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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OCTOBER 15TH, 2015 𝗧he droplets of freezing water from the puddles on the ground landed on her bare ankles, sending shivers across her body as she continued sprinting down the street. It was down – pouring. Just her luck. Still, a little bit of water was not going to stop her. She continued running towards no particular goal. She had nowhere to go after all.
A laundromat's buzzing and flickering red sign was not too far ahead. She had no money, and no clothes but the ones on her back – so she had no excuse to approach it, but what else could she do? It was the best option to get out of the rain. There was no way he was still following her. Not after how she left him – laying on the floor, blood running down his face. She shook her head, getting rid of the thoughts as she neared the laundromat. She slowed her pace as she approached the area, trying to act as normal as possible.
Rayne grabbed onto her soaking hair and attempted to wring out as much water as possible. She didn't know how long she'd been running, but it was long enough that she had no clue where she was.
He was right, she thought, walking now, catching her breath. I'll never make it on my own.
She swallowed hard. She had no other options.
She rounded the corner, searching for the front door; a man standing beside it stopped her in her tracks. She watched, eyes narrowed, defenses raised as he removed a cigarette from his lips and exhaled. He looked over at her, noticing her through the smoke. His eyes traveled up and down her body; her fists clenched tightly, ready to fight if needed.
Men were dogs. Always fucking hungry.
"Are you lost?" he asked.
"What's it to you," she replied.
He chuckled, dropping his cigarette, and crushing it under his shoe a moment later. When he finished, he took a step closer, to which she took a step back.
"Hey, it's cool. I'm not going to hurt you," he raised his hands innocently.
Yeah. I heard that one before.
Rayne looked at him regardless. His short, brown hair was disheveled and messy, and his outfit wasn't anything special; he didn't scream rich, nor poor. His eyes were kind and filled with worry, which concerned her, and kept her on edge, because alas, she was a stranger to him. He looked a bit older than her, but other than that, nothing about him looked intimidating.
She wasn't going to let her guard down just yet, but she did relax her face.
"I'm not lost," she said finally.
He looked at her funny.
Is my lie that obvious?
"If you need help, just ask."
"I don't need your fucking help," she spit, "I'm not some damsel in distress willing to play into your eager hero complex."
