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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𝗔fter realizing his house was strangely within a decent walking distance to Kai's, he resumed his actions from last night and wandered around the streets. He knew he needed to get his car soon before they had it towed from the parking lot, but he felt disinterested and unmotivated towards the idea. He was tired – and mentally drained. His legs were barely supporting him at this point, and his head was ringing loudly with a minor hangover. The voice inside his mind wasn't helping with that.
Mason dropped his head and let out an exasperated sigh as he crossed the boardwalk. He kept his eyes glued to the pavement as his movements grew slower and slower. The wind continued to blow is his long, black hair into his eyes and mouth; which annoyed him enough to look down at his wrist, and realized he had an extra hair tie this entire time.
He lifted his face and tied his hair back up into a bun, allowing the sun to gaze upon his face as he did so. When he finished, he ran a hand down the back of his head, letting the prickly, peach – fuzz feeling of his undercut sooth him slightly. He let his arm go limp at his side once more as he eyeballed the path ahead of him. He figured his eyes were displaying the same numbness that rang throughout his body. Being alone on this street, without a person in sight, he traveled to the lonely bench that rested nearby.
Mason sat, slouching, letting his elbows rest on his thighs and his face in his head. He felt like he had been walking forever, physically, and mentally, yet the soles of his shoes only calculated a mile. He hated being alone. He hated having free time, because all that really meant was time for his own thoughts to take over and bully him. When he was alone, they engulfed him. They devoured him whole before spitting him out and forcing him to suffer with the remnant; he always ended up with a perfectly tied noose around his neck, and a chair being kicked out from under his feet. They suffocated him without an ounce of mercy.
He picked his head up, staring at his palms as the feeling of water trickled around them.
Am I crying?
He reached up and touched his face, shocked at how wet it was. He dropped his hands onto his knees and formed tight fists, pressing them into his legs. His vision blurred every other second with the creating and releasing of new tears.
Confused. It was a word that barely expressed how he felt. Empty. A word that mimicked the shell of himself that he lived in. Disgusting. A word he was told, describes his only natural desire. Murderer. A word that truly distinguished his identity.
He sniffled deeply, feeling every single piece of emotion flood into his brain and break the numbness he felt. He looked up, feeling the air rush into his lungs as it all came rushing back to him.
The pain. The deceit. His life. What he had just done.
Mason slid off the bench, falling onto all fours, pressing his palms hard into the pavement.
