(ASA)SSIN

CHAPTER FIVE

Heavy pounding on my front door sonorously vibrated through my entire flat, suddenly startling me awake. I had managed only a measly couple of hours of sleep before the untimely intermittent knocking became a fixture of my morning I couldn't ignore. After a night of restlessly tossing and turning mulling over unanswerable questions and dreams tainted with the traces of my hooded vigilante, I was in no mood to be dealing with the troublesome occupier of my morning wake up.

In a futile attempt to block out the noise, I frustratedly yanked my pillow over my head, but to no avail. I could still hear the muffled knocking circulating through my head like the steady beat of a drum, and with every minute I failed to acknowledge it the aggressive pounding became louder.

Reluctantly, I removed myself from the protective constraints of my fluffy-covered quilt, my only defence against the bitter chill that nipped at the air in my flat and seeped through the thin material of my white cotton pyjamas. Stupidly, I had left the windows open last night and the cool autumn air had dramatically decreased the temperature in every room, leaving me nothing but a violently shivering mess. But with the troublemaker who was incessantly determined to disturb my sleep, I had no choice but to brave the harshness of my mistake and answer the beckoning banging in hopes the resolution would afford me the return to the cosy comfort of my bed. I hated being disturbed, in any manner, especially for trivial little things that required no assistance from me. And if this wasn't urgent, whoever was behind that door was going to receive an earful. After all, I had killed people for less.

"I'm coming!" I shouted as I languidly searched for my door keys in my ceramic key bowl. I was tired and cold with no energy to entertain guests, especially at this hour, and I'm sure that whatever was so important could have waited until I was up or been sent to me via message. I had always struggled with being abnormally cold when everyone else was warm, and now I would have to spend the next pain-staking hour desperately trying to get warm enough to sleep. Safe to say I was not happy.

Opening the door, I was met by a familiar pair of emotionless oak-brown eyes, stoically staring at me like they were staring through my soul. His ink-black hair loosely fell into his eyes, rendering it an impossible task to read what he was feeling.

Ji-Hyun.

Ji-Hyun had played an integral part in raising the unruly eleven-year-old tearaway I had been when moving in with my Aunt. It was no secret that I had a hatred for the world and the people in it, but his impassive demeanour and controlled temperament helped straighten me out rather quickly. He taught me discipline, patience (I was still working on that), but most importantly he trained me to mask my emotions and only rely on myself. Unfortunately, the same cool exterior that removed any telling emotion from his body, served only to hinder everybody's ability to tell what he was thinking. Like now, if it wasn't for the barely noticeable tic of his jaw that subconsciously gave him away, I wouldn't know that he was boiling with bottled-up rage.

"Ji? What are y---"

"Get dressed. Tae wants to see you." He interrupted, hurling a newspaper straight into me. "I'll meet you in the car." Without a second glance, he stormed away.

I was confused. I knew Ji could be off handed with people at times, but never with me. He had a soft spot for me that he would never physically admit, but I could feel it. He treated me like how a father should treat his daughter, and even though at first I had been resistant to the change, I welcomed it with open arms now.

Immediately, I picked up the crumpled newspaper from the floor and bile rose in my throat. Printed boldly in black and white was the creatively exaggerative headline 'Murder on the Dancefloor: Bloodied Body found in Bar Bathroom.' This was to be expected I told myself, trying to cage my mind from running away with itself. Somehow the journalists had managed to brutally twist the story, morphing it into something unrecognisably worse than the actual outcome. Anything to make a quick buck. I diligently read the excerpt, scanning over the text looking for keywords that related to my identity, but there wasn't a single mention of a suspect.