Chapter LIII:

The iest Lawyer in Town

10:01 PM KST

So much for worrying about things for later.

Sandra Park could have rejoiced the moment she found a chance to escape from everyone back at the beach and catapult herself inside her room, but then her beloved cousin just had to ruin it. Her peace and quiet lasted only a millisecond before Bom’s blaring voice reverberated inside her room.

“Ten minutes, Darong, and I ain’t extending that by a second. So, hurry up!” Bom demanded, shaking the lawyer-turned-model-for-a-night's body as she lay on her bed.

With an irritated groan, Dara wriggled away from the latter's reach and took a pillow over her head to block out the towering nuisance beside her bed.

The sound of disapproving sigh and clicking of tongue then resounded atop her.

“Oh, for goodness sake, Dara. Do you really plan to sleep with your makeup on, and without changing your clothes?” Bom huffed, and Dara swore she could hear the frown in her voice. “Get up, woman. You can’t sleep yet. The night is young!”

“I am tired, Bom.” Sandara grumbled, leaving it at that and begging for the gods and saints to let her cousin understand the meaning behind her implication: I am tired. Physically and emotionally. So, let me hibernate until this entire memory becomes a distant thought.

But she didn’t.

“Well, so am I. But I’m here now, right? So, come on! You can’t ditch this party. We need to go. I need you there with me!”

Despite Bom’s continuous persuasion and irritating voice, Dara remained unwilling to leave the cushions and comfort of her bed. Like hell I would! But, as always, her cousin was more stubborn than anyone in existence. So when the latter stopped her rambling and sighed, Dara didn’t think a second that her cousin gave up. And she was right—because in the next instant, Dara was literally dragged out of the bed.

With a small yelp, and a few desperate attempts to cling on her sheets, Dara was tugged on her ankles and got pulled onto the carpeted floor like she was nothing but a mere sack of feathers. Bom only stopped manhandling her when they reached the door of her bathroom. Throwing her head around, Dara cut a murderous glare at her cousin and begrudgingly fumbled upright. “You are one insufferable brat,” she hissed, while Bom simply wore a pretty smile on her pretty face. Batting her eyelashes like an innocent child.

“Freshen up a lil bit. I’ll choose your clothes for you,” she chirped, twirled around and walked toward the closet, humming to herself. Dara didn’t know if she’ll be amazed by the woman’s nonchalance or scream bloody murder.

“After forcing me into a torturous modelling spree, you come here and drag me like some kind of a rag doll?” Dara grumbled and kept her withering glare at her back of her cousin’s head.

“I didn’t force you. FYI: You volunteered.” Bom quipped while rummaging through the array of clothes. “Oh, c’mon Darong. Don’t be such a party pooper. And besides," She glanced over her shoulder to look at Dara; the smile gone replaced by a grim look. "I won’t leave you alone in here especially when that day is around the corner. I won’t let you get all depressed again and—”

“Fine! Fine! Fine!” Dara snapped, blowing out an exasperated sigh. She spun on her heel, and stomped her way towards the bathroom. She took a quick wash, hoping that every single droplet trickling down her skin could wash away the disorientation brought by her unwanted memories. God knew how hard she tried. Dara had tried so hard to let go of this past, tried so hard to banish it, and yet it was always there just under the surface waiting to stab her when she least expected it.

That day...

Wow. Geez. Thank you for reminding me, my dear cousin.

Wearing a simple roseate cocktail dress which breathtakingly complimented her fair skin, Atty. Sandara Park cursed Park Bom for dragging her out here. She damned every minute of this socialization. Don’t get her wrong. The function hall—which was originally planned as the venue of the fashion show—was decorated exquisitely. Massive cloths covered the ceiling, layers upon layers. A canopy of red, black and gold. With the absence of the ramp, the venue seemed wider than the last time she saw it. Tall round tables were scattered within its space. Two to three people huddled themselves around it. They all stood because obviously this was a cocktail party. It was deemed to be an event filled with painstaking hours of foolishly remaining upright while you talk to someone else, and pretend your legs weren’t torturing you. And Dara absolutely hated standing there while her toes screamed for mercy within the black stiletto Bom forced her to wear.

Worst, her cousin insisted that she must meet every single person in there. For formality's sake, of course.

Great. Just great.

Bored and irritated down to her core, Dara resisted the urge of groaning out a curse when Bom left her with a group of fashion bloggers. A maelstrom of questions showered upon her and it seemed the group was hell bent on draining what little energy was left in her. She could’ve walked out right there and then, give them some excuse or whatnot to escape their persistence, but then a familiar voice intruded, and a length of a strong arm slithered behind her, snaking around her waist in a courteous embrace. His presence was felt first, before Dara could fathom his words. And when she did, Dara swiveled her head at the owner.

“Ah, there you are.” Lee Donghae stood beside her. Dark brown eyes met her own and she stared right at them for the next passing seconds. The man gave her a smile.

Maybe it was the delight for his sudden interruption, or maybe just the relief of seeing someone less irritating than the blabbering guests, because Dara was smiling back at him. And the intimacy of that act alone quieted the group of incessant bloggers. They stood awkwardly and looked at each other with sheepish smiles as if guilty of interrupting a lover’s moment.

“I’ve been looking for you since the show ended.” Donghae added, a small frown wrinkling his brows. Then he turned to look at the other occupants of the table with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry but I’m afraid I direly need the attention of my girlfriend. After watching Dara flaunt her beauty to a lot of male onlookers, I guess I’m kinda insecure now. So please excuse us.”

When the others nodded their heads, Donghae led Dara away from the group and brought her to vacant table.

“Insecure? Really? I expected a more brilliant excuse than that. ” Dara said, raising her eyebrows as Donghae withdrew his hand and stood in front of her, leaning on his elbows. She noticed that he had changed his clothes for the party. Instead of the crimson shirt he wore earlier, Donghae was now donned in a white slim-fit dress shirt, ed enough to reveal the fine column of his throat and a hint of his pale chest. His dark hair was swept up in a way that revealed the fine chisels and contours of Donghae's pale face.

Hmm. Looks good. She thought, tearing her gaze off him even before the man could catch her staring.

Donghae quirked an eyebrow. “And what brilliant excuse are you expecting other than that?”

“Well, you could tell them the truth.” Dara said. “Like, ‘I’m sorry, but my girlfriend looks like she’ll start chewing her wine glass any moment now rather than continuing this boring conversation. You must leave her alone now. Let’s spare the glass’ life, ‘mkay? ’”

The man laughed at that. “I didn’t think you’re the introverted type.”

“I’m not. I’m just tired and immensely uninterested talking to a bunch strangers. ” If the constant scowl on her face didn’t suggest that, Dara didn’t know what would. She gulped down the champagne from her glass, brought it down and found Donghae still looking at her.

“That’s pretty flat out obvious. The tables look more enthusiastic that you are.” He said with a teasing lilt in his voice. “Don’t frown too much, babe. You’ll scare the guests away. Bom wouldn’t like that.”

Dara shrugged in nonchalance. “If that means no more unwanted conversations, then good. Let them fear me.”

Donghae simply shook his head with a chuckle, then a second after his face turned serious. “It’s the truth though.” He said. “I have been looking for you. I was worried. You seemed... badly troubled during your last walk. Is everything all right?”

Another shrug.

“Dara—”

“I’m fine. I already told you that, right?”

Donghae looked anything but convinced. “You looked terrified that for a second there I thought you’d faint. That’s not ‘fine’ to me.”

“I was nervous, that’s all.”

“It was the final walk, Dara. You didn’t look nervous during your previous turns. If Jaejoong and Seungri didn’t do something about it—”

“But they did something about it, didn’t they?” she snapped, cutting him off with a voice louder than she intended. Dara sighed and spoke again, dulling the sharpened edge in her tone. “I was nervous and they did something about it. Drop the issue, Donghae. There’s nothing to be worried about.”

A ripple of emotions flickered in Donghae’s face but he didn’t say a word. He simply nodded in response and took a sip from his own glass. Despite the music and bustling ambiance of the party, Dara wasn’t pleased with the unsettling silence between them. In an instant, she regretted her words. Wished she could have just told Donghae everything and let him understand the burden she had kept within her heart. Tell him about Jaewon and that one cursed night.

But then what?

What could having another person know about her tragic past do to change what's already happened? What was the point of having another set of eyes looking at her with a sense of unwanted sympathy?

Better keep it to her self than reliving the pain, right?

However, despite her own justifying reasons, there was still a stubborn, persisting sensation of guilt prodding in the back of her mind, and Dara didn’t like the look on Donghae’s face. He seemed…hurt. But  when she was about to open and apologize, a familiar honeyed voice suddenly joined them. 

“Can I join you, guys?”

Despite the sugar coated in its tone, Dara's already grim mood turned ten shades darker.

“Oh, hey. Sure.”  Donghae said to the new