Remember Me

Chapter 66

I gasped aloud and stopped, and he stumbled back a step or two, bumping into Mr. Drey, who seemed to be ranting at Jimin about something. He stopped when he saw me too, and I saw Yoongi peek out from behind him too.

My mouth hung open, and I was flushed. So much for playing it cool. I could probably have gotten away with pretending I hadn't seen the interview yet if I didn't act like a total oaf right now.

Ugh! Men are so... so frustrating!

I gulped and nodded hello at them, fixing my dress so my nervous hands would have something to do. Jimin gave a little wave with his hand and we both stood looking around, catching each other's eyes and immediately looking away.
Drey patted Jimin's shoulder to snap him out of it and smiled, "Good to see you, it's been a while."

My throat was dry, oh god why was my throat dry?
"Likewise, Mr. Drey," I managed.

"Z-Zara I uh..." Jimin stuttered, turning more into a tomato every second. "Did you listen to..."

I didn't respond, I just looked increasingly embarrassed, which gave him his answer. He squeaked, "N-no... no pressure."

I almost felt a palpable bowling ball drop on all our heads at how awkward that was.
Drey and Yoongi just gaped and stared at him in disbelief while cringing, while I scrunched my brows in confusion while trying to smile politely.

No pressure?!! Is that really all he had to say...?

I didn't know how to respond, so I just swallowed and walked around him towards the end of the hall.

"Ms. Sando!" The Producer for Jimin's show saw me and quickly caught up, and I awkwardly smiled and nodded in inquiry.

"Ms. Sando, since you're here already right now, would it be okay to just give us a statement before you leave?"

I felt flushed again, "A statement! This hardly warrants a statement to you—"
"It won't take much time! Besides we'd be very grateful if we could air this."

I looked between her and the assistant who was holding a camera, and I shook my head, "My love life is my personal business, I'm sorry I-I- can't—"

She furrowed her brows and looked at her assistant quizzically.
"Pardon? No, this is about the funeral we just caught news of like 5 minutes ago."

That snapped me out of my reverie. "What funeral?"

"Um, perhaps this is the first you're hearing of this?" She scratched her head and whispered to her assistant. Funeral? I reeled back into being serious. Out of curiosity, Jimin and the others joined us too. I saw Taehyung walk over out of the corner of my eye as well. The host was looking conflicted, but I took advantage of our height difference to tower over her and stare her down.

"What funeral?"

She relented and said, "Well, we heard that today's the funeral for the man that hit your mother in the truck accident several years ago."

My cordial smile dropped and I shivered violently. I grabbed my dress shirt at the front to hold myself steady. "I-he... he's dead?"

The host nodded, "He committed suicide."

I raised my eyebrows and mouthed, "What?" but no sound came forth. My legs gave almost immediately, and I wobbled in my flats before falling to the ground. Jimin lunged down to grab me and put his hands on my arms to hold me still.

"Zara! Careful!"
The host kneeled and reached out to pat my shoulder, "You good?... Did you want to give us a statement?"
Jimin yelled, "No! Obviously!" at her, and tugged at me to get up. I put an arm on Jimin's and used him as a crutch to get up. Without sparing anyone a second glance, I started walking away towards the elevator.

My survival instincts kicked in, and I could feel every hair on my body raised as I heard people whispering. I felt eyes on me and looked away. I could tell Jimin was following me, but I didn't have the energy... or will to stop him.

I whipped my phone out and dialed one of my most contacted numbers. Our lawyer.

"Hello Zara?" He responded to the call.
"You knew. There's no way you didn't know."

"What are you talking about?"
"He killed himself?!"

When I didn't receive a response from the other side I felt my knees get weak again, but I grabbed onto the rail in the elevator, "Oh god..."

"Zara... dear, it's not your fault. Please just... where are you?"

I'd known our lawyer since I was a kid, and it killed me to hear the sheer concern in his voice. Yeah, he probably thought he was protecting me. But he should have told me...

"Uncle— tell me the address of the funeral, please."

"How did you find out? Did the media catch wind of it?"
"That's not important. They were bound to find out. But where—"
He sounded frantic, "No, no, we can control this. You shouldn't be associated with this. It has nothing to do with you."
I sighed, "Is it bad PR? Do you think me going to the funeral is bad PR?"
"Well, no, but—"
"Uncle!" I screamed into the phone, "Then please, just help me out here! Give me the address!"

He clearly seemed frustrated, and waited for a moment before hanging up on me.
I groaned in frustration and got out of the elevator to go towards my car. At some point I'd shaken off Jimin and his crew. A good thing— it was a bad PR move for Jimin to be seen with me right now.

My phone screen lit up with a ding! and I saw a text from our lawyer.
"The address— xxxx xxxxxx xxxx. I've contacted your father and Jimin. Don't do anything hasty. Please be safe."

I inhaled shakily and responded, "Don't worry, I won't."
I got in my car and punched in the location to the GPS, heading there right away, chewing my lip and growing paler by the second as I drove.

The funeral was being held in a small and remote funeral home — it was in accordance with a culture I couldn't identify. There were a few people walking in and out dressed in black. I looked down, I was in a black blazer and dress pants; my tie was a bright red, so I took it off before leaving the car. I didn't know what I was thinking the whole drive there. I just knew I had to confront this.

The overwhelming feeling in the pit of my stomach was guilt. As I stepped into the funeral home, the smell of incense pervaded my senses, dulled out all else. There were three different rooms for funerals down the hallway. I could hear the sound of faint sobbing, the hushed tones, the ragged breaths. I froze just a step into the building, and felt my head spin, the way it did when I visited the ER last time.

I immediately thought of my mother's funeral, and how weak, miserable, and useless I felt that day. I hadn't eaten anything in days, and I couldn't stop crying. Ever since, places that reminded me of those days made me feel sick to the core. Even right now, I was barely holding myself back from vomiting by taking quick deep breaths. There was a whiteboard at the front of the reception, which listed which family funeral would be in which room.

I recognized a familiar name— it was the maiden last name of the wife of the deceased truck driver: Room 3.

As I walked past the first two funeral rooms, the quiet sobs and conversation reminded me far too much of the people who had come to pay my mother their respects. I remembered the day well.