oh, mr president | H.S.

ELEVEN: Privacy

"No president who performs his duties faithfully and conscientiously can have any leisure." - James Polk

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E L E V E N : Privacy

        "You can not be serious about this bill. It's filled with...idiocy and the democrats' attempt to get you impeached!" One of the congressmen fussed with no intention of quitting or defusing his argument. His fellow members of the Republican Party in the senate preached their own words to the president. Harry loomed over the window of the Oval Office, hands tossing the debris in his pockets as he found himself distancing from the men. He observed the green plains, covering the landscape of the front lawn and how they were nearly cut for the perfect curb appeal. Their mindless chatter faded into thin air.

"Mr. President!" Harry ascended to planet Earth, rotating on his heels to face the congressmen, and Jacquelyn that had slipped between the crack of the door. Her hand gripped a series of blue manila folders, signaling him with her eyes at her findings. Harry was astonished that she had accomplished some much in the small time frame; he gave her until the evening to complete it, but she must of jumped right to the task.

"Gentlemen, I'll be meeting with you later on the matter. Please excuse me." Harry nodded his head briefly, plodding his steps to the door framing where Jacquelyn stood clutching the folders. She said nothing but presented a small inclination of a smirk on her lips. She has spent her entire morning dedicated to gaining any ounce of information she could dig up without breaching her security level. Jacquelyn wanted to be on the president's good side, instead of repeating last night's events. Harry was well aware of her expression, but choose to focus entirely on the information found. "What did you find, Jacquelyn?" He kept his voice low, even though Lauren's ears from her secretary's desk were sharp.

"I would rather we head inside a private room. It gets...deep." Jacquelyn patted her manicured fingers the tabs that were labeled with Ophelia's initials. Harry quickly understood this, gesturing at his press secretary to lead the way into a secluded environment for the sensitive information. She noticed, then ambled to a conference room that was unused. The couple flooded inside, and Jacquelyn opened the file stamped with the confidential seal. "Ophelia Kensington, born in Cambridge, Massachusetts to Richard and Valerie Kensington in CHA Cambridge Hospital. Her parents separated when she was only seven years old, and she was sentenced by the family court to the custody of her mother, Valerie. She attended several public schools with decent grades until suddenly, her grades plummeted in the beginning of her first year in junior high-"

"Why?" Harry had found his place in a chair, body leaned to the cushion and his fingers supporting his chin as he listened closely and memorized Ophelia's history.

"I am not completely sure, but there were several medical records that showed her coming in and out of the hospital in different parts of the year. The doctor's notes document physical damage to the arms, thighs, and neck," Jacquelyn's voice trailed off while her palms slid a photograph of a young Ophelia in her early teens. Personally, she was mortified by the picture, and felt empathic to the woman but only for a few seconds after first seeing the image.

Harry's eyes glimpsed at bruises that were pigmented in her pale, snowy skin. Shades of purple and darken vermilion from the dried blood stunned him into refuting to lay eyes on the image again. It has burned a place in his memory, and he could categorize the picture as graphic. "All right, so she was abused by her own mother then?" He questioned, attempting to understand who could do such a thing to a woman. Harry has witnessed plenty of domestic violence in his lifetime, but he would never believe that a woman like Ophelia to have a shocking backstory.