indelible

make it count

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trigger warning: foul language and graphic violence with scenes depicting physical and sexual assault.
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Rain and Los Angeles do not mix.

It took Kamala longer than she planned to reach her destination, mostly due to what started as a drizzle that mid-afternoon turning into an actual, honest-to-god downpour. She wasn't a bad driver, but it wasn't often anymore these days that she got the chance to sit behind the wheel.

When she wasn't being driven around by her assigned personal security detail, she was with her soon-to-be husband, Doug. He claimed he was a bad driver, but he hadn't managed to get into an accident with her in the car so far, at least. She had not quite decided yet if this meant either he was exaggerating to temper her expectations on their first date or—as he preferred to look at things—she was his lucky charm.

No that she was feeling so lucky that day though, silently cursing her decision to head out on her own. Kamala would never admit to doing it, but she had given her guys the slip. She didn't do it often—the attorney general was cognizant of the not quite insignificant role she played within the state's justice system, but today it felt warranted. This, she thought, was not something she would risk anyone bearing witness to.

After all, how was she supposed to explain going off to meet a man at a motel by the airport?

Kamala had been so preoccupied with being able to leave on her own, she hadn't given any consideration to changing her clothes into something else that would have best fit the weather. It was California, after all, the land of perpetual summer. Who expected that the planet was still capable of producing that much precipitation in this part of the country? She certainly hadn't, at least, not that day. So, she was left in her dark gray suit with the matching skirt, a white button-down, sheer nylons and a pair of her beloved black Manolo Blahniks. It was a painful thought that she might have to sacrifice such a lovely pair of shoes for what was now beginning to feel like a foolish endeavor.

But it had to be done and the sooner she got it over with, the less likely anyone else would find out.

Turning into the lot, she looked for the closest available parking space she could find, squinting through the windshield where the wipers were already at the highest setting. She considered just sitting in her car for a while and wait to see if the rain would let up, but she had canceled dinner with her fiancé with no good explanation. The least she could do was get home at a decent hour and find some way to make up for ditching Doug so unceremoniously. That and she was hoping to be done before her detail caught on and avoid having them inadvertently alert him to her lie of omission by confirming her whereabouts.

It was hard not to feel like a child that needed to be minded at times, all in the spirit of keeping someone in her position alive.

Feeling her luck begin to turn, Kamala found a spot right in front of the three-story structure and groaned when she noted that it was the kind of place that had the hallways outside, exposed to the elements. She was already mourning her beloved shoes, glowering lightly at the umbrella on the seat next to her that she already knew would not be enough. She killed the engine and sat there for a moment, looking at the distorted image through the glass. As the downpour persisted, it almost felt as if she was looking at a living painting.

Although perhaps it wasn't a scene she would personally consider worth the effort to immortalize, with its mustard colored-walls and brick-red doors. For a moment, she wondered if she'd been there before for work and that was a foreboding thought to have. It would only mean her presence could have only been necessitated most likely because someone died or someone was trafficking products they shouldn't. Or both, even—those circumstances tended to intersect, based on her experience.