Slow Down by Mac Ayres
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Today, as I walked into the White House, I felt a mixture of relief and reluctance. I'd been assigned to cover some of Vice President Walz's meetings, a change of pace from my usual routine. Honestly, I was glad for the shift—I needed a break from shadowing Kamala. Just yesterday, I told her I wasn't going to play her games anymore, whatever that meant. Yet, as I took in the familiar halls and corridors, I couldn't shake a strange sense of loss.
I hated feeling this way. It felt foolish to admit, but I already missed her. Something about her was magnetic, and even now, with the distance I'd tried to create, it felt impossible to ignore her presence. She was always there, lurking in the back of my mind, and it was becoming harder and harder to separate myself from it. But today, I'd focus on the Vice President's schedule. Or, at least, I'd try.
As I opened the door and stepped into the expansive meeting room, the hum of conversations and the rustle of movement filled the air. People were scattered around a large central table, some seated in earnest discussion, others standing off to the side in small groups, talking quietly. I let my eyes wander across the room, scanning faces in the hope of finding someone familiar. Unfortunately, not a single one rang a bell.
A part of me had hoped to see Ruby here, a comforting presence in an otherwise overwhelming space, but deep down, I knew that wasn't going to happen. Today, it was just me. The realization settled in, leaving a faint pang of loneliness, but I took a steadying breath and prepared myself for whatever was to come.
I navigated my way over to a quiet corner of the room, claiming a secluded spot where I could set up my camera without drawing too much attention. After setting down my bag, I methodically unpacked my gear, carefully pulling out the camera and selecting the right lens. I clicked everything into place, the familiar sounds and motions helping me settle into a rhythm.
As I powered the camera on and raised it to eye level, adjusting the settings and checking the frame, I caught sight of Vice President Tim Walz entering the room. His presence shifted the energy, and a few heads turned in his direction. I took a quick, steadying breath, knowing that it was time to focus and capture the moments as they unfolded.
I started snapping photos as Vice President Walz moved toward the table, offering polite greetings to everyone he passed. He had a calm, friendly demeanor, and his warm handshakes and nods seemed to put people at ease. As he reached his seat, the rest of the room began to settle into place, with everyone gradually taking their seats around the table.
In a few moments, the only ones still standing were the aides, a handful of assistants, and the ever-watchful Secret Service agents positioned discreetly around the room. I remained in my corner, camera poised, capturing the subtle interactions and the quiet intensity that filled the air as the meeting was about to begin.
Throughout the lengthy meeting, I captured countless photos, focusing intently on Vice President Walz. I observed his expressions, his gestures, and how he interacted with those around him, ensuring I documented every significant moment. As the meeting finally drew to a close, I took my last shot, letting out a quiet sigh of relief. Lowering my camera, I immediately began reviewing the shots on the small screen, carefully scrolling through each one to assess their quality.
I was absorbed in my task, lost in the details of light and composition, when I felt a light tap on my shoulder. Startled, I quickly turned, raising my eyes to see who had interrupted me.
"Camilla."
It was that Secret Service agent standing behind me. I should have known better than to think today would pass without a hitch; foolish of me to assume otherwise. His presence had that unmistakable, unyielding air of authority, and I could already sense that this wasn't going to be just a casual interaction. A quiet sigh escaped me as I braced myself, hoping whatever was about to come wouldn't throw my entire day off course.
"What is it now?" I asked, my tone edged with a hint of impatience.
"I'm here to escort you to the second floor. The President needs your assistance," he replied, his tone firm and direct.
"Isn't that basically her home? Why would I go up there?"
"She said she wants to give you something."
I stared at him for a moment, a look of utter confusion spreading across my face.
"Right, and I'm not so sure I'm interested in doing that," I replied firmly. "You heard me just yesterday tell her that I'm done playing these games. And now you're telling me she wants me to go up and see her in her own space? Yeah, I don't think so."
"Camilla, I can assure you, she only wants to give you something—nothing more," he replied, letting out a deep breath. "Would you please come with me?"
"Do you hate your job or something?" I interrupted, cutting him off mid-sentence. I knew I was probably getting under his skin, but honestly, the feeling was mutual—he'd always seemed to have an issue with me, and I wasn't in the mood to make things easy for him today.
"No, I don't hate my job. In fact, I consider myself quite fortunate to have it," he replied, his tone calm but firm. "But what I don't appreciate is how you never seem to listen, especially when I'm just the messenger."
"Alright, fair enough," I nodded, feeling a slight sting from his words. But at least he was being honest with me. "Lead the way—I'll follow."
"Great," he replied with a nod before turning and starting to walk away. I quickly tucked my camera back into my bag, hurrying to catch up with him. As I fell in step beside him, we made our way out of the room and down the hallway together, our footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors.
"Mind if I ask you something?" I said, breaking the silence that had settled between us.
"Sort of, but I'm willing to hear it out," he replied, eyes fixed straight ahead. I had to give him credit—he was remarkably straightforward, and I could respect that.
"What is your name?"
"Dennis."
"Dennis?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's kind of dull. I was hoping it'd be some kind of super cool code name." I said, a hint of disappointment creeping into my voice.
"I don't get a code name, Camilla."
"Who does?"
"The President."
"What is it?"
He snapped his head toward me, his expression radiating disappointment. "Why would I tell you that? I can't share that information with you."
"Can I at least guess?" I asked with a playful grin, hoping he might indulge me.
"We're here," he said abruptly, coming to a halt in front of a stairwell. He turned to face me; his expression serious. "Stay close," he instructed, signaling for me to follow as he prepared to lead the way up.
Though I hadn't managed to get the answer today, my curiosity was now piqued, and I made a mental note to keep pestering him about it. After all, he'd be around me often enough. I trailed behind him as we climbed the stairs and stepped into another hallway. Up here, everything had a strangely domestic feel, almost as if it were its own private residence, tucked away from the rest of the building.
He guided me down the hall, leading me toward a door at the far end. We stopped in front of it, and I glanced around, trying to absorb the atmosphere of this hidden corner of the White House.
"This is her bedroom," he explained, pausing at the door. "She's not in there right now, but she asked me to have you wait inside. You'll have privacy—no one else is here today. I just need to go let her know you've arrived." His tone was calm and matter of fact, almost as if trying to preempt any resistance.
I could feel a surge of protest bubbling up inside me, but I forced myself to take a steadying breath and simply nodded. He was right—he was just here to do his job, and getting defensive wouldn't change anything. So, I swallowed my objections, bracing myself as I prepared to step inside.
He opened the door and stepped aside, allowing me to enter. As I walked in, I was immediately struck by the room's elegance. It was beautifully appointed, with a vintage charm that somehow felt fresh and modern. The delicate details, from the ornate mirrors to the rich wooden furniture, all seemed meticulously chosen.
But what really captured my attention was the bed—it looked so familiar, as if I'd seen it somewhere before. I couldn't quite place it, though, so I brushed off the feeling, trying to focus on the moment. My heart fluttered with anticipation, knowing that in just a few moments, I'd either be the happiest person in the world or left deeply disappointed.
I heard the soft click of the door closing behind me, leaving me enveloped in a deep, almost eerie silence. I took a slow breath and began to wander around the room, my eyes drifting over each carefully placed item. I examined everything—the antique dresser, the delicate porcelain trinkets, and the framed photographs that adorned the walls.
It felt strange, almost intrusive, to be standing here in her bedroom. This space was so intimate, a place I never thought I'd find myself. The weight of it all began to sink in, and a sense of unease crept up. What was I really doing here? Why had she brought me to such a private corner of her life? I tried to piece it together, but the more I thought about it, the less sense it seemed to make.
Before I could piece together any answers, the quiet creak of the door opening drew my attention. I turned instinctively, my gaze fixing on the doorway. And there she was, stepping into the room with an air of quiet confidence. I stood frozen, watching her every movement, my heart racing with a mix of anticipation and dread.
I couldn't deny it—I was scared. There was something about her presence that always seemed to unnerve me, and now, in this intimate setting, that feeling was amplified. I held my breath, waiting to see what she would say or do, my mind racing with possibilities.
"I want to give you something, Camilla," she said, her voice soft as she slowly closed the door behind her. "I promise, that's all this is about." Her tone was reassuring, as if she could sense my hesitation, and it made me wonder, once again, if she really could read my mind.
"Okay," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper as she stepped closer. She moved gracefully, each step deliberate, until she was standing directly in front of me. Gently, she reached out and took my hands in hers, enveloping them with a warmth that caught me off guard.
Her thumbs began to softly trace slow, reassuring circles across the backs of my hands, and I felt a strange mixture of comfort and tension wash over me. It was such an intimate gesture, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of us standing there in this quiet, private space.
"Will you sit on the edge of my bed with your eyes closed? I didn't get a chance to wrap it up, but I still want it to be a surprise."
"Yeah," I murmured with a nod, and slowly, we released each other's hands. I turned and walked over to the bed, settling onto its edge. The ornate bedposts rose elegantly around me, supporting a delicate canopy that seemed to whisper of another era. I glanced around, taking in the room again, and that's when the feeling struck me—a sudden rush of déjà vu.
It clicked. I had dreamed of this exact moment, back when I first got the job and met Kamala. I could remember only fragments, but the bed stood out, vivid and familiar. A shiver ran down my spine as I tried to piece it together, but the details remained elusive, just out of reach.
Taking a deep breath, I brushed the thought aside, hoping it wasn't a warning from my subconscious. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to ground myself, and waited for Kamala to reveal the surprise she had mentioned.
A moment later, I felt something placed gently in my hands. I opened my eyes, and there it was—a sleek, beautifully crafted camera box resting in my palms. My breath caught as I took in the details, and realization washed over me. It was my dream camera, the one I had always wanted but knew I could never afford. The sheer impossibility of it was overwhelming.
I glanced up at Kamala, my jaw dropping in utter shock as I tried to process the gift in front of me. This wasn't just a camera; it was everything I'd ever wanted for my work, something I'd never imagined actually holding. And now, here it was, resting in my hands, more real than I'd ever dreamed.
"Do you like it?" she asked softly, her voice gentle and full of warmth.
Words failed me. Instead of answering, I carefully set the box down on the bed beside me and, without thinking, leaped up and wrapped my arms around her. She let out a surprised laugh, the sound light and genuine, as she hugged me back.
"I'll take that as a yes," she chuckled, holding me close. The moment felt almost surreal, and I let myself sink into the embrace, grateful beyond words.
"How did you know this was my dream camera?" I asked, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes, searching for an answer.
"I have my ways, Camilla," she replied with a small smile. "I wanted to give you something as an apology—for how I reacted yesterday, and for all the other times I've been less than fair with you." She took a deep breath, her gaze softening. "I've thought a lot about it, and you're right. If I want to keep enjoying having you around, I need to treat you better."
"You didn't have to go this far," I said softly. "An apology would've been more than enough."
"I know," Kamala replied with a chuckle. "But I do love spoiling people when I get the chance. So, I figured I'd take this opportunity."
"Oh, Kamala," I murmured, biting my lip as I took a moment to really look at her, taking in the sincerity in her eyes. "Thank you. Really, I mean it."
"Do you want to give it a try?" she asked, tilting her head with a playful smirk.
"What exactly do you mean by that?" I replied, matching her playful smirk with one of my own.
"Take the camera out, and I'll show you," she said with a playful glint in her eyes. She slowly released her hold on me, and I did the same, reluctantly stepping back. I turned to the box on the bed and began unpacking the camera, pulling out each piece with care. My fingers moved with practiced ease, assembling everything as if it were second nature. I was so focused on putting it all together that I didn't notice Kamala until I looked up.
She had made herself comfortable on the bed, sitting on the edge with a relaxed posture, watching me with that same mischievous smile. Her presence was captivating, and for a moment, I felt the weight of the moment sink in as she waited for me to take the first shot.
I took a few steps back, carefully framing her within my line of sight, and brought the camera up to my eye. As soon as she appeared through the lens, it was as if I were seeing her with new clarity. The way the light fell across her face, the ease in her posture—it was utterly captivating. She looked breathtaking, and for a moment, I just lingered there, stalling, captivated by the way the camera seemed to capture an essence of her that I hadn't fully noticed before. I took a steadying breath, allowing myself a heartbeat longer before pressing the shutter, capturing that perfect image of her.
"Alright, now you have to show me," she said with a spark of excitement in her voice, sensing the moment I took the shot. I nodded and stepped back toward her, flipping the camera around to reveal the screen. I held it out, letting her get a good look at the photo.
She studied it closely, her eyes scanning over every detail, and then a wide grin spread across her face. There was a hint of pride in her expression, as if she, too, could feel the magic captured in that instant. Her smile was infectious, and I felt a surge of satisfaction knowing that I'd been able to capture her in such a perfect, unguarded moment.
"This might just be the best financial decision I've ever made," she teased, a playful glint in her eyes. Her remark made me laugh, the sound filling the room as I couldn't help but be amused by her sense of humor. It was a lighthearted moment, and I could tell she was pleased, not only with the photo but with the whole experience. Her smile widened as she watched me, clearly enjoying the impact her gesture had made.
"Can I keep this one?" I asked, my voice hopeful as I caught my breath from the laughter. "I really want this shot—it's perfect."
"It's all yours, baby," she replied with a warm smile. "Do whatever you want with it."
I returned her smile, and for a moment, we just looked at each other, sharing a quiet connection. Maybe I was being foolish, but I couldn't help but feel that she was genuinely trying. She had invited me into her private space, offered a heartfelt apology, and given me something I'd dreamed about for years.
It wasn't just the camera; it was the thoughtfulness behind it, the vulnerability in letting me see her like this. It felt like a real effort to bridge the gap between us, and maybe, just maybe, it was a sign that things could be different.
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Authors Note
Okay do you guys love me again? 😔
Also I was gonna put smut but I just felt like I needed to really capture the importance of this moment.
And, I told y'all I was going to take you through an emotional journey 🤨 So don't hate the player, hate the game alright.
Anyways, love y'all <3
p.s. if you know mac ayres, we're actually best friend's now.