Chapter LI:

A First Timer's Dilemma

The air was thick and it felt like ashes in her lungs. It was suffocating. She couldn't breathe.

“No no no please no...”

Her bones trembled and the tears wouldn’t stop streaming down her face. It clouded the image of the man in her arms but didn’t entirely blur out the sight of blood blossoming on his chest and trickled down the side of his mouth.

No no no no...

She held onto him, gathering him like broken pieces of a glass she desperately wanted to put back together. But then she knew he was destroyed, she couldn’t do anything about it and it tore her apart.

“Not like this, please, not like this.”

He stared up at her; both eyes glazed in tears from utter pain and it seemed like a grave effort just to move his lips.
It was her name. He uttered it like a beloved prayer, one final call with a thousand unspoken apologies. Then he said nothing else. Nothing more. Nothing for forever.

“Jae, Please. Please, wake up. I beg you. Don’t leave me, please...” She sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. But the endless tears where never enough. It didn’t brought back the only man she had ever loved.

“Jaewon!”

But...

It wasn't the same face. It wasn't the same man.

“Dara...”

Donghae?

5:23 AM KST

Atty. Sandara Park woke up with tears in her eyes and a whole drying map of it on her pillowcase. She bit back a sob and calmed herself, heaving a few huffs of breath. Breathe in, breathe out. In. Out.

What a fantastic way to start the day.

She groaned.

For four damn years. Again and again. The nightmares never left her. It felt like a permanent part of her, like an added bone perpetually attached to her. But she had to give credit for its flexibility though. The past few weeks her nightmares began weaving into different versions. Different places. Different scenarios. Donghae was even a part of it for crying out loud! But then it always ended in the same old tragedy, the same heartbreak and it still felt as raw as the day it happened.

Will I ever heal from this wound?

Heaving a deep breath, Dara began shaking her head, clapped both palms against her face and wore her game face on.
“Enough drama,” she huffed. “You have a fashion show to slay tonight.”

And with that she slithered out of the bed, and wore the usual mask on her face.

Bring it on.

5:30 PM KST (2 hours before the event)

“Oh my god, I’m doomed. I know it for sure. I’m so doomed!”

An anxious voice blared through the whole of the production area. Through the huge vanity mirror in front of her, Dara watched Bom as she darted from one place to the other, shooting the same words over and over again. Her cousin looked disheveled and tired and Dara scowled beneath the brush dancing against the skin of her face.

She sighed.

Bom was at it again. She always had the tendency to be consumed by the stress of her work, cracking under the pressure of it. The poor woman was panicking and she wasn’t even aware that with her jittery behavior, the ambience around her has been entirely affected. God, even Dara’s make-up artist started shaking!

She could practically smell the tension all over the place. It reeked all around her. The staff was panicking with her cousin and that wasn’t a good thing. If this anxiety persisted, God knows what'll happen to her make-up. Surely, wouldn’t like the very idea of walking in front of hundreds of people looking like a hideous clown. Oh, hell, no. So, drawing in a long, irritated breath, Dara swiveled her head away from the mirror and gestured for a time-out in which the make artist understood right away. She then approached her fidgety cousin, held onto her shoulders, and turned the woman so they faced each other.
 

“Calm down, woman.” Dara said while gingerly squeezing Bom’s shoulders.

Frowning, Bom looked up at her and sighed. If the glaring dark circles beneath her eyes weren’t enough proof to show her cousin’s fatigue then her devastated expression might just suffice the doubt. Her cousin looked like she was about to cry at any moment now.

“Darong,” she whined. “I can’t do this anymore. Oh, god. I’m going crazy. I can’t! I just can’t—”

Dara cut her off with a reprimanding shush. “Breathe couz, just breathe.” When Bom looked dissatisfied, she urged the older girl to follow her as she heaved a few rounds of deep breathes.

“Inhale…Exhale.” Dara repeated it slowly. A mantra she herself did every time fatigue began grating in her sanity. It always did the trick. And it seemed to work because Bom looked more humanly now, more interactive than she was a few seconds ago.

“Now, just calm down. There’s still time.”

“But there’s still so many things to do!” she wailed though the hysterical tone had gone from her voice. “The stage set up is halfway done. The lightings! And oh my God, are the guests forewarned about the change of plans?!” Bom looked away and was about to escape from the clutches of her cousin but Dara held her in place.

“Park Bom,” she started; her tone thick with barely suppressed exasperation. “you  is taking care of it, okay? She said that the stage is almost done. In half an hour or less it’ll be ready. The lighting set is just fine, and so with the guests. They will be ushered altogether towards the venue. So please, calm down before you go destroy all the clothes in here and rip it into shreds.”

At her reassurance, Bom’s tensed shoulders finally relaxed, and for the first time that day she actually looked relieved. “I just hope everything will run smoothly.”

“It will, couz.” Dara offered her a tight smile. “It will.”

6:27 PM KST (33 minutes before the event)

“Oh my god, I’m doomed. I know it for sure. I’m so doomed!”
Wrapped in a thick, white fluffy robe, Dara frantically walked back and forth across her waiting room, both arms crossed over her chest, cursing herself the second she volunteered as Donghae’s replacement.

Damn it.

Sure, butterflies were lovely, pleasant things. But definitely not when they’re inside one’s stomach. Such pesky, ugly insects. Dara swore she could feel millions of them vibrating within her gut. She was not the anxious type. But heck, she was now. And the cold sweat wasn’t a bit helpful. There was a damn icy river drenching the whole of her body and she felt frustratingly clammy; her palms, her neck, her forehead, and oh, God, even her armpits were wet!

Damn damn damn!

Blowing out a ragged breath, she stopped darting from one place to another and stared at herself in the mirror. Her face barely had any make-up on—Bom insisted Dara didn’t need much of it, and the concept of the fashion show didn’t require dark and heavy make-ups—but somehow, she hoped having a thicker make-up. Sure, she didn’t looked like a hideous clown, but the paleness of her face and lips weren’t very impressive