The obnoxious voice of the early morning radio announcer made a groan escape from inside her throat. "I don't care," she grumbled, groping for the snooze button as he advertised some sort of teeth whitening procedure. When he was cut off, a satisfied smile curled on her lip, and she slowly but surely got out of bed.
Chloe Michelli, a defense attorney of twenty-five, staggered into the bathroom and slipped out of her embarrassingly pink pajamas before taking a rather lengthy shower. She, after all, had to both look and smell her best for that day. After stepping out and toweling herself off, she fiercely examined her head in the small mirror. Yes, everything was intact. Her eyes were still hazel; her skin was still peachy; her bouncy, freshly bleached hair still held its blonde color and was already dry thanks to her wonderful shower cap; her nose still had that hump in the bridge (which she was rather self-conscious about, and she frowned at it for a moment).
She took little time dressing herself. All she had to do was step into panties, fasten a D-cup bra around herself, and put on her white blouse, black tights and shoes, and forest green skirt suit, after all. With a flick of her light switch, she exited her bedroom and stepped rather hastily to the kitchen. Her daily bowl of cereal that was "guaranteed to help you lose all that extra weight!" was waiting for her.
When she sat at the table, she automatically reached for the remote that controlled the tiny TV on the counter. She turned it on and dug in.
"Official reports state that Franziska von Karma, German prosecuting prodigy, has landed safely at Newark airport and will be staying in America for three months. Whether she will be taking any cases or not has yet to be clarified."
Chloe's eyes flickered up to the screen and watched as the attorney's photo disappeared.
"In other news–"
The device was suddenly shut off. For one reason or another, she felt sick to her stomach and decided to toss the rest of her cereal. That was immediately followed by her racing into her room and ripping her cell phone from its charger. After dialing the number she had memorized for so many years, she held her breath until the familiar voice answered.
Without waiting for the generic greeting, Chloe's words escaped in a splutter. "I'm nervous."
"Listen, Chlo," the nasally voice began. "You're a logical thinker, and you're quick on your toes. You'll do just fine."
"But what if I don't, Beckie? What if he's proven guilty and he gets sent away and–?"
"Chlo." Beckie Pryce, who was Chloe's therapist long before law school, repeated with a firmer tone. "Relax. I understand that this is your first case, let alone your first murder case, but if you don't get yourself together, odds are you won't get the verdict you want, if you know what I mean. Do those breathing exercises I keep talking to you about."
"Okay," was all Chloe could say before she slowly inhaled through her nose and exhaled in a hiss through her mouth. It was difficult to at first, but as she continued, she felt the pounding in her head begin to fade. After an especially long breath, she returned the phone to her ear.
"Better?"
"A little," the attorney responded. "I'm still gonna take some Tylevil though."
A chuckle sounded from the other end, to which Chloe smiled. "Take it easy," Beckie said. "I'm rooting for you."
"Thank you. It means a lot."
"Go get 'em, tigress."
She clapped her phone closed after giggling her farewell and slipped back into the kitchen to get two of those capsules. She swallowed them dry and flew out the door of her apartment like a flustered finch.