Obama awoke to the sounds of cheers. He had barely managed to steal two hours of sleep before hearing the roar of the crowd, thousands of young people cheering his name. He looked around his empty hotel room and sighed; it was moments like these where he wished he still smoked. During campaign season it was always hard for Obama to sleep, and when he did sleep his tortured dreams were dominated by the voices of rallies he had attended earlier. The noise stayed with him, even during his quietest moments.
Slowly, Obama arose from the bed and paced around his room. It was 4AM and Barack Obama was alone. He had campaigned earlier in the day with his wife, but she had flown back to Washington after the rally without saying goodbye; he had asked her to stay the night with him, but she had sarcastically noted that he was a big boy now and could sleep by himself. Her barb had hurt the president, but after 20 years of similar insults he was used to it.
Depressed, Obama slowly scrolled through his Blackberry looking for someone, anyone to talk to.
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Hillary Clinton heard her husband's voice for the first time in weeks. As she casually flipped channels she came across Bill looking straight into her soul through the television - championing Barack Obama in a campaign ad. President Barack Obama. She had worked alongside him for four years now, yet the title still gave her a slight feeling of agitation. If all had gone as planned, she would be running for re-election right now as Senator Obama rallied young voters for her cause. The loss still stung after all these years, but especially on this sleepless night.
And yet she knew her irritation with her boss was masking her true feelings. Obama had proven her wrong over the last four years: he was strong where she predicted weakness, steady where she anticipated confusion. The job had aged the president and yet his youthful energy and intellect remained. He was still a young man, and even the most stressful moments had not robbed him of his youth.
Her young male aides often joked and laughed with her, but she could tell they thought of her as an old woman now. She tried imagining being with them but even the thought was disgusted her. Her endometriosis made sex painful, and the last thing she needed was a young stud rushing things. More importantly, young men often lacked the attributes she cherished: compassion, romantic, a calm spirit as comfortable alone with her by the fireplace as he would be in a crowd; the opposite of her impulsive, selfish husband. As she sat alone, conjuring the attributes of her perfect man, she realized she was describing someone she knew. She had known for years, yet her anger and jealousy had blocked the truth. Tears filled her eyes. The phone rang...
