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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𝗦he exhaled deeply before placing her key into the door of her home, unlocking it and pushing it open. This had been her personal ritual every day since that night, and she didn't know how to fix it. Nor did she know if she wanted to fix it.
Rayne closed the door behind her softly before turning and tossing her car keys in the bowl nearby. She reached down and pulled the strap of her purse over her head, about to drop it to the ground when she noticed Christian standing in front of her, waiting. She jumped in place, taking a small step backwards.
"Hey, you," he smiled at her.
"H -hey," she said hesitantly.
As her words formed, she took the time to breathe him in. His stance was relaxed and open, she sensed no tension between the two of them. He was dressed up tonight, strangely. Christian had on a white button – up long sleeve that was tucked into tight, black jeans. A blue blazer sat on top of both along with a black bowtie. His hair was styled differently than normal, but it looked nice. He never dressed up; it was rare – only on special occasions. She pondered what could be special about today as she noticed the twinkle in his eyes – it was different than it had been the last month.
"Why are you so hostile?" he asked her.
"Well ... uhm," she cleared her throat, "—the last time you stood waiting for me things went..." her voice trailed off.
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and not opening them again until he exhaled. Once he did, she realized the twinkle had dimmed and was now just a slight glow, "Rayne," he began, "I know that I can't go back and change that night, but it doesn't mean I don't regret it because I do," he looked at her longingly, "I know that apologizing does nothing in terms of making what happened okay, and I know that, but I still want the opportunity to make it up to you. To earn your trust back. I love you and that's never going to change. I never want to make you feel like that again. Put you in that position," his eyebrows pushed together, "—so I'm going to apologize to you every day, for however long it takes, until you believe me."
She rubbed the back of her neck, unsure of how to respond. At least he knows sorry doesn't fix it.
"Okay," she said finally, wanting to move on, "Uhm, why are you so dressed up?"
"I have something special planned for us."
Oh no.
"Christian, I don't think that's the best idea—" she started.
"I know," he interrupted, "but I like to believe that some of the best moments of our lives happen at the worst times. Please. Just give me this night. If after this, you still want nothing to do with me, I'll respect that," he offered her his hand, "but just give me this evening."
She hesitated; her palm twitched at her side. Since that night a month ago, the two of them haven't touched. Not even in the slightest way. She had forgotten what he felt like in that span of time – yet she was unknowing if she willingly wanted to forget, or if the abuse and reminder of her trauma caused her to do so unconsciously. Regardless, it wasn't the only reason she stood here unmoving. All her life, all she had ever felt was stone cold pain. Even if all he did was slap her across the face – give her a bloody lip – it reminded her of the darkest parts of her childhood. He became her monster that night. His actions twisted him to become the spitting image of her walking nightmare. Places and rooms in her memories unlocked and threw its contents at her at an alarming pace – smothering, suffocating her.
