The White House Washington D.C.
October 15, 1998
It was a cold Wednesday morning, given the fact that it's the middle of an autumn season.
Outside were trees getting glabrous. Oranges, and yellows falling on the pastured, and flat grounds piled up together scruffy, but still alluring.
To Hillary it was not. Everything about everything made her feel somber.
She was currently leaning her upper body at the wall, her legs scattered on the bathroom floor, feeling the freezing tiles up to her core. She'd been continuously vomiting from late five in the morning, until nothing was left for her to throw up. She felt normally sick, but something felt a little different. Something wasn't right, but she couldn't figure it out.
She was about to rise from the ice like floor when she felt the rumbling sensation in her stomach again. She crawled lazily, but in a rapid motion to reach the frequently flushed toilet, just in time before she could pissed the spotless floor. She steadies herself, by grabbing the sides of the toilet seat, bending her head towards it as well, causing little strands of blondes falling over her face. she slightly opened her mouth preparing for the outburst. She waited, but nothing ensued her.
"Fuck!" She was furious, this has been up for the majority of her time spent in the bathroom.
She'd lost almost an hour of her slumber, she felt tired sick. She rises up from the ground, hands gripping the edges of the sink. She looked directly at her reflection on the mirror. She was studying her face, and she immediately felt self pity. Ughhh.. those dark circles that are hanging under her eyes, her skin looking saggy, wrinkles getting deeper, Hues of blues running out of its vibrant color. Maybe everyone's right, she thought. The reason why her ill fated husband cheated on her, is because she's not attractive anymore. Or maybe she never was. Not fresh, Sexy, and certainly not 23 like... her. Even her thoughts couldn't bare to speak it's name. His mistress name.
She then switched the faucet on, propping her head downwards to the bottom of the sink, as she reached for the running water to wash her face, she felt her head getting more dizzy, and unfortunately the warm water didn't made anything better. She raised her head, took a nice long look at herself- and then there it is again, she felt another ripple of nausea. Her knuckles were already turning papered white, from gripping the edges way too hard, as she dry heaves.
Great! Just great.
She opened the cabinet under the sink, and took a clean towel, and used it to wipe her face dry. She reached her hands to anything she could use to steady herself with, as she makes her way out to the bedroom. When she made further inside the room, she caught her eyes on the phone, that was sitting on the nightstand table.
She was fighting to keep herself from fainting, fighting.. until everything finally went black.
Bill was getting ready for the day, he was facing the mirror fastening the last three buttons of his shirt, when two secret service entered his private study a.k.a his new sleeping quarters. Gestures like those used to be disrespectful, but since the last five years of his presidency, it became typical.
"What is it?" acknowledging the intruders standing next to the door.
"Sir, we wanted to inform you, that the First Lady was brought to the medical unit.."
He was in the middle of tying his necktie when it slowly sank into him, He turned to face them, his eyes wide, face pale, he was worried as f***.
"She was found in the masters bedroom lying unconsciously on the floor."
And with that, he flung his way out off the room, to the private halls of the residence, down the stairs. He was running, he was afraid. why is she unconscious? Was she sick? Every bit of negativity, was surfacing his mind. anything, but minor illnesses, was eating him alive. If anything happens to his wife, he can never forgive himself for it.
A tear fell from his blues, His broken heart's shattered pieces, getting worst. He stopped from his track, when he saw one of the rooms of the medical unit swung open. A nurse, followed by Doctor Mariano, coming out of the door.
As bill opened the door, His attention promptly got caught by the figure lying on the hospital bed. She was facing the wall, opposite from where he was standing. The foul smell of iodoform was running through his nose, he never liked the scent.
He sauntered to her, cautious not to make a sound that might disturbed her unconsciousness. When he settled down at the side of the bed, he just stared at her. Droplets of tears were silently falling out of his eyes, that made hillary stir from her musing. How sensitive she had turned into for the past few weeks. She took a quick glance at her husband, who doesn't seemed to notice her wake.
"I'm not dying, you know?"
He was flustered..
"Yes, William. I'm alive. If you're mistaken, we're not in the morgue. It's not my funeral yet."
Yet? What does she mean by yet..
He had begged their doctor to tell him earlier what his wife's condition was, and he wasn't successful since Hillary warned Dr. Mariano not to say a single word about her condition to anyone, even her husband. That’s why the doctor insisted that it's Hillary's responsibility, to tell him about it. He'd gone ballistic! since he thought it was something vital, and as her husband, he thought he has all the rights to know what it is! Whether it would be coming from the doctor or from Hillary, it’s his right to know.
He'd been aware of his wife's frequent visit to the medical unit, and he had also been aware about the test Hillary had been taking. Although she'd never discussed what those test are for. She'd received the results a few days ago, and to all those test: no illness was she positive for. Which brought her all the confusion the world has to offer. Not until this morning, when she took another test. A test she'd thought was silly for her to take, given her age, and her, and her husbands current state. But Doctor Mariano insisted as she contemplates on why she had not suggested it promptly on Hillary's first visit, about this matter. And given the symptoms that she'd been feeling, including fainting that had just occurred this morning, everything just seemed to fit.
He walked his way around the bed to where his wife was facing. He grabbed a chair that was sitting at the corner of the room. He carried it, and placed it on the side of the hospital cot. There he sat, as he took her hands that was resting on her stomach. He wiped his tears with his free hand, and then he enveloped her palms between his.
"Tell me my love, what's wrong?"
She looked at him in the eye. blues building its waves of tears. She hated him for cheating on her, and she wasn't even done with it, and now he'd given her a reason, for the hate, and anger to subside. He gave her another purpose to love him more. Still she was afraid. Afraid about his reaction. Afraid about everyone's reactions. Ones it's out, people would think it's planned. And of all perceptions of people about them, she never wanted that one. She never wanted to hear it from anyone.
He looked at her while struggling at preparing himself, for the worst.
"I can't do this."
Now he's overly perplexed. his brows furrowed, his palms got tighter around hers.
"Hill.. Tell me, what is it? Please!?"
Bill's eyes were flooding with tears. He was kissing her hands, pleading for her to say it.. to say something, to say anything.
She retrieved her hand away from him, sat up on the bed, and slips her hand under her pillow. She took something under it.
He on the other hand, had gone desperate, wishing for her balled up fist to unfold right away.
She turned her face away from her hands. She was contemplating whether or not to show it to him.
He was not amused, it's torturing him. Like every second spent by her thoughts, was taking forever.
She took his hands, and placed her enclosed one on his opened one. It took her a few more self encouragement till she finally decides, and releases what's inside: A white rectangular object, with two pink lines on the middle, flashed right in front of his eyes.