방탄 소년단
"That... gash," I muttered, my nose rumpled in disdain - and sympathy for the man - as I studied the newly developing scar on his right eye.
It was fresh, the skin that surrounded the vermilion wound was puffy and distended, as if it just hap...
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I couldn't get him out of my head.
How he barged in without a caveat, nearly killing all the people in the room with no hesitation, no second thought behind his inhumane actions.
The way he looked at me, studying my clothes, my body. The pity colored his expression when he realized I had shed a few pathetic tears. He felt bad, pitying me because I was running with the wrong crowd as an innocent young woman. He looked at me with a gaze in his eyes that silently told me how dangerous it was for me to be involving myself in such detrimental situations that could nearly kill me, or severely injure me.
I was aware of that.
It nearly surprised me that he was able to massacre dozens of random strangers to him, but was able to graciously free me, having the ability to feel for me and my sorry life.
I stood with my hair twisted between my fingers, leaning my back against the wall, while I watched a few men run up and down the hallway, evacuating the people in the ramen shop below us so that they could clean up the mess that was made.
My body stiffened when I heard a familiar Russian accent coming from up the stair beside me. I fixed my posture, keeping my fingers out of my hair which proved my anxiety to the people near me.
"What do you mean he's gone?!" Mikhail demanded, his voice drawing closer and closer to me.
"We think he took him." This person replied, his voice holding no emotion.
"Fuck!" Mikhail cursed suddenly, causing me to flinch and cower against the wall. "I can't fucking deal with that at the moment, alright? Get the fuck out of my face, now!" He demanded, his voice booming in a complete rage.
Although his accent nearly overwhelmed his English, others could still comprehend him. Especially through the wreck of emotions he erratically displayed — which were through outrage, typically.
He passed me without a second thought, moving forth toward the room to see the damages that were leftover from the ambush.
I kept my eyes low, hands in front of me as I carefully listened.
They muttered, walking around the room, entirely taking in the bedlam.
"And he left the money," I heard Mikhail laugh in disbelief. "And the fucking drugs. And he killed Demi!" He went on a rant, naming all the casualties he would suffer.
"Where the fuck is Reyna, huh?" Mikhail wondered, too much in his own head to realize I was the woman he passed long ago near the staircase.
I took this as an opportunity to walk over to Mikhail, trying to hide my thoughts. He was always able to disembowel and pick apart my brain, somehow, even after I tried hiding my emotions.
"She's right over there." A man replied, pointing in my direction.
I tried on a faltering smile, keeping my composure. Hiding the fact that I was a complete mess, traumatized by the things I always prayed I never had to witness with my own two pure eyes.
