign and throwing my support behind Julie Chao."
The assembled press burst into a clamor. The footage stops, the screen flashing back to the newsroom, but I can't hear a single thing the anchor says.
I check the timestamp in the corner of the video. This aired almost an hour ago.
An hour.
Nearly knocking my computer off the table, I leap up. I have to go. I have to find Eli.
I probably have to put on pants.
I rush toward the bedroom part of my studio apartment and rummage through my drawers. I pull on a pair of jeans. Crap, I should probably throw on some make-up and a bra or something, too.
Only before I can get that far, someone starts banging on my apartment door. Instantly, panic floods me. Between my own candidacy and Eli's announcement, my race is officially big news. Several of the messages I haven't dealt with yet this morning have been requests for interviews or statements, but what if people got tired of waiting for me to haul my butt out of bed and turn on my phone?
I stumble toward the door with anxiety clawing at my chest. I'm not ready for this.
If it's a reporter, I'm just not going to open the door. I'll play dead inside here and get dressed for real and then start returning phone calls, and it'll be fine.
Holding my breath, I go to the peephole and look out.
All the anxiety crawling up my throat disappears in a puff of smoke.
Suddenly, everything is fine. It's so, so much better than fine.
I fling open the door to the sight of Elijah Braddock standing before me. The suit is gone, replaced with an uptight polo shirt and fucking khaki shorts and boat shoes, and I've never
seen him less fuckable, but I don't care. Not one bit.
"Julie—"
I cut him off with my entire body, flinging myself at him and wrapping my arms around his neck. He stumbles back a step, but he catches me. The way he pulls me in against his body is the safest, best thing I've ever felt.
I clench my eyes shut tight and breathe him in. "What were you thinking?" I ask.
"I wasn't." He hugs me even harder. "I finally stopped thinking and followed my heart."
"You're crazy."
"I feel it." He laughs, and it's wild and free, and it sets my heart to racing. Pulling away, he sets me down. "I feel amazing."
"Doing the right thing is pretty great, huh?"
"You would know." His smile softens, his eyes going serious. "It was all because of you. You get that right? You were the one who made me see—I couldn't keep doing it anymore. The lies, the games. The hatefulness."
My vision mists over. "I'm so glad."
"There may still be some people from my party who can see reason, but I'm done working with the people who won't. You were right—I was complicit. In all of it. But not anymore."
"So what are you going to do?"
"I have no idea. Start looking for a new job, I guess."
My heart thunders. "I mean, I am looking for a campaign manager."
"You can't afford me."
"Oh. Right." My cheeks go hot.
But he leans in, putting his face right close to mine. "Good thing for you I do pro bono work. At least for people I really believe in."
With that, he swoops in and kisses me. I let him in, tasting him. I thought our kisses yesterday were good, but with no secrets left between us, they're even better.
We may come from different sides of the aisle. But there are things we can agree on.
Together, we're facing the future. We're taking aim at the people who refuse to confront the problems in our society.
We're changing the narrative.
And we're going to do it together. As a team.
* * *
The End
Author’s Note
When I first came up with the idea for this story, gun violence had again receded to the background of America's consciousness. Since that time, school shootings at Parkland, Santa Fe and nineteen other schools have taken place—and doubtless more will before this story makes it to press.
