i miss you, im sorry - Gracie Abrams
1:03 âââ¬ââââ 2:47
â ââ 9 â¹â¹ â»
Washington, D.C. - The White House
Kamala's hands rest flat against her desk, but she isn't really seeing the documents spread before her. The numbers, the briefings, the carefully crafted political maneuvers-none of it registers. Not after what she did.
Not after she let you walk away.
Doug watches her from the doorway. He doesn't say anything, just studies her with that quiet knowing of his. It makes her stomach churn.
"God ur not slick, I can feel you watching y'know? Just say what you have to," she mutters, bracing herself.
Doug sighs, stepping into the room. "I don't need to."
But she does.
Because the reality of it is pressing in on her like a vice. The weight of what she's lost, of what she chose to lose.
"You regret it," Doug says after a long pause. It's not a question.
Kamala lets out a breath, but it's not an answer either. She presses her fingers to her temples, shutting her eyes. "It doesn't matter," she says, letting out a scoff, but the words sound hollow.
Doug scoffs. "Doesn't it?"
Kamala doesn't respond.
So Doug does what he always does-cuts through the carefully constructed lies she tells herself.
"You're miserable, Kamala. You made your choice, and look where it got you." He gestures to the dimly lit office, the abandoned glass of bourbon on her desk, the ever-present exhaustion in her eyes. "Is this the win you wanted?"
She clenches her jaw. Avoiding the question."It was the right thing to do."
Doug leans against the desk, arms crossed. "For who?"
The question hangs in the air, suffocating.
Kamala exhales sharply, pushing herself up from her chair. She paces to the window, looking out over the city. It's a view she once dreamed of. One she fought for.
But right now, it feels like a cage.
Doug watches her carefully. Then, after a moment, he speaks again-softer this time.
"If you don't fight for this, you'll never forgive yourself."
He walks over to Kamala, placing hand on her shoulder. Kamala turns, her pulse pounding. "And what if it's too late?"
Doug just looks at her. "You won't know until you try. But if you do decide to try, be careful Kam. You know I will support you no matter what right?"
Kamala gave a Doug a gentle smile, if there was a one person who actually stayed - it was Doug. So she knew he will always be there for her, althought the rest of the words rang in her head. That's the thing, isn't it? She won't know until the tries.
Kamala has spent her entire life choosing battles. Calculating risks. Picking the fights she knows she could win.
But this?
This was never about winning.
This was about her.
And maybe, for once, it's time Kamala fights without knowing the outcome.
New York - Your Apartment
You stare at the boarding pass in your hand.
One-way ticket. Fresh start. A clean slate.
Then why does it feel like running? You were always the type to just run away from your problems, to just leave and forget. And you were scared that was exacly whats happening right now. Ur running again.
The knock at the door shatters your thoughts. You hesitate, expecting a neighbor, maybe even Diana coming back to twist the knife one last time.
But when you open the door, it's her.
Kamala Harris.
The women who let you go yesterday, let you go the months before aswell. The women who always actually ended up letting you go - but always returning aswell.
It was foolish of you to think she wouldn't try it again.
Out of breath. Eyes wild. No security detail in sight.
For the first time in what feels like forever, she's just Kamala.
You freeze. "What-"
"I lied," she blurts out.
Your heart slams against your ribs. "What?"
"I lied," she repeats, stepping closer, desperate. "When I said I couldn't ask you to stay."
You swallow hard, every nerve in your body on fire. You wanted go punch her, like actually attack her. But you were stronger than that. "Kamala-"
"I was afraid," she cuts in, voice breaking. "Afraid of what it would cost me. Afraid of what it would mean. But I can't-I won't keep doing this."
You don't breathe. You can't.
"Tell me it's too late," she pleads. "Tell me you don't want me anymore, and I'll walk away."
You stare at her, throat tight. The words sit on the tip of your tongue. You could say them. You could let her go.
But you can't lie to her. Not like she lied to you. You refuse to become what you despited most. A liar.
So instead, you whisper, then eventually you start shouting "What are you asking me, Kamala? No like actually- what the fuck do you want from me? Because this whole thing- or more like a mess you created, doesn't make any sense right now"
She steps forward, barely a breath away. "Stay."
Your eyes search hers, and for the first time, there's no hesitation. No political mask. Just Kamala, raw and wrecked and yours. But you her words don't mean a thing. Not yet.
Your fingers tremble as you reach for her. It takes every bone in your body, to force yourself not to kiss her and agressivly make out with her- which could even turn into something more for the night. But you know better so you just hold onto her.
And this time- this time she doesn't let go. And neither do you. And it might seem naive, or stupid even. But neither of you cared in the moment.