𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 is your average do-good lawyer on the rise to fame as a representative of young victims. Except her motivations aren't all that innocent. Rayne's only goal is to run from her past, to leave confrontation for the courtroom, no...
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THE SOFT AND HUMID AIR OF THIS California afternoon wafted across her cheeks, relaxing her steeled soul and uneasy stomach. One foot in front of the other was all she reminded herself to do as she detached herself from work mode and slipped into personal mode as if it was the interchanging of jackets to match her outfit.
Another case won—she should feel grandiose, but all she felt was that dreadful sinking that returned in response to every awfully realistic experience.
Rayne knew that delving into the details of the case was only going to send her down the golden path of manic spirals, but even after perceiving her judgment, she couldn't help herself. Her client had been in the rare percent of the population that had been falsely accused of sexual assault, and the depths of that burden wouldn't leave her shoulders, no matter how hard she tried to shake it.
Experiencing it first-hand, it's not something to lie about—it's traumatizing.
The dull, grey steps evaporated from her sight as she landed on the flat sidewalk. Her mind was at an all-time numbed level as she blankly stared ahead, trekking toward her vehicle.
She probably would've stayed the same mindless zombie on the drive home if it weren't for the buzzing energy of her new secretary beelining it to her car that tore her from it.
"You were so good in there, Rayne!" she squealed, eyes shut and fists clenched, "I mean, I knew you were amazing before I applied for the job, but seeing you in action is something else! I can't believe you got the prosecution to crumble like that!"
A half smile was all she could muster; exhaustion bested her attempt at anything real.
But even if she was too empty to express her gratitude and graciousness for her adorable presentation of emotion verbally, in her mind, she was flustered.
"Oh, shit, I'm sorry," her voice dimmed, noticing her silence, "I can be a little much when I get excited—I tend to embarrass myself."
"You're fine," she waved her off, omitting the truth, "My lack of enthusiasm has nothing to do with you and everything to do with my schedule. I've got to take off—I'm only working a half-day today."
"Oh!—duh!" Chloe slapped her forehead, "I'll see you tomorrow at eight then? I don't want to keep you."
A nod.
"Perfect! I can't wait to talk more!"
Her expertly-done hair bobbed with such electricity as she walked away and waved, she felt jealousy prick her fingers. If only she could be like her; while she had no idea if she had been through anything rough, she wished to share the same worldview as her—greeting days with excitement and thrill. It almost felt whimsical.
Rayne returned her gesture of departure before loading herself in the front seat and exiting the courthouse parking lot. Thankfully, beating L.A. traffic by a few minutes at best, she arrived at her penthouse apartment within twenty minutes.
