Poppy/H.S

Chapter 9

Trigger Warning: mention of rape and domestic violence

The rest of the weekend slipped through my fingers as I spent the majority of it preparing for work, studying different cases. I have an important meeting with the woman sueing her husband for rape, asking for divorce and a whole lot of money.

She's the only client I have a meeting with today because I've cleared my schedule to have enough time to prepare for her case, since we're going to court in just two weeks from now. We have come to discover he hid a separate bank account from her. Since she lives in London, I'm meeting her there for coffee again.

I smile at the memory of the conversation I had with Harry, when he asked me why I had drunk so much coffee that day. He was right, though. If I continue with my coffee drinking habits, a heart attack surely awaits me. Not only is it bad for my heath, it has also messed up with my sleeping schedule. I don't mind staying up longer during on the work nights, since I always have to study for the following day. But I have struggles sleeping on the weekends, when I don't drink as much coffee.

Even though I prefer having my clientele here in Brighton because travelling to London gets tiring, especially since I don't have my car, I don't complain about my happy ex-clients spreading the word about me in London. I'm saving up for a car, so the extra money will come in handy for sure. Arriving at a meeting all sweaty because of spending some time in the crowded tube, might seem a little unprofessional.

Sighing, I walk over to my closet, looking for a decent dress to wear. Since it's quite cold outside, hence the tricky autumn weather, I pick a long-sleeved dress with a leopard pattern that reaches my mid-thighs. I combine it with my nude tights. I complete the look with my black purse and a matching pair of high heels. Lastly, I put on my rings and bracelets, never leaving the house without at least one piece of jewellery.

I look in the mirror, a satisfied grin on my face. I grab my phone from the nightstand, checking how much time I have before the morning train leaves. Realising I still have some time, I walk back to my closet and I look for my beige coat, just in case I'd be cold later today since the weather is so tricky.

Deciding it's finally time to leave the house and walk to the train station, I grab my keys laying on the top of the chest of drawers in my bedroom. I smile at the sight of my poppy bouquet, leaving my bedroom and making my way out of the house. I lock the door, putting the keys into my purse along with my phone.

I walk to the train station, mentally dancing to the sound of my heels clicking against the pavement. Whatever my mood is, walking in my heels makes me feel better about myself. No matter how anxious I feel, wearing heels gives me the guts to deal with it.

The sound of the heels clicking makes me feel confident and suddenly all of my problems seem a little bit smaller. Wearing my favourite pair of Manolo Blahniks reminds me of what I've achieved in life and everything that I can yet achieve.

I consider them a reminder of how strong I am, reminding me of the first time I won a case. I had the last 400 pounds on my bank account that time, and I spent them all to the very last pence just to buy the shoes of which I've been dreaming about buying ever since I was a teenager, watching Sex and the City with one of my best friends.

Carrie Bradshaw has been my biggest inspiration, no matter how silly it may sound. I've dreamt of dressing like her, adoring all of her iconic looks. I've been hoping to find my own Mr. Big, however, the older I got, the wiser I got. I've come to realise I'm more of a Miranda myself than Carrie. I've become a lawyer like her, after all. And after all the terrible relationships I've participated in, I've began to lose hope of finding my Mr. Big, the love of Carrie Bradshaw's life.