Story: The Truths We Fake

Genre: Drama/Romance/Mystery

Chapter 3: All Is Crumbling (Asami Centric)

Asami moved swiftly from her bedroom to the kitchen despite the heavy weight of the bracelet wrapped around her ankle. She has the luxury of lugging it around for six months, hating how tight it feels and how it decreases her chance of ever leaving her apartment. Although, she admits while fixing herself a cup of coffee, that meant more time for herself.

What was on her to do list? Watch TV? No, she already did that. Hitting the same button on the remote when there's nothing on but advertisements and pointless shows she doesn't a taste for anymore was a drab. Call someone? Yeah right. As if she still had any friends left. Now that she thought more about it, Asami never really had any friends to begin with.

She lies on her rusty old couch, springs softly pricking her back, as she holds an old mug filled with delicious smelling coffee. Asami slowly sips it, stops, then admires the wear and tear of it.

It brings her back a few years prior, just when her life began to crash and burn...

Asami climbs the step stool in their mansion's fancy kitchen. She wears her black frilly dress, raven hair tied neatly in a bun, and dark short heels. Her dad let her wear a small amount of red lipstick and pink eye shadow for the occasion. Poor dad, she thought, he's so sad since mommy passed.

She opened the cup boards. She couldn't reach the top shelf so she pushed herself up onto the polished marble counter. Asami's arms extended as she reached for the mug sitting on the top shelf. Her hands gently grabbed it and she began smiling, the corners of her red lipstick covered mouth widening. It wasn't everyday she was able to sneak away and enjoy the simplicity of her mother's things. Her father had tried convincing her that her mother wouldn't want anyone rummaging through her boxes, but Asami paid no mind to him and his warnings. He couldn't spend the rest of his life not wanting his daughter to know anything about her mother. She was six years old and knew more than she led on.

Like how her mom's favorite mug had lost its shine after she died, the burning red fading out. It still donned the words MOTHER inscribed in big bold white letters. Her mom had a love for Jasmine Tea, though the aroma was long gone now. Asami sniffed the inside of the mug anyway, but the only scent she could smell was of chipped away clay. She pulled her nose away, trying to cleanse her nose of the scent.

Footsteps were heading to the kitchen so she quickly (carefully) placed the mug back where it was and hopped off the counter. She tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear and looked around in panic.

"How is your daughter, Mr. Sato?" Asami heard a man say and he was, in fact, talking to her father.

She decided on hiding in of the kitchen closets. Thankfully, as the two men entered the room, they didn't hear her moving around certain household items, trying her hardest to not be heard inside the small closet.

Hiroshi sighed. "She's alright."

"Doesn't seem like it to me." The man replied rudely.

Hiroshi quipped. "Excuse me? Mr. Zolt, I believe I know my own daughter."

Mr. Zolt? Asami crawled on her knees, not caring if she scuffed her dress. She looked through the slit of the door, the light from outside shading one side of her pretty face.

She saw Zolt wearing a violet suit, black shoes, a gold watch, and a fedora. Asami would've giggled at his outfit if it wasn't for how threatening his voice sounded. His expression hardened, eyes gazing harshly at her father.

"You can't walk a thin line and expect to cross it without falling, Sato."

Hiroshi tidied up his suit, the nervousness now noticeable, radiating off him like sweat after a day in the sun. He said,"I've done it once. I can do it again."

"You sure about that?"

What did that even mean? Asami continued staring through the slit until the knob pulled the door open further and she was met with ominous eyes glaring straight through her soul. Her head hung low, gaze drifting over the tiles of their kitchen floor. She cursed herself silently in her head, dreading the screaming match that was to come. Hiroshi stood behind Zolt, near the step stool she had forgotten to move, and Asami really wished he would glare at her like that. She would feel guiltier had her father caught her instead. All she felt now was scared because of how Mr. Zolt was looking at her. Something was familiar about him, but she couldn't pin point it.

"It seems we have an eavesdropper." Asami kept her head lowered, squinting hard towards the floor.

Zolt nodded to Hiroshi. "Take care of her," he said quiet,"or else I'll do it for you."

In a flash, Hiroshi grabbed his daughter's arm and rushed her out the kitchen. On their way out, they past several people whom Asami recognized. Some were business partners of her father's while others were family friends.

She walks beside him up the staircase, his hand clutching her arm too tight, her feet stumbling, her mind racing. She's pushed ahead of him and his hands firmly grasp her shoulders and she tries asking where they're going and why he's acting this way and who this Zolt man was, but she doesn't get to as she's thrown inside her bedroom and she hears the lock click.

Asami bangs on the door. "Dad! Let me out!"

She hears his voice on the other side of the door. "I'm sorry Asami, but I can't unlock your door until he leaves." He says gently and she stops pounding her bedroom door, fists unclenching, a confused stare on her face.

"Why?" She knows she won't get an answer.

Silence.

And that's the response Asami always gets.

She brings the mug to her mouth, sipping more of the hot coffee. After a while, she rests the mug on the coffee table. The sound of someone knocking on her apartment door catches her attention.

Knock, knock, knock...

"Ugh," she says, dragging herself up off the couch. Asami only bears her black shorts and white tank top. Her raven hair was left unkempt and there was no trace of make up on her face. She wouldn't be caught in a million years ever looking this bad. Before opening the door she wondered if she should hurry and grab her pink robe that she left sitting on the edge of her bed, but decided not to. Whoever was at the door was just going to have to deal with her current appearance.

She hadn't expected any visitors this morning.

To be more specific, she hadn't expected Korra this morning.

"Korra?"

Asami closed the door behind her and stood under the dim hallway lights. Neither of them spoke for a few seconds until Korra cleared her throat.

"Is this a bad time or...?" Korra trails off, noticing Asami's dazed stare.

"How'd you get my address?" And Asami studies her outfit which is simply composed of jeans, blue Converses and a navy blue sweatshirt. She had tucked the short brown ends of her hair behind her ear and her eyes were a bit brighter than they were the last time Asami saw them. She doesn't know why Korra makes her heart flutter because the more Asami stares, the more she begins to realize that Korra is a stranger. A very beautiful stranger that may not be who she claims she is.

But then again, neither was she.

"Police files, remember?" Korra says, her posture straightening.

"Oh," Asami says, realization settling over her features,"I forgot about that."

Silence washes over them. Fed up with the lack of conversation Asami says,"How's the case going?"

Korra crosses her arms. "Fine."

"Fine?" Asami asks. "That's the only answer you're giving me?"

Korra glares, finding Asami's words irritating. "Well, I can't give away classified information."

Asami stared incredulously at her. "Then why are you here?"

"Because if I don't come here..." Korra trails off for the second time that morning.

"What?" Asami asks. "What'll happen if you don't come here?"

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"...Mako might die."

A/N-Does the story seemed rushed? Leave reviews and tell me what you think. Next update should be coming next week, by the way. Thanks for the faves and follows and reviews are always welcomed.

Until next time,

~nerd