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...
Oups ! Cette image n'est pas conforme à nos directives de contenu. Afin de continuer la publication, veuillez la retirer ou télécharger une autre image.
𝗛e tapped his fingers repeatedly against the wooden desk of the defendant's bench on the left side of the courtroom. He was continuously taking and letting go of deep breaths in an effort to calm his growing anxiety. He stared at the chair next to him; it was empty due to Rayne's strange absence. It had surprised him to find out that he arrived before her — but now it was becoming worrisome. It was twenty minutes before the case was supposed to start and she still wasn't here.
She is always punctual.
The sound of the door opening behind him alerted him, and he spun fast, feeling hopeful.
In came his four roommates, no sight of Rayne. They noticed his glance and waved at him. He offered a half – smiled and a half – hearted wave in return before pointing to Isaac and silently asking him to come to him. He nodded and scooted past the others, jogging up to the bench.
"Hey. What's up?" he asked once he was close enough.
"Did you see Rayne out there?" he responded, leaning his elbows on the desk.
"No? Is she not here yet?"
Rueben sighed and scratched the back of his head, "No. I'm starting to get worried."
"That's really weird. Have you tried calling? Texting?"
"I texted, but I didn't get an answer," he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone again.
"Try her again. If she doesn't answer, maybe she's just driving."
Rueben nodded, "You're probably right. Thanks Zac, you can go back now."
"No problem," he rested a hand on his shoulder, "Try not to overthink it all. I'm sure she's fine."
"Yeah, I know," he spoke under his breath as he walked away.
He unlocked his phone and scrolled to his messages app anyways, wanting to check if the texts he'd sent had at least been seen by her. She had the habit of reading them on her car's dash screen and not answering. He looked at the messages:
Today, 10:10 a.m.
Where are you? I thought we were getting here early?
Today, 10:45 a.m.
Rayne?
Rueben let out another anxious breath, realizing he was still on delivered.
The hell with not fucking worrying.
This is so unlike you Red.
He rested his phone on the table, rubbing his eyes with his freehand. It wasn't like he could just up and leave to go check on her. He was court ordered here; Jonah would have his neck if he tried to leave.
