Madam President ✓

49. Revelations

-18 years ago-

I wipe the corners of my mouth, stand up, and playfully shove him back.

"Our parents are gonna kill us both, together- if they find out about this." I flop back on the bed, panting.

"Maybe." My maid's son admits. "But it's not like I work for them. They can't do anything to me without going to federal prison."

"A girl can only dream-" I roll my eyes. "But seriously. Get out."

"Wha-"

"Now. Right now. I'm not losing a multi billion dollar inheritance over you."

"Tanya-"

"NOW!" I scream like a toddler having a temper tantrum- though I feel like it's quite appropriate for the situation. I'd do just about anything- short of killing them myself, to get that money. I don't think I'd have the guts even to hire a hit man, but my parents have made plenty of enemies in their life so I'm counting on that.

I look myself up and down in the full-wall mirror. And for a second, I am in awe at myself. I have the body and face most people spend thousand of dollars to get- and I've never had to work out or watch what I eat a day in my life. But then I look closer and the little things get me- as they always do.

I have three tiny pimples on my jawline that, while not visible unless I look up- hurt like a bitch all the time. I look like I haven't slept in days- though I have. My hair is always frizzy no matter what I do, and I have a singular stretch mark on my right hip.

I'm lucky enough that my skin is normally the perfect balance between oily and dry, so I don't have to use any products. I breathe. Knowing the fact that I thought that- it'll only be a matter of time before it all goes downhill.

My mother said after you reach a certain age there's no point in trying- which was surprising coming from her because she's not that old. I press the button on my wall that connects to the kitchen.

Less than a minute later, the chef's appeared.

"What are you feeling today, Ms.Clark?"

"Surprise me." I shrug.

"Surprise you?" She raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Yep."

"Meaning...."

"Anything at all. I have a party to get ready for so make sure it's something quick."

"Yes Ma'm." She nods, scurrying off. I don't like her too much. No matter how many times I tell her not to call me Ma'm, she does it anyways- having worked in five star restaurants most of her career.

I walk over to my closet, looking for the black latex bodysuit I bought a few months ago and have worn an unnatural number of times since. My fingers have just closed around the fabric when the chef is putting a plate down on my desk. I shout a thank you, she whisper-shouts a you're welcome.

I set the bodysuit down on my bed and turn to the plate. My mouth waters at the mere sight- you can tell her speciality was presentation. The Oreo cheesecake she made this morning, finally set, makes me ignore everything else as I shovel bites in my mouth. I won't be the only one eating it. Even in this house- with a dad who doesn't like cheesecake and a mother who tries to avoid carbs, it'll be gone in a day or two.

I hate myself with the last bite, having forgotten how rich it is- but I manage to get it down with a thought - "I'm gonna do this to myself again, aren't I?"