Chapter 5
SELENE
“Monique says you’ve been in the office a lot more.”
Pride colors my mother’s voice, the warmth of it washing over me through my headphones.
She’d called in the middle of me conducting my post-nightmare routine, which consists of listening to guided meditation recordings while I lie in bed staring at the ceiling.
Initially, I was a little dismayed by the interruption, but I’m glad that I answered because her constant chattering is actually exactly what I need.
I close my eyes and will the lingering tension in my muscles to fade while the sounds of Mama moving around the kitchen transport me back to my childhood.
A pot of Folgers coffee brewing on the counter.
Sausage patties sizzling on the stove. Slices of bread toasted in the oven with pools of salted butter in the center.
“Selene? You still there, baby?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well say something then, girl. You had me thinking I pressed the mute button by mistake again.”
She’s right to be concerned since muting herself by accident is a regular occurrence.
“Sorry.” I wince at her light admonishment as I sit up and rest my back against the headboard. “What did you say a second ago? I missed it.”
She repeats herself, adding more context this time, so I have a full understanding of how she and Monique ended up discussing my attendance record at work.
“Don’t you two have anything better to talk about?”
The clang of a pan hitting the stove rings in my ear, prompting me to open my eyes. I blink into the darkness of the room, grateful for the black out curtains that are currently hiding the sun from me. It’s a little after seven, and I need to be getting up to start my day.
“We don’t spend all day talking about you,” Mama says. “She just happened to mention that you were spending more time at work, and I wanted to let you know how proud I am of you for not letting anything keep you from your dreams.”
“Thank you.”
It feels wrong to accept her praise when I haven’t accomplished anything significant professionally or personally in months.
I decided to use Culture Code as my base of operations to get out from under Aubrey’s thumb two weeks ago, but I haven’t made any real progress on that front.
Mostly, I’ve just been compiling data, studying Aubrey’s voting record from his senatorial career, comparing his campaign promises to his accomplishments in office thus far.
There hasn’t been anything of interest outside of the complaints about his actions sometimes contradicting his words.
Entire forums are dedicated to what President Sanders once called Aubrey’s ‘fair weather politics’, filled with posts that put clips of him on the campaign trail promising a foreign country would never have an independent military base on US soil next to an article published in February about him being in talks with the Emir of Qatar to build one in the Midwest.
None of it means anything yet. I mean, politicians lie to get elected all the time.
Still, I bookmarked every forum and news article, adding them to my growing database of things I hope will amount to something but most likely won’t because it’s hard to blackmail someone with things that are already public knowledge.
I need something bigger, something darker, something undeniable and ruinous, something no one knows but the people closest to him.
Unfortunately, I’m no longer a part of his inner circle, and I wouldn’t be able to stomach the things I’d have to do to change that fact, so I’m just stuck. No access. No leads. Nothing but the desire to not just be free of Aubrey but to burn his entire world down on my way out.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Mama says, pulling me out of my head and back into the present. “I’m always proud of you, baby girl. I’m sorry I never said it enough when you were growing up.”
I hear the wobbly notes of regret in her tone and push out a soft breath.
Lots of positive changes have happened in our relationship between her impromptu trip to Vegas during the campaign and now.
We had long conversations about what I needed as a child and what I got from her.
She’s owned her mistakes and promised to do the work to show up how I need her to now.
I’ve trusted her to make those changes and forgiven her, but she can’t seem to forgive herself.
“Mama.”
“I know. I won’t cry.” She laughs, the sound wispy and sad, sending the image of her wiping away tears floating through my mind. We’re both quiet for a beat, and then she perks back up, steering the conversation in a new direction. “What’s on your agenda for the day?”
“We have the first forum for Aubrey’s Promise at AJ’s old school.”
“I thought you were going to be doing these on your own. Who’s we?”
“Me and Aubrey.” I grimace as I speak his name, hating the thought of doing this appearance with him almost as much as I hate the name he insisted on attaching to my labor of love.
Initially, he wasn’t supposed to attend any of the forums, but Allegra informed me last night that he had changed his mind about missing this one in particular.
“Mmm.” She hums disapprovingly.
“Cal and Beck will be there too.”
That perks her right up.
“Oh, good! I always feel better when they’ve got their eyes on you.”
“Me too.”
Their eyes. Their lips. Their hands….
I bite my lip, vanquishing my wayward thoughts and vowing to spend some time with my vibrator and plethora of memories tonight because if I’m thinking about threesomes on the phone with my mother then I’ve gone far too long without an orgasm.
“How are you feeling about going back to the school?”
“Fine. It’s just a building, Mama.”
One that’s undergone a full remodel since the shooting. The changes mean it won’t be familiar to me at all. It won’t feel like anywhere AJ has ever existed even though I’m told his name is engraved on a plaque in the main hall along with the other people who died that day.
“It’s not just a building, Selene. It’s the site of one of a major trauma, which means it could be extremely….what’s the word?”
“Triggering?”
“Yes.” She snaps her fingers. “Triggering. That’s exactly why you need to be going to therapy, ain’t that right, Al?”
Up until this point, she hadn’t so much as hinted at my father’s presence in the kitchen, but now I hear the deep rumble of his voice from far off, which means he’s probably at the table eating his breakfast and hoping to be left out of his wife’s early morning meddling.
“Good morning, Daddy!”
“Good morning, baby girl,” he shouts.
My brows pull together. “Have I been on speaker this whole time?”
“Of course. I need both hands to cook breakfast, Selene,” she says, sass all up and through her tone. “Now, back to this therapy thing…”
“Mamaaa,” I groan at the same time Daddy says, “Justine. Leave it alone.”
She sucks her teeth. “Can’t tell the two of your stubborn fools nothing.”
A knock on my door presents the excuse I was looking for to end the call, and I waste no time saying my goodbyes, promising to call later and let them know how the forum went. The knock sounds again, and I sigh, throwing the covers back and stretching before getting up to finally start my day.
Agent Shaw’s signature frown greets me when I open the door.
“Good morning, ma’am.”
“Good morning, Agent Shaw.”
With everything the woman knows about me, you’d think we’d have abandoned the formality by now, but she seems to prefer to keep those boundaries in place.
As someone who thrives inside the space between crisp and clear lines, I understand the desire.
I even get how that need for order led her to accept my relationship with Cal and Beck.
She’d hinted at it on the night she found out about us, explaining that her job was to keep me safe and doing that meant knowing every aspect of my life so she could sort them into the corresponding boxes.
Often, I imagine that my men and I reside in one she’s marked messy, inconvenient, and potentially career ruining.
Of course, that’s just me projecting. I don’t really know how she feels about us or anything at all, actually, because her professional facade doesn’t ever have a crack in it.
Even now, when I’m sure I look a mess with ruffled pajamas and my bonnet halfway off my head, her expression remains neutral.
“The motorcade will be departing for Belmont High School at nine sharp,” she announces. “I’ve been asked to inform you that the President will be arriving separately.”
“Perfect. Anything else?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Do you know if Diane and Ayanna have arrived?” I ask, hoping my firecracker of a hair stylist and the ethereal makeup artist I poached from Ursula Upshaw’s morning show are already on site and prepared for the challenge of making me look something other than stressed.
She nods. “Agent Morgan has just escorted them to the salon.”
“Okay, please let them know I’ll be with them shortly.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
With the conversation done, Agent Shaw resumes her post to the right of my door, and I return to the solitude of my room, moving through my shower and the rest of my morning routine slowly because I know it’ll be the last time I’m alone for the next twelve to fourteen hours.
Just the thought of being ‘on’ for so long has me stressed.
The buzz of preemptive overstimulation starts in the shower and lasts long after the forum at Beaumont High is over.
Waves of anxious energy twist their way through me, emanating from the spot on my back where Aubrey’s hand has been for the last minute or so.
He’s holding me in place, forcing me to pose for photos on the stage they erected in the gym for us while the students look on with distant interest.