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different POV collab with sweetie @emma-kathrine
 
.....................................
 
"Yes, yes, the desert is ready to go!" I kind of snapped at one of the waiters. My back was getting a bit st!ff, sure sign that the day was thankfully nearing its end. Another good one, you lucky bas.tard, I told myself looking at the kitchen, the lovely sight of empty plates telling me the politicians had found my dishes good enough for their sophisticated tastes.
 
Now it's time to go out and see if the person I most want to see is possibly out there. It /is/ a Democrat's event, after all. I emerged through the double doors, having removed my chef's hat. I paced nervously through the hall, wondering if it was a good idea. I reassured myself. It was. Chefs are often welcomed with compliments at the end of a succesful event. No one noticed me, despite my uniform, as the whole room was busy with itself and the remnants of my painstakingly cooked dinner. I scanned the huge room, to seemingly no avail. I was just starting to go back down the hall, when the ladies' room door swung open and out came a tall woman, with a crown of golden hair, balancing herself impeccably on high heels. Who else?
 
"Dalia," I almost sighed in relief. "I didn't expect to see you here," I lied. She blinked, seemingly in shock, before she found her words.
 
"Adam!" she exclaimed and added, "you cleaned up nicely, huh?" after which a shadow came upon her face as if she remembered who she was talking to.
 
"Yeah, I laid off my old lifestyle," I replied as if I hadn't been through hell and back in the past few months.
 
"It suits you, Adam. You look really great."
 
"You too, Da--" I started to say when Dalia's mother sprang up from out of nowhere.
 
"Adam?" she said with equal amount of surprise and disgust, and I wondered whether she knew about what had happened. Perhaps it looked like something else than it was, as we stood there in the dimly lit hall a little closer than two strangers would.
 
"Mom," Dalia scolded. There was no misunderstanding her tone, "Not now," she added.
 
"Oh dear," her mom replied making a u-turn.
 
"Nice to see you again, Miriam!" I tried to be polite, which incredibly enough made Dalia laugh.
 
We stood there, Dalia resplendent as usual, while I dug my hands deeper and deeper into my pockets. It shamed me that she was treating me so well. The seconds dragged by in silence as we alternated between staring at the floor and each other.
 
"Listen Dalia... About what happened last time-" I started, my palms getting sweaty. Remembering what I'd done, what I would have done if that Warren guy wouldn't have broken in and kicked my a.ss was still keeping me awake at night. I've always known I'm not a particularly good guy, but I never thought I could be a monster.
 
"We don't have to talk about that," she said, her cheeks flushing bright pink.
 
"I just... it's my biggest regret, what I did to you that day. I really wish we could talk somewhere less, umm, crowded," I said as she started fidgeting from foot to foot.
 
"I don't know," Dalia mumbled as I realized what it sounded like.
 
"We can go to a public place, wherever you want, I just meant a place where there wouldn't be so many interested ears. I have no wish to bother you, in any way," I offered quickly, embarrassed, trying to reassure her that I would never dream of having her alone again, that much less of harming her even by starting a rumor about her.
 
"Adam, I--- meet me on the roof in 5, okay? I'd like to talk."
 
"Yeah, yeah, super! See you in five, then."
 
"Great," she chuckled at my overexcitedness.
 
Dalia emerged from behind the heavy roof door, enveloped in her soft coat, opening her box clutch and fishing out a cigarette as she walked towards me. She looked a little hesitant, and I got that perfectly.
 
"Thanks for coming," I exhaled the smoke from my own cigarette. She nodded and gestured for the lighter in my hand. I lit her stick. We looked over the city in silence for a few seconds, the glimmering lights cruelly beautiful as I stood there wondering how to apologise to my ex for trying to rap.e her the last time I saw her.
 
"I'm so sorry, Dalia. There are no words... I..." something grabbed hold of my voice, from within, and tears welled in my eyes, unbidden. "I wish I could say I'm not a monster, but I don't know anymore," I managed to add, wiping that stupid stray tear with the back of my hand, the smoke drifting through the humid air.
 
"You're not a monster. You were not yourself, I think," she replied, not unkindly.
 
"Was it not me? Wasn't it me who got his as.s kicked by your guy for hitting you?" I said, barely able to look at her pretty face, the blurry memory of her scared eyes, in tears, that day, haunting me.
 
"It was you on drugs. Mad at me, not without some reason," Dalia answered. "Warren beat you so hard, I was terrified something would happen to you. It's all in the past," she sighed. I'd heard she had gone as far as moving in with Dallas-Norwood, and everyone knew now about the Democrat princess and her Republican prince, smashing convention like some sort of modern Romeo and Juliet. That made me a little sick too, in an envious way.
 
"I'm so sorry," was all I could say, hoping the pathetic lovesick look in my eyes wasn't too obvious.
 
"Adam, I can't forgive you like that. I want to, but.... I can't."
 
Every word felt like a dagger, but a rightful one that I deserved. I looked at my feet, it was all I could do.
 
"I don't know what to do, Dalia. You... you were the best thing that ever happened to me," I was losing it. It was hitting me, once again, what I'd done and I was losing it. To my surprise, she took my hand, squeezing it tenderly. A second or two passed with us standing there holding hands.
 
"Sorry," she mumbled and let go.
 
"I get it. I didn't really think you could forgive me. I don't think you /should/ forgive me. I guess... I guess I just wanted you to know I am sorry, for what little it is worth," I replied simply, as articulate as I'm ever like to be.
 
The silence grew between us, our cigarettes smoking themselves, the ashes growing longer and longer, unshaken by either of us. There was a whole city below us, with people living their own stories, and I almost certainly knew no one had regrets as large as mine. What I'd done... it was almost unspeakable, and I thanked the universe every day for the broken nose Dallas-Norwood had gifted me, because it'd kept me from harming Dalia any further.
 
"You can't change the past no matter how hard you try," she said matter-of-factly, her back on the city as if weren't there.
 
I nodded, starring blankly at anything but her.
 
"I know. I've spent the past months trying, really hard, but time only goes one way. I can't take it back. I can beg for forgiveness and accept that you can't give it, and I can swear that I won't ever get within 10 feet of you, if that's what you want," I replied, shaking almost visibly. My hands had grown impossibly cold and there was a huge lump in my throat that made my voice ragged and weird.
 
"Is that what you want? Forgiveness?" she seemed to finally understand, "you have it. I just want to see you smile again." she pushed herself off the railing and took a step towards me. "It hurts me to see you like this. But I trust you. I trust the sober you."
 
"You do?" I asked, finally looking into her eyes.
 
"The sober you, yes," she replied evenly. I nodded all in a hurry.
 
"I've been sober for 5 months. I have no desire to go back there, but the regrets have been eating at me," I said.
 
"Good," Dalia cracked a smile. Why does she look so beautiful? Why is she so kind? It makes having lost her forever that much harder.
 
She took a look at the beautifully decorated scene around us. The rooftop had been turned into a nice garden, with benches and chairs and lamps and decorations and even plants that can stand the cold.
 
"Dalia, you're shaking!" I said as soon as I realized it and whipped off my chef's coat to lay on her shoulders.
 
"Thanks,"she smiled. Breathing deeply, she said "I've missed you."
 
From thinking she'd never forgive me to hearing her say she missed me is a huge step. It made my heart triple in size. It reminded me of the good days.
 
"Obviously, I've missed you too," there were goose bumps on my arms. I didn't know if it was the cold or Dalia, but there they were. I looked at her for the longest time as she smiled shyly.
 
"I'm with Warren, and he's an amazing guy. But you are too, and a part of me will always care for you, so much," she said, ending with a sigh. There we go. Warren.
 
"He's a really lucky guy. He knows it, too, though, doesn't he? I mean, he would literally kill for you, I should know," I snorted, rubbing my now slightly deformed, because of him, nose. Her eyes dimmed a little, as she looked at the floor. There was what I'd call a sad smile on her lips.
 

When she didn't say anything for a long time, I said "He knows it, right?"
 
"I don't know," she mumbled.
 
"Sorry?" I wasn't sure I'd understood.
 
"I said; I don't know," she said, her eyes glazed over.
 
I'd sworn I wouldn't try to do anything remotely romantic, but she was magnetic. I wanted to kiss her temples, to shoo away the tears that were almost there. She pushed her chin upwards instead and pressed her lips on mine, the sweetest kiss I'd ever received.I put my arms wrapped around her as she pulled away to breathe.
 
"I've missed you," she said again, finally opening her eyes.
 
My heart was clawing its way out of my chest, it seemed. Her lips, her sweet, sweet lips. And she kissed me! I was going in for a hug!
 
"I've missed you too. So much. But I don't want you to do something you don't want to do," I took her hand and used both mine to warm it. I looked into her eyes, the very picture of confusion looking back.
 
"Do you happen to know what I want to do?" she giggled bitterly, "Because I don't," she added. I shook my head, my smile disappearing.
 
"I know you live with that guy. It's more serious than you and I ever were. I know he's a good guy, and a man that's going to go far, not just a chef. I know you deserve someone great, that loves you, that's ready to give you everything you want," I replied bitterly, suddenly aware I'd put a chef's uniform on her shoulders, not a designer blazer like he might've. I wanted to, but I couldn't let go of her hand. I wanted to bury my nose in her hair and hold her tight.
 
"What if he's not giving me everything I want?" she held on.
 
"Are you sure of that? Is he aware of it?" I needed to be sure. But she shrugged and looked down, her eyes shiny and sad. I realized I didn't care. If he wasn't aware of it, it was his own stupid fault. Dalia was considering me once again, that was all that mattered. I cupped her chin again, nullifying the space between us by placing my other hand in the small of her back. We looked at each other for a split second, but then, then I kissed her like I used to when we were that silly wild couple. Her lips were eager and sweet and her tongue found its way into my mouth. Electricity coarsed through my body and I could feel the familiar tingle of my d.ck waking up, because that's all it took with Dalia. I'd dug my fingers into her blonde silky hair and was holding on to the back of her neck for dear life, but she was holding on tighter. She moaned and I grunted.
 
I'm going to die, if not of happiness, of Dallas-Norwood killing me.
 
"Make love to me, Adam," she moaned through the kisses. Suddenly both mine and her coats were on the ground, Dalia nestled in my arms. She slid her hands teasingly down the hem of my jeans, her palms against my skin.
 
I let my hands trail from the back of her neck to chest. "These are new," I couldn't help but say upon feeling her noticeably larger breasts.
 
"Yeah," she smiled as if that was not the only trick up her sleeve, and, surely enough, she loosened her cross-over shirt in one side and let it fall open revealing a sexy bra. And it was as glorious as it felt.
 
How could I stop, after she told me to make love to her? I knew it was yet another "grey" thing to do, but it's Dalia. Dalia! And her new, delicious breasts. I buried my face into the nape of her neck, like I'd dreamed of doing minutes earlier. She smelled divinely and her skin was amazingly soft as I kissed her neck, nibbling at it. My hands were cupping her breasts. I was thoroughly enjoying the new, fuller, rounder, breasts filling my hands, and Dalia seemed to enjoy what I was doing, because she writhing under me, holding on to the edge tightly.
 
"I'll never be able to let you go," I panted, stopping to look into her eyes, my arms around her to shield her from the cold. She covered my lips with hers as I gently spread her legs, lifting her skirt. Anyone might have ventured up to that rooftop garden and find the senator's daughter about to sc.rew the chef, anyone might have realized I was not her pedigreed politician offspring boyfriend, but there was nothing stopping us, not truly. My legs were growing weaker as my erection grew stronger, but I held on, kissing her, rubbing her p.ssy through her panties as she fumbled with my pants. I could barely believe it, but it was happening.
 
She had undone my pants and let them fall to the ground, pushing my boxers with them. She wrapped her fingers around my member, which was truly unnecessary because I was already rock-hard.
 
"Getting too close," I breathed, "let me be inside you," I urged, pushing her panties down until they fell around her ankles.
 
"Alright," she took charge. "Sit down," Dalia commanded pointing at a metal chair that promised to be freezing cold, but somehow the thought sounded exciting. I sat, and she straddled me, taking a few seconds to adjust herself over me.
 
"Oh, dear lord," she breathed, which was hilarious given how sinful we were being. I grabbed her breasts as she started to move back and forth in my lap.
 
The chair was frigid under me, but somehow it made everything seem more intense, and every time Dalia lowered herself completely over my pen.is, I was that much closer to explode. I allowed myself to get a little scared that someone might find us just to avoid cu.mming too early. I buried my face in her neck, squeezed her breasts, tenderly held on to her hips. I've had a lot of women, but none quite compare to Dalia. She's graceful and dirty at the same time, with an endless appetite and a very exciting appreciation of kinky things.
 
She had her arms around my neck, her eyes closed, biting her lip as she squirmed in my lap, moaning from time to time. I was about to burst, but I knew when I did, this would be over, and I didn't want that, I wanted to prolong this encounter as long as possible.
 
"Wait," I panted, snapping her out of her trance. I helped her get up, her skirt awkwardly around her hips, her panties on the floor somewhere.
 
I led her to the wall where the door was, and pinned her there, my throbbing dic.k hard against her leg while I sucked on her nipple, my fingers on her lips. I used my other hand to finger her, playing with her c.lit as she started sucking on my middle finger.
 
"You dirty girl," I smirked, and, suddenly, she came wildly into my hand, shaking and spasming and pulling my fingers from her lips to her breasts, forcing me to squeeze them.
 
"F*ck. me. again," she panted as her orgasm was fading. I didn't hesitate to bury my d.ck in her sopping wet pus.sy, going as fast as my breath would allow, our sexes slamming violently against each other.

Back to writing lovely smut with @emma-kathrine tee hee.
 
.........................
 
Another morning rolled on. Soon enough the alarm would go off, sweet sleeping Dalia in my arms would stir and get up, going to make coffee while I showered. Our weekdays go like that almost invariably - and I honestly find it refreshing and lovely.
 
Sure enough, as I strolled out of our bedroom into the kitchen, fixing my tie, Dalia was pouring coffee into mugs, dainty little silk robe embracing her loosely. We barely talked as we sipped our mugs, and because I'd lingered in bed after Dalia had got up, I picked up my briefcase. I was going in for my kiss, to tell her I loved her and dash out the door.
 
"Don't you think our mornings look very much alike these days, babe?" she asked before I ever opened my mouth and conveniently undid her robe. "I don't like it," she added.
 
Her words rang true, and I knew it, but it didn't make the situation any sweeter. I was kind of fond of our little routine. Of course the sight of her glorious breasts under a small white lacy bra did indeed sweeten the deal a bit. I sighed openly, and set down my briefcase.
 
"I thought we were having fun, playing house," I wrapped my arms around her waist, enjoying the silken feel of her robe.
 
"We were. But a routine is a routine no matter how sweet," she pouted. I love those pouts, I always have to kiss them off. Which is exactly what I did, thunderously, as if I were ravenous for her lips, as if we were back to when we were sneaking around, f*cking our brains out.
 
"Sex... won't... change... it!" she moaned amongst kisses, but she was already undoing my tie. Dalia wrapped her arms around my neck and hoisted her legs around my waist as I carried her to our bedroom.
 
"I should be at the office in 10 minutes," I warned as I threw her on the bed.
 
"Then we'll just undo the things that need to be undone," she grinned devilishly going for my zipper.
 
~
 
I was redoing my pants, sighing, relaxed, as Dalia sported a smug little smile.
 
"Why are you smiling?" I almost laughed. I sat down as she stood, me completely dressed and her buck-naked. She stood in front of me, fixing my tie, as I rubbed her soft buttocks, sometimes my fingers straying.
 
"I don't know," she clearly lied. I kissed her nipple, pressing her body against me, gently, stopping her from really fixing my tie. "Baby, I can't help you when you do that," Dalia snapped a little bit.
 
It was one of those times when I wondered why I would do anything but lie in a bed with her. Even the awkward, clothes-wearing sex had been awesome, and knowing I could basically claim ownership on her delicious naked body made me feel like I'd need nothing else ever again.
 
"Fine. Do my tie," I forced myself off her breast and stiffened up. She started pouting again, looking at my frown.
 
"I don't want any of us to give up on our lives," Dalia said, smoothing the collar of my suit jacket.
 
"Hmm," I frowned harder. She was being all mature, while I yearned to take off my stupid suit and stay in bed all day with my face buried between her breasts.
 
"You disagree?" she raised her eyebrows.
 
"Not necessarily. But I can't quite grasp your point. Are you unhappy?" I asked, running my hands from her buttocks to the small of her back.
 
"I don't want to /become/ unhappy," Dalia replied as if it were perfectly logical.
 
I continued not to understand. "Is there something missing, then?" I like things straightforward. If it weren't Dalia, the woman I'm literally madly in love with, I would've lost my patience long before. But like this, her words were sending icy knives down my spine.
 
"I feel like the wife staying at home while the husband goes out to provide for the family - which is completely unnecessary as the family already is provided for through the money they get from their parents. I feel like my parents. My mom." It was vaguely starting to come together, what she meant. I walked to the window, looking down at all the people rushing around their lives.
 
"But we're not our parents," I replied simply.
 
"No, but I'm afraid of becoming them," she said, pulling on my shirt from the previous night.
 
I felt the muscles in my neck tense up, and could almost taste the discomfort and pain that would set in by the evening, and I hadn't even left the house. "Maybe it's because it's been a long time since I've seen a couple like the one you describe, but I... don't see how I can fix this."
 
I didn't understand. I tried desperately to be kind and supportive and not to come off as a "typical" Republican, but I couldn't wrap my mind around what she was pointing towards. I didn't understand, and it was killing me.
 
"I don't NEED you to fix it," Dalia replied quite naturally.
 
"But I'd rather shoot myself than know you're unhappy," I answered, blundering through the darkness of the conversation. Try as I might, I didn't get it. We didn't need any provision by anyone, me or her, we had trust funds to take care of that, both of us. It was the truth of it. Dalia had expressed disdain towards the typical political occupation of charities that were more form than function. None of us had a particularly strong draw towards art or a noble profession or anything like that, so what /was/ left other than running around campaign offices and smiling pretty while ignoring the cutthroat hate going on between the two camps?
 
"But you're not singularly responsible for my happiness. All I ask is an open mind from you, and continuing to give me the respect you have so far," she stroked my cheek, her tender touch softening me even further. I grabbed her hand and kissed it.
 
"Of course. You are stronger than any man I've ever met. I just want you to be happy, and I'm not using empty words when I say I'd do anything for you," I said, sighing, "but the campaign is in full swing, and I do have to go," I added, watching her smile freeze on her face. I hoped she didn't think I was being dismissive.
 
"I love you," I whispered, kissing her temple. "I'll see you tonight," I said and almost bit my tongue at how similar to the start of our discussion it sounded.
 
"Love you, too. See you then," she replied, smiling, though kind of sadly.
 
It irked me, hard, but I left the bedroom, grabbed my briefcase, and exited our home, every step smaller and harder than the other.

And the award for the cheesiest set goes to...
 
collab with @emma-kathrine the darling, who's been waiting soo patiently. also that's Warren's reaction to them moving in. like, "score!"
 
...........................................
 
Not seeing Dalia for a few weeks was like a heat wave where you're stuck on the pavement. Every day has felt like one more day I get through pointlessly, one more political as.s-hattery. My normally unbearable father has turned into the devil itself since walking in on Dalia and I doing it, and after ratting us out to Sen. Gustavsson, he's moved on to exploding fiery balls of anger on me every day about menial crap and giving me stupid, tedious and unnecessary things to do. I almost want law school to start back up.
 
But this was going to be a good day - Dalia was coming back. DALIA BACK! The drive to the airport seemed freakin' pleasant!
 
I'd spotted her face in the crowd and was standing there indolently, not caring that I was in anyone's way. They were lucky I wasn't shoving through them to make my way towards her.
 
Ten steps, five, two.
 
We kissed briefly, thirstily - one of the benefits of being caught f*cking in the kitchen. We couldn't be too showy, but it's not like paparazzi stalk this airport. I took a step back. Something was different about how she looked, but I couldn't put my finger on it. She WAS a little more covered up than the weather warranted but...
 
"Shall we?" Dalia broke my stare by offering me the handle to her luggage for me to pull. I wanted to hold her hand, would that be too much? I resolved to keep myself from that, and look at her all fascinated until we got to the car. We got in, the driver was cool enough to put up the window so we could have our privacy; and I gave her a real kiss. My hands started roaming - unsurprisingly - as we hugged, kissed and stroke each other like a pair of cats.
 
I made my way, quite innocently, to Dalia's chest. I knew instantly there'd been a pretty big change. She winced slightly, too.
 
"Umm, what happened here?" I gesticulated with my hand in that area, my other hand still on her back as I embraced her.
 
"Okay, don't get mad," she started, as if ever necessary, "you know how my father's having an affair... He agreed to get me a breast augmentation if I kept quiet about it - and I accepted. As the healing process completes the swelling will fall and they won't look as large as they do now. It's almost ridiculous," she chuckled.
 
I was pretty flabbergasted, as I had grown in a world where breast augmentations were not spoken of if they did occur.
 
"Mad? It's your body, my love, how could I be mad? Not to mention, you know, boobs!" I chuckled, feeling myself blush. Despite the fact that I held very different views of the world than my father and his people, dealing with this so closely was a little embarrassing to me. Sure I'd enjoyed Dalia's breasts freely, but talk about surgery to make them bigger? That made me blush. And I couldn't move my eyes from her chest.
 
"So you're ok with them?" she smiled.
 
"Okay? I'm freakin' excited!" I gave way to my true feelings, and went in for a kiss.
 
"They did get a little bigger than I expected, though." she commented as my eyes were magnetically attracted towards them.
 
"Well I don't disapprove of their size. Can I touch?" I asked and went ahead as she nodded. They. Were. Amazing.
 
"They're incredibly firm."
 
"Yup," she smiled proudly.
 
"Aren't you sore though?" I asked with a worried look, feeling a bit guilty about the tingling feeling I was starting to feel in my jeans.
 
"A bit, but less and less. They gave me a prescription for painkillers anyways," she assured me and leaned her head on me, resting her hand on my leg, right next to my crotch as if it were the most natural thing in the world. ''IT" almost moved with excitement, after a few weeks apart and missing her and what we did together so expertly.
 
"Dalia, I will come all over the car, and I like the driver," I warned jokingly and grabbed her hand in mine.
 
"So I should wait until we get somewhere else?" she asked.
 
"Probably best," I nodded with a sheepish smile. What can I do? She does this to me.
 
"I was thinking we could go somewhere together this summer. Get out of D.C. a little?"
 
"You just got back from the sunniest city in the U.S. babe," I replied, eyes still glued to her chest.
 
"But it wasn't with you..."
 
"Oh," I realized I'd put my foot in my mouth, "sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I want to go somewhere with you too."
 
"Get away from parents and social events and just be us."
 
I wanted that with all my heart. Go somewhere where no one knows who we are, totally free to kiss and hold hands and do whatever we please.
 
"We have to go where no one cares about politics. Or at least not ours," I sighed, squeezing her arm.
 
"Like Dubai?"
 
"Yes, but maybe a place that doesn't take two days to get there," I chuckled. "Like Mexico. Just slip away somehow, maybe even fly out separately, and meet up and be TOGETHER,'' I emphasized that last word.
 
"Let's do it!" she giggled preciously. But first we have to be good for a few days, smile pretty, act like good children. Like right now, we should get my things home," she sighed. I looked blankly ahead, nodding absent-mindedly. It would be much easier if she didn't have to do that.
 
"Why don't just bring them to my place?" I squeezed her hand, totally serious. To hell with all the worries.
 
"Then all my stuff would be at your place?"
 
"Good thing we live on the same street then," I grinned.
 
"Okay," she giggled adorably again, "I've missed you so much."
 
"I've missed you too," I replied earnestly as the car pulled up in front of my apartment building.
 
Pardon, *OUR* apartment building.

@emma-kathrine check this out. Background for our next story haha.
 
.................................
 
"What are you feeding me?" Cassie chirped, invading my apartment like a hurricane, as if she'd never left. She shoved the the wine in the freezer, propped herself on a barstool and smiled widely, starring at me. I stood with my mouth slightly open, taken aback at how at home she was acting. I snapped out of it.
 
"Thai, I got my wok on," I sniggered at my own cleverness.
 
"Mmm, nice. Where's you girlfriend person?" she asked condescendingly, trying to mask her remark in a joke, but it still felt uncool.
 
"Dalia's at female democrat thing."
 
"It BAFFLES me that you're with a Democrat. What did your dad say?" she taunted. I gave her a serious look that said it all. "He doesn't know, duhh. Oh Warren, you rebel," she said hopping off the chair and walked over to the stove, where she puttered around the wok, tasting the veggies. It was refreshing and disturbing at the same time how at ease she seemed.
 
We fell into talking about what we had done in the 2 years that had passed. She told me about life in London, while I spoke about what had happened with me. Soon the wine was cold enough and we popped it open and started drinking with dinner.
 
I was throwing the dishes into the sink after we ate when I heard my phone announce it got a text.
 
"Text from a 'Bonnie'," Cassie announced from the living room. "Says 'who knew middle aged political women were sooo boring? I did! miss u babe, what are you up to?".
 
"Umm, thanks, you can leave it there, I'll reply when I get back," I said, now truly creeped out by the liberties she was taking. Cassie was an old friend and I appreciated familiarity, but she was crossing a line and I suspected she knew it. I got back to the living room, to find her still with my phone in her hands.
 
"Replied for you," she grinned, throwing herself on the sofa.
 
"What?!"
 
"Don't worry. I just said you're by yourself watching TV, missing her," she smiled.
 
"Why would you text her that? Dalia has no problems with me hanging out with friends," I said seriously, downing my wine.
 
"Oh, we're friends?" she raised an eyebrow.
 
"I think we always were," I replied.
 
"Oh really? So all that sex was extracurricular then?" Cassie replied, slapping my knee.
 
"Well we were friends like 8 of the 10 years we knew each other. And we broke up years ago, and let's not even talk about the sort of relationship we had," I said, referring to how on-and-off we had been, something again, she knew very well.
 
"I thought we were pretty good," she said more softly, her smile muted.
 
"So how's your little brother?" I tried to change the subject.
 
"We were pretty good, weren't we?" Cassie ignored my question, scooting closer on the couch, starring into my eyes.
 
"More wine?" I reached for the bottle. She covered her glass with her hand and continued to stare inqusitively into my eyes.
 
"I've been thinking of coming back to the States, you know?" she said, never breaking her gaze.
 
"I thought you liked being in your home country, had a great job..." I said, happy about the change of subject.
 
"I think there's something more /interesting/ for me here," she replied, taking her hand off the glass, thus allowing me to replenish it.
 
The night didn't go on much longer, as things had got so uncomfortable. We drank the rest of the wine, watching the TV quietly, only remarking something about what was on from time to time.
 
"Thanks for dinner," she said, getting up to go.
 
"Anytime. You know I like to cook," I replied, returning to a friendly demeanor. I walked her to the door.
 
"Sorry if I was weird. I'm sleep deprived and jet-lagged," she apologised.
 
"It's alright."
 
"Thanks! Goodnight!" We went in for what I thought was a hug, but, before I knew it, her familiar, soft, thick, lips were on mine and all those memories came rushing back. She had snaked her thin arms around me and her tongue brushed my lips, practically begging entrance. It was maybe 5 seconds before I realized truly what was happening - alcohol really does slow one's reactions.
 
"No, Cassie!" I pulled back. "I really care about Dalia," I said sternly, my eyes shooting arrows. Cassie's big brown eyes instantly became glazed over and she blushed up to her ears. Without another word, and looking at the floor, she rushed away.

c-c-collab with @emma-kathrine! Beware, this is one of the steamier installments in our epic saga.
 
.............................................
 
Our home in Bethesda holds many sweet memories to me. It was one of the few places where usually I was just Dalia, not an important man's daughter or anything of the sort. It was an old-timey house that reminded me of fun Boston times, and thus had been a huge comfort over the past years. But all good things come to an end, because as my dad prepared for yet another campaign, this time in his quest to become Attorney General, even our home in Bethesda was invaded.
 
One day a lot of people got together to honor a Pulitzer prize winner there. My father saw it as an opportunity to network-network-network with affluent people and I was of course on display. I spent my time daydreaming of possibilities that Warren would show up. I knew it was silly, but it made the clock tick a bit faster. Then a short thunderstorm was the literal blessing in the sky that sent all the guests into their cars, and my parents along with them, driving the car-less people and altogether forgetting about their own daughter that had ridden the same car on the way over. I was sitting on the terrace, watching the caterers pack up as the rain slowed down. I absent-mindedly waved away their offer for a ride. If I couldn't see him, I wanted to be left alone to at least think tender thoughts about him, to dream of a life where there would be nothing in our way, and I could tell him and the world that I love him, and very much.
 
I got bummed out by how far-flung that was (I'd hardly ever have the courage to be the first one to say "I love you"!) and lonely, so I called Warren. I called Warren when I realized no one was coming back for me. It was the perfect opportunity to see him.
 
"My car is in the shop," he said, and I could almost see him pout.
 
"Maybe I'll just try to get a cab home," I sighed.
 
"Text me the address! I'm taking the subway!" I could hear him get dressed.
 
The rain resumed and fell heavily, and I was standing with a pathetic little umbrella at the gate, as how the property's too big to notice a person standing at the gate in that rain from the house. A heavy gust of wind blew the umbrella away, leaving me prey to the water falling in torrents, but there I stood. For all I knew the subways had stopped running with the weather, but it wasn't like I had anything better to do. In fact, the old house was kind of creepy.
 
A tall guy with a black baseball cap showed up in the distance. Unmistakably him, and I almost jumped up. He started gesturing like insane and broke into a run. It took a minute or so before I could hear what he was yelling.
 
"Go inside, you're gonna get sick!"
 
"So are you!" I cried back. I started opening the gate. Warren ran faster. When he finally got to me, we were both big wet puddles, the water weighing down our clothes. We started kissing the same instant, and the world was good again.
 
"You're crazy! Why didn't you stay inside?" he cried over the rain, holding my face in his hands.
 
"I felt guilty! I didn't think it would start raining again!" I replied and shuddered against my will. He noticed it and frowned. Before I could tell what he was going to do, I was hoisted up over his shoulder as he ran through the puddles towards the respectable mansion that had probably never seen such a spectacle.
 
He finally put me down on the door step. Warren looked at me thirstily, eyeying the silk top clinging to my body. It was amazing to me that he still found me attractive with no make-up, but probably streaks of mascara on my cheeks and my hair sticking to my head, but he kissed me anxiously. It was cold, but getting hotter because of what his presence was doing to me.
 
"Are we alone?" he asked through the kiss.
 
Just as I wanted to answer, good old Rosie passed. Warren smiled at her, but she looked at the floor. I knew it meant she'd 'seen nothing'. "Oh, that's just Rosie. She's a good one," I said without thinking.
 
"Boston roots, huh?"
 
"Yeah...." I chuckled and crashed into his lips again. As he oft did, he swept me off the ground and I wrapped my legs around him. "Living room," I mumbled into the kiss and pointed.
 
I was carried into the big cozy living room and Warren collapsed on top of me on the big couch. We kissed noisily, excitedly, thirsty for one another.
 
It was very enticing being groped by a Republican in the very living room where, according to my father, he learned history and politics from the kind of illustrious people his own father knew. Warren kissed me fervently, melting away the tremor the rain had instilled in me.
 
He slipped his hands under my shirt and squeezed the skin softly as our tongues found each other over and over again. I was distantly aware that Rosie was out there somewhere, but knowing she wouldn't dare come in, I didn't hesitate to pull off his shirt and revel at his sculpted, wet pecs.
 
Warren slipped one of my top straps off my shoulder. He found the concealed buttons and quickly popped two open, revealing my naked nipples - I was suddenly glad the top hadn't allowed me to wear a bra, because my hardened nipples and his kisses sent pleasure waves down my spine. He bit my nipple gently before taking it into his mouth and sucking it, playing with his tongue, making my crazy. He started to unbutton my jeans.
 
I almost lost control as soon as his fingers touched my p*ssy, even through the fabric from my underwear. I hadn't been with him in quite a few days and I was wet enough within seconds, but the teasing was so delicious as well.
 
I pushed him back on the couch and I ran my fingertips on his chest, stopping at his belt buckle. I undid it and his jeans, and pulled them off, along with his underwear. A part of me enjoyed my being almost entirely dressed while he was totally naked, and oh so delicious. I started kissing him and went lower until I was kneeling in front of him. His penis was erect to the point of discomfort, as he was twisting as I teased. Finally I wrapped my lips around it, earning a sigh of pleasure. As I did my magic he leaned forward and pulled up my tank top, a silky contraption that was totally soaked and already totally transparent anyway. He was caressing my back and grunting ocasionally. Then Warren stopped me gently and pulled off my top completely as I sat on my heels. He took my hands and sat me on his lap, kissing my breasts tenderly. He looked so sweet, so loving, that my heart felt like exploding. I knew my hair was sticking to my head and back, and I probably looked really washed up, but when he stopped to look into my eyes, and said, "You're beautiful," I truly believed him. Without waiting for another cue, I stood up, took off the rest of my clothing and gingerly sat on the carpet.
 
"Come here," I beckoned with a soft smile. He nodded and slipped off the couch, kneeling in front of me. I sighed with pleasure as he ran his hands over my thighs. He looked incredibly hot, all wet and strong, and I appreciated how firm his attitude was. A man's man, I thought as I started shaking in anticipation as soon as he gently but firmly spread my legs.
 
"May I?" he asked, breathing heavily, looking at /that/ part of me thirstily.
 
"Go ahead," I whispered, anxious. He penetrated me slowly, looking as if he was containing himself, but did it so perfectly that I moaned his name.
 
'There is nothing in the world more right than this,' ran through my head as Warren filled me up so perfectly. We were practically breathing each other's air, high on each other. I wrapped my arm around his neck to hold close, as he rested his head between my neck and my shoulder, breathing warmly on my skin as he pounded into me. We got each other's cues perfectly and the rhythm slowed and sped up, our position adjusted, so we could make love as long as possible. Waves of pleasure came and left me, but Warren seemed determined to love me "good", bless his selfless heart. We were both now shiny with sweat rather than rain, but couldn't care less, our bodies riding together sweetly. I let myself flat on my back, looking up at him, straight into his bright eyes. It sent him over the edge, because he exploded inside me, grunting with every pound as he rode out his orgasm. He collapsed next to me, an small satisfied smile forming on his face. I hugged his body, loving how hot his skin was.
 
As we lay there, starring at each other, at ease, it became crystal clear to me that I had never felt that way for anyone before. It was almost scary to realize that I'd reached that kind of happiness already, and hard to imagine what could top it.
 
"You're gonna wear me down, woman," he smiled as his breath normalized.
 
"I think you'll live," I smiled, content with keeping my realization to myself as I reached for my clothes.

@emma-kathrine dah-ling :)
 
....................................................
 
I was working, trying to keep my mind off boy drama. After the bloody encounter from a few days ago, I needed to remove myself a bit. My phone lit up, and the screen read "Clyde". Not very subtle, as not a lot of men are called Clyde nowadays, but he /is/ the Clyde to my Bonnie. And much more discreet than "Warren Dallas-Norwood". Seeing that on my screen would just about kill my father.
 
"Hi," I breathed.
 
"Babe, what are you doing for lunch?" he asked.
 
"We can't be seen together, Warren," I tried to resist, knowing I couldn't just go out to lunch with him.
 
"I'll cook."
 
"You can cook?" I asked in disbelief. I wasn't expecting that, but it did make seeing him a possibility.
 
"Yes, I can actually."
 
"And you'll cook for me?" I tentatively changed my tone.
 
"Absolutely," he replied and I could hear him relax.
 
"I don't know, I have a lot of stuff to do for my dad," I hesitated.
 
"I'm sure he'd want you to get your nourishment," he insisted.
 
"30 minutes, your place?"
 
I got myself into my car and drove to his apartment, thinking how much I missed him in just a few days. It was like needing a fix. He opened the door the second I knocked.
 
"Hey, beautiful," he said, looking at me thirstily. The fact that he looked like a GQ guy, all relaxed, stylish and rugged made me return the look.
 
He closed the door and wrapped me tightly in his arms, and lifted me off my feet as we hugged. It felt so sweet, I could almost smell fresh lilac or something equally innocent and picturesque.
 
"Hey," I smiled softly as he put me down. We couldn't help ourselves a second longer, and our lips crashed together. So it went from sweet to hot, but still so /right/.
 
"Do you hate me for what I did the other day?" he asked when we finally parted, with a tortured look on his face.
 
"Of course not sweetie. I hate Adam for what he did. You stood up for me. No one has ever done that before," I replied, surprised that such a clarification was needed. Warren had been my hero, after all.
 
"Then it's about time, huh?" he said.
 
"Guess you're right," I sighed half-joking.
 
"You're well worth anything," he said tenderly and kissed my temple. I felt safer than ever with him. We shuffled into the kitchen, where Warren had been chopping vegetables. He grabbed the knife to do it again, when I noticed his raw knuckles.
 
"That's odd," I said, brushing his hand.
 
"What?"
 
"Your knuckles. The scrapes look super recent," I said, as the skin glistened. I could see him tighten his grip on the knife. "Did something happen these days?" I asked.
 
Dalia," he started, "I want to be honest with you."
 
"Yes...?"
 
"They are recent. I'm sorry... It's just all this with Adam and stuff. It... upset me."
 
I knitted my eyebrows. It was worrying to hear those words, but I care about him so deeply that I took his hand and nodded, encouraging him to go on.
 
"I just got so mad..." he sighed, looking at the floor before looking into my eyes, as his were shimmering.
 
"I've been keeping it in check for years, pulling myself away from any strong feelings. But when you showed up, I couldn't let you go. And when that whole mess happened, I just lost it!" he said.
 
"Warren..." I replied, confused and worried. "What... what did you do?"
 
"I needed to do something to all the anger and hate. I almost went looking for a barfight, but for reasons you of all people understand, I couldn't. So I spent the last few nights in a gym, punching a punching bag with my bare hands until my knuckles were raw. Because thinking I might have screwed things with you, and remembering how he had you against that wall was driving me mad and I just..." his voice broke. He was trying to look into my eyes but his gaze kept slipping to the floor as he tried to keep his countenance. It scared me to hear all that, but above all, it made me feel guilty again. And sad, so sad. I took both his hands and kissed his raw knuckles as gently as I could. My heart was breaking for him, for the struggles he dealt with. I realized I only knew him egotistically, as a gentle and protective lover, and not as I should, with all the good and the not so good.
 
"I'm so sorry I left you alone after you were so good to me," I sobbed as he took me into his arms. "I'm so so sorry," I could only sob as tears ran down my cheeks. He took my face into his hands and wiped my tears off, as he had already done quite a few times.
 
"No. I'm kind of a mess. Don't blame yourself for my crap, ever. Because there's a lot of crap," he confessed.
 
"But it is my fault," I cried out. "I don't wanna make you into a person you don't like!"
 
"I already am a person I don't like, Dalia. I told you, I'm not normally a sunny disposition kind of guy. Remember how we met? I attacked you for talking to your friends. I'm that jerk," he said.
 
"You're anything but a jerk," I caressed his face.
 
"Dalia, don't let me fool you. You will end up hating me when I screw this up," he looked at the floor, "I've been such an assh-le."
 
"I'll never hate you. That's a promi--"
 
"Don't ever promise me that. Don't ever promise anyone that."
 
His words were strong and definitive, scary, so I had to ask: "what is it you've done, Warren?"
 
"Terrible things. I've injured so many people. I was angry. Very angry..."
 
I tried to keep my mind and heart open. He was describing those terrible things, and it was difficult to realize he was talking of the same person that had captivated me so entirely. It was hard not to yell "Stop, I don't wanna know!" because I realized he needed me to know.
 
"Wh-What /made/ you angry?" I hesitated to ask, but did, biting my lip. Warren looked up as if no one had ever asked him that before.
 
"I don't know. I'm just that way," he sighed.
 
"No, you're not. You're the most beautiful person I know," I caressed his face, taking in every detail of his pained eyes.
 
"No, because I did do those things. I still felt pleasure in hurting others, and I am /so/ afraid of it coming back," he said earnestly and I could only imagine what it felt like not to be able to control or measure your own strength. My mind flashed back to Warren punching an unconscious Adam, and I shuddered to think what would have happened if I hadn't stopped him.
 
"My mother," he said simply as if remembering something.
 
"What?" I asked, confused.
 
"She... she would calm me down when I got angry. I was a hyperactive kid and threw tantrums all the time, even when I was 11 or 12. When she left, I got the angriest I ever knew myself to be - but she wasn't there to stop me any more," he said in a daze, as if waking up from hypnosis with a new knowledge of life.
 
"Where is she?" I asked as if it was a simple question.
 
"Gone. Completely vanished. I used to think she left for Europe with a man, then that she's dead, but I rather think she has another identity or something. No one will talk about her, not even her parents," he answered.
 
All the news kept hitting me over and over. Warren's issues are daunting, but I look into his eyes and I'm ready to weather the hardest storms.
 
"Have you ever wanted to find her?" I asked.
 
"Of course," he replied instantly.
 
"Why haven't you tried?"
 
"There's not much you can do when you're 12 years old and don't have enough money to buy a bus ticket. Or never having taken the bus."
 
"You're not 12 anymore, darling," I smiled.
 
"Sorry," he smiled and let go of my hand so he could pull out the clams and the slow-roasted tomatoes.
 
"Where did you learn to cook like that?" I asked as the delicious aroma filled my nostrils.
 
"Our cook."
 
"I hated our cook," I grinned, remembering the snobby bastard that used to say PB&J is not a food. "But you seem so very talented at this," I smiled. "I love it," I sighed pressing up against him, kissing the back of his neck.
 
"Girls love a guy that knows how to cook, I know," he smiled. We both realized, almost simultaneously, that just a few days earlier Warren had beaten a cook to a pulp, for me.
 
"Let's eat!" I said awkwardly, heading to get plates. Warren served the delicious meal and I was truly enjoying the experience. Everything was so very him at that dining table, and lately that meant perfection to me.
 
"I'm glad you came, beautiful," he grabbed my hand and kissed it.
 
"So am I," I smiled softly.
 
"And I hope you'll be able to forget about my anger just like I do. I'd never hurt you, Dalia. I hope you know that."
 
I nodded through his speech, trying to look like I had no doubt about what he was saying. And truthfully, I don't. I do believe he has good intentions and truly wants to never go back to the way he used to be. Who I don't trust is myself - it feels incredibly daunting to even think of joining such a strong man on such a treacherous path without losing myself or making him lose /his/ way. I have no illusions that I'm free of issues, but what is worse, I am certain I have a disturbingly accurate knack for screwing up others.

with @emma-kathrine, mindblowingly fun.
 
...............................................
 
I rolled over in his arms. It was the third night I was spending in Warren's apartment, the third night we f*cked our brains out and fell asleep on top of each other. I love how he makes me feel - but it's what happens when I wake up and look at his sleeping face, his chest rising and falling, the silence ringing in my ears, that I don't love, at all. Thinking of Adam, how I'd screwed him and walked off. For all I know, and for all our history, he may very well think we're simply on some sort of break, not that I'm in Warren's arms every moment I can. I feel dirty and dread what might happen if anyone would be the wiser. But I can't resist him, I realize as Warren stirs awake and his mouth curls into a smile.
 
"Everything alright?" I ask as he gazes at me.
 
"You tell me. All your thinking woke me up," he said, running his fingers over my bare back. I smiled, half forced.
 
"Just regular political woes," I reassured him that the issue was simply our star-crossed-lovers-ness.
 
"Oh nevermind that. We'll just run away," he replied, drawing me closer. "I'd give it all up for how you make me feel. I'm not normally this smiley guy," Warren said, his voice deep and rugged. I couldn't stand looking him in the eye anymore so I 'playfully' turned my back and drew the covers over us, as if to say that being away from the world sounded good to me too.
 
"What?" I asked as he laughed.
 
"Oh, nothing," he pulled me on top of him. He started kissing me and I got a little too giddy.
 
"Be careful with those long legs," he said, the pain in the family jewels visible on his face.
 
"Sorry," I excused myself and just straddled him.
 
"Better?"
 
"Much better," he smiled into a kiss that grew deeper.
 
We were slipping under our respective spells again. With every little touch, every strand of hair he pushed behind my ear, every kiss he laid on the various parts of my body, I felt myself lose all other connection to reality but him. There we were, in the middle of the bed, embraced in what could be, from afar, just that, a hug. But no. We are one: the way we make love is so devastating, so intense, so deep.
 
Within a few minutes, we were leaning on each other, barely having moved. Reality was coming back, and, while Warren gently made circles on my back with his fingers, I felt the need to hold on to him tightly, my eyes shut, though I was wide awake, terrified that Adam's ghost would be there when I opened them. It was really no surprise that he asked "Why are you so tense?" as he breathed his sweet breath on my shoulder.
 
"To be honest, I got thinking of Adam," I confessed. His embrace loosened instantly.
 
"You think about him while we were having sex?"
 
"No, but that was why I got tense. He's been sending me these texts..."
 
"What texts, Dalia?" he asked sternly.
 
"Just some stupid texts. C'mon baby, let's cuddle," I tried and failed to distract him.
 
"What texts?"
 
I showed him everything. He wanted know why Adam knew about us. He seemed somehow disappointed. I found my own words to be empty. Unsatisfying.
 
"I'm gonna talk to him," Warren stated, crossing his arms on his bare chest.
 
"No!"
 
"He needs to be a man!" he insisted.
 
"Warren, I just want you. I don't want drama and scandals, and I definitely don't want him telling people," I pleaded. He looked at me, as if remembering our situation. As if remembering me, he extended his arms and I saw it as an occasion to cradle myself next to him. But his chest was rising and collapsing quite rapidly and his eyes were still on fire.
 
"You just said he already knows about us. Do you really think that he won't break the news?"
 
"He wouldn't... I should probably talk to him."
 
"I'll come with you."
 
"No, I have to do it by myself. He would kill you," I stated simply, seriously.
 
"What makes you think he wouldn't kill /you/?"
 
I looked at him as if the answer was obvious. And he realized it was.
 
"What makes you think I wouldn't kill him?" he said grimly, with an air that reminded me of when he'd spoken about not always being a "smiley" guy. We were digging ourselves deeper into a discussion without end or resolution in sight.
 
"Don't say that," I sighed, running my fingers on his chest. "I'll just tell him to stop texting, and then ignore him," I reasoned.
 
"Because he's such a well-adjusted person," Warren replied sarcastically. It was a pretty scary side of him. "In his mind you're not truly broken up. You could go back to him tomorrow," he stated as if he was putting those thoughts together out loud.
 
To say it hurt would be an understatement.
 
"No, Warren, I couldn't," I turned my back and left the bed, heading for the bathroom.
 
"Dalia, wait!" he was on my heels in a split second and grabbed my arm, turning me around. "You have to understand I'm just... protective of you," he explained. But the harm had been done, and his distrust hurt and offended me. I stared into his eyes and forced my arm free, only to shut myself in the bathroom.
 
"Dalia, sorry. Just let me wait in the car if you go and see him then," he pleaded as I stared into the mirror. "Baby, don't hate me for not wanting to lose you." That last part struck a cord.
 
I didn't say anything, but within the minute, I came out, dress on and hair tied.
 
"You can wait in the car," I said, my face straight. It terrified me to say it, it terrified me to bring the two of them so close together, but I knew Warren would never let me go by myself. He pulled on jeans and a shirt and we were out the door, quickly getting into his car to avoid any sort of sighting.
 
Following my directions, Warren drove silently, and didn't say anything as I left the car to ring Adam's bell. I looked back, and saw his jaw locked and his eyes focused on the steering wheel. Adam buzzed me in and I ran up the stairs to his 5th floor apartment.
 
"Hey, wh.re," he opened the door, his tone, cheerful, bizarre and completely opposed to his words. His eyes were red and his voice groggy - he was high out of his mind.
 
"Adam. I'm just here to tell you to stop texting," I said.
 
"You want me to call instead?" he threw himself into a chair.
 
"I want you to stop everything," I reiterated, crossing my arms, wondering whether it would be ok to just leave at that point.
 
"Can't do that, love. I miss you," he slurred and stood up. I noticed his hand twitching and looked closer at him. He wasn't high on weed, or, at least, not just weed.
 
"I'm sorry Adam. It wasn't working anymore," I replied.
 
"It was working just fine before that guy showed up!" he cried out, and stepped closer. "You were loving it!" he added as he placed his hand on the back of my neck and started forcibly kissing me.
 
"Adam, no!" I shoved him off. I suddenly understood Warren's wish to come with me. I started to regret not meeting Adam in a public place.
 
"Shut up, you know you love it," he said, and, without my ever expecting it, for the first time ever, he raised his hand. It was a split second and I didn't even understand it as it was happening, but the blow burned the side of my face like a thousand pins and needles. I was beside myself as I realized what had happened. My mind raced. I realized I didn't have my phone, and wanted to just turn and run, but those thoughts were entirely too slow for Adam's actions, because he had me pinned to the wall before I could even react to the slap. I started crying desperately, mad at myself and him, as he used one of his large hands to gag me. I was useless.
 
It felt like an eternity as the mouth I knew so well kissed my skin and his trembling hand roamed my body, pulling at my dress. Adam was normally a strong guy, but his drug-addled physical force was nothing I could even come close to fighting. I was like a puppet, held up against the wall at his mercy.
 
The eternity ended with Warren busting in through the door, his eyes throwing firy arrows. He was in a tremendous fury, incontrollable as he pulled Adam off me, threw him to the ground with a punch and continued to hit him until he became unconscious.
 
"Warren! Warren, stop it! He's out!" I cried desperately, trying to pull him off Adam. He could have shoved me off like a fly, but instead he stopped and stood up.
 
"We can't leave him. He'll inhale blood," I looked at Adam, a bloody mess, like a bag of bones on the floor. Warren turned into himself again, and took me into his arms.
 
There was a running line in my mind: "You did this". I had single-handedly pushed Adam to take way more serious stuff than weed, which resulted in him hurting me and coming very near to raping me, to Warren beating him to a pulp. I held on tightly to Warren, crying my pathetic eyes out, sobbing uncontrollably.
 
"I'm so sorry," I finally looked into his eyes. He wiped my tears and pulled the straps of my dress back up on my shoulders. He kissed my forehead.
 
"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" he asked. My cheek was pulsating where Adam had hit me.
 
"I'll be fine. He took something. He was acting crazy," I said, turning towards Adam, still on the floor. Warren frowned as if Adam was the last thing on his mind.
 
"Let's get him off his back in case he throws up."
 
Later, we had been standing around for a while, me with a bag of frozen peas from Adam's freezer on my cheek.
 
"Maybe we should go to the police," Warren mused, while Adam winced for the 10th time.
 
"What? No, that would be so bad," I replied.
 
"He hit you. He was trying to r*pe you," he insisted.
 
"He's on some illegal drug. And I'm Dalia Gustavsson, and you're Warren Dallas-Norwood. There would be no end to the scandal," I responded.
 
"Then let's go," Warren said indifferently. "I'm sorry I pressured you into this. It did more bad than good," he ran his hands through his hair in annoyance.
 
I bit my lip. He was right, I felt like I'd just screwed up horribly, and was scared that Adam would retaliate in some horrid way. But there was nothing to do just then, so, propping him in a sitting upright position, we left holding hands, like the Bonnie and Clyde we'd talked of on a sunnier day.

Oh man do I love her...

with darling @emma-kathrine
 
.........................................
 

They say you have to take fate in your own hands and make the things you want to happen, happen. Despite myself, despite all cons in the world, what I wanted to happen, on a very basic level, was to see Dalia again. So when an invitation to a brunch at the mayor’s house came, I knew I needed to be there, just as well as I knew /she/ would be there.
 
And sure enough, minutes after I had arrived, and was walking among all the people drinking mimosas and chattering about flowers and quiches, I saw her, handing off her coat and speaking to who could only have been her mother. We locked eyes, but she was still talking to her mother, her expression busy and unnerved. Blowing her off, I could tell, as her mother scoffed and left her.
 
I stood among the people, smiling quite calmly, and watched as Dalia escaped being watched by her parents. I made a few steps, while she walked casually to a bookshelf, an excusable setting.
 
“Hi,” she said simply and blushed, unable to contain a smile.
 
“Hi,” I smiled back, relieved that she wasn’t mad about the kiss. “I hoped I’d find you here,” I commented as if we were talking about the weather.
 
“Me too,” she bit her lip. I rolled my eyes. Every second we had together was blissful, but in the most imperfect way possible. We had to disguise even this simple chat, because even though we are adults, our lives are not entirely in our control.
 
“What?” she asked, her smile disappearing from her face.
 
“Nothing. It’s just more than a little annoying that we can’t interact like normal people.”
 
“Sure we can. Just not around family, friends or press,” Dalia replied sarcastically.
 
And is there a way for that to happen?€ I asked, smiling and boring my eyes into hers.
 
"I wish... Not in this city, I'm afraid."
 
"I guess you're right," I sighed, and my mind wandered off, "to Bonnie and Clyde."
 
"To people who have the guts," she replied as we touched our glasses.
 
"I'm sorry about the other night," I said after a small but not uncomfortable silence.
 
"Don't be. I'm the one who's sorry. Well, at least for the last bit," she looked into her glass whilst adding, "you were sort of a d-ck."
 
"I was, yes. And that was actually the part I was apologizing for. I don't regret the kiss one bit," I said honestly.
 
All too soon the mayor said a few words, concluding by inviting everyone to go eat. This meant, of course, separating from her. And it was the last thing I wanted.
 
The slight commotion created by people heading for the tables to eat gave me an idea.
 
"Are you terribly hungry?" I whispered as we stood there innocuously, refusing to tear apart from each other. Dalia shook her golden head with a naughty smile as she realized what I had in mind. We drew near the elevator, which was one of the perks of mr. Gray living in a penthouse. When a group of waiters came out of it, I took her hand and we rushed in just as the doors were closing. I pressed up and within 2 seconds we were on the roof, a garden in and of itself.
 
"This is insane, my parents are going to notice me missing," she burried her face in her hands as we sat on a cushioned bench, and laughed softly.
 
"It's a big brunch," I smiled at her, revelling in the joy of seeing her, of speaking to her.
 
"And, I forgot my cigarettes," she realized she didn't have her bag. I patted my pockets and drew out my pack, opening it and drawing two out halfway. She graciously took one, and looked like a teenager when I lit her stick.
 
"Do your parents know you smoke?" I taunted.
 
"Yes, and they hate it," she smiled brightly, as if she enjoyed that little tidbit. "They attribute it to the stress of Harvard, when really I've been smoking since I was 17."
 
"I was 15. I win," I smirked. "This is a trick I learned when I was 16," I said and took a long drag of the cigarette. I scooted closer and put my hands on her face, smiling. I glued my lips to her and opened them, letting the smoke pass from me to her.
 
"We used to call that shotgunning," she giggled.
 
"Yeah, so did we," I chuckled, caressing her face.
 
"Guess, we're not that different, huh?" she put her little hand over mine, holding it against her face. We simply sat in silence. Her skin was impossibly soft, her fingers warm.
 
"God, I'm so hungry," she said after what must have been a long time.
 
"Yeah me, too, let's go down and grab the leftovers in the kitchen. They won't notice us in there," I said as she nodded.
 
Moments later we were in the middle of a busy kitchen. I was lost in her and still, very discreetly, holding on to her sweet little hand, almost not caring if anyone saw. Which made my shock that much bigger when a guy in a chef's uniform came up and kissed her. On the neck. In a very familiar manner.
 
"Hey babe," he said.
 
"Hey A-Adam," Dalia stammered, "what are you doing here?"
 
He pointed at his chef's clothing, "my job, baby. So I hope you enjoyed the food," he smiled proudly.
 
"Oh... Right," she looked at me, finally. "Warren, this is, ehm.. Adam. Swarofski. He's my, ehm... boyfriend." She turned to Adam, "and this is Warren. He's, ehmm.. he's working on my dad's campaign," she lied with an ease that terrified me.
 
I could barely remember my own name, though she had just said it. I cleared my throat and finally said, "Warren."
 
"Hey man, nice to meet you. For a second I thought you were holding hands or something," he grinned. That was exactly what we had been doing. For a split-second, I imagined telling him I'd kissed his girlfriend. Twice. But I didn't let my anger take over. It wasn't my thing.
 
"Oh.. no," Dalia said, this time a less convincing lie.
 
"Aren't I gonna get a kiss or what?" Adam asked, making me sick to my stomach.
 
"Yeah, sure," she answered and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.
 
"That wasn't what I meant, babe," he chuckled, and, as if he was enacting a nightmare of mine, grabbed her and kissed her "for real". I did the only thing left for me to do - go away.
 
Well at least she's not a Democrat's or an Ivy League guy's girlfriend. Watching that dude kiss her felt like swallowing a bowl of lead. Of course she has a boyfriend!
 
"Warren, wait!" Dalia caught up with me just as I was asking for my coat.
 
"For you?" I asked with all the meanness I had inside of me, "Why didn't you tell me?" I asked.
 
"I'm sorry. You didn't ask."
 
I looked at her incredulously. I had built our little thing way out of proportion in my head. She had managed to captivate me entirely, and I had this ideal version of her in my mind, which had just fallen off its pedestal and shattered into a million pieces as she stood there, telling me that. "I guess you're right," I steeled myself and looked at the floor with my best attempt at indifference. "I'm sorry I made you cheat on your boyfriend," I said.
 
She seemed at a loss for words for a few seconds. "I'm really sorry this is how and when we met," she said, crossing her arms. I finally received my coat and put it on, giving her one last look. I hated that my fears had come true, but I was relieved in an odd way that I wasn't going to have to go to the trouble of a liaison with her after all. I turned my back and headed for the elevator, shaking my head.
 
"Bye, Dalia," I said bitterly, realizing I had buried myself again under a pile of my own illusions. After all, objectively, all that had happened was 2 kisses, both of which I initiated, and one that she broke off.

Lol there's never been a more hilariously appropriate lyric. @emma-kathrine thanks for the motivation to finally get this up haha.
 
............................................
 
I left the fundraiser after standing in the garden for another ten minutes or so. There was nothing left to do there of course, and I couldn’t possibly speak to anyone. After all, that very morning, I was a regular guy, living the typical DC life, when I went to that stupid party and had my world turned on its head by /a girl/. A Democrat’s daughter. Probably a Democrat’s wife some day, maybe even a Democrat’s girlfriend right now.
 
What do I know, after all? It's extremely probable she has a boyfriend, an Ivy League graduate that doesn't abhor Law school, or maybe a successful businessman. Yeah, she might be that type.
 
“Warren, you dumba.ss,” I told myself, realizing I sounded like that idiot Romney. He hurt our image beyond belief, it was maddening to be associated with a misogynistic bastard like him.
 
I threw myself on the couch and closed my weary eyes, trying to remember that smell of hers. I tried to remember anything relevant I’d learned about her, but aside from the fact that she smokes too, I ruined the entirety of our talk with that stupid line about Gucci and Versace. I consoled myself with the image of her golden hair, her blue eyes, her long tan legs. That part of her, at least, gave me no moral qualms and guaranteed no nightmares with my father and his entourage.
 
Except she’s like a drug, and I need more. And getting that fix WILL produce a lot of headaches.