The Day You Saved Me

23.

Everything is fairly calm at the airport once you arrive. People oblivious to the torment you've endured the last few days, Yunho walks by your side wearing his too-calm face, but stabbing his fingers sharply and painfully on your hand, pushing you to walk faster, at his pace. He handles the airline agent at the counter when checking the bags he had carried in the car, and receives the boarding passes for both of you, not letting you see where he is taking you.

At the first security check, you have to lower the mask he had shoved your way when he'd cut the ties binding your hands. The security personnel scan your face against the picture in your passport, and you make eye contact, the silent plea evident in your expression. But no emotion meets you back, just a nod for you to go forward. Yunho trailing behind you, as he is granted access as well.

You stop at the next security point, leaving your bag on a tray and waiting for it to go through the scanner, as you remove your jacket and shoes. Yunho is pushed to the next available queue, leaving you alone in the line. Once you go through the double doors, your fate is sealed, and so are Chris's and the rest of the people you care for if that bomb is triggered should your attempt at doing something fails.

But you have to try, have to. This is your last chance, so you grab the tray before it goes under the scanner and throw it on the floor, causing a loud noise. The security guard and other passengers turn their heads in shock, everyone confused and alarmed. For a moment, everything feels suspended in time, the clatter of your belongings echoing through the floor.

You don't dare look behind you, at your husband, who is most likely panicking right now. The officer rushes toward you, his voice loud and authoritative, "Ma'am, step away from the line!." You take a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. You bend down, pretending to gather your scattered items, but the officer yells again. "Ma'am, stop. Step away from the bag right now." He should be yelling at Yunho, you think.

The other officers from the security checkpoint are all looking at your every move, some of them talking through their radios, alerting of the situation. "Step away, now!" another officer yells from the other side of the room. You get up and slowly turn around, everyone is staring, you finally make eye contact with Yunho from across the room. "Get your hands in the air!", the guard who is closest to you yells again.

You move slowly, raising your hands, making sure you pull your sweatshirt sleeves on the way, showing the bruises on your wrists. "Please, you have to help me." Yunho loses his mind and his first instinct is to run away. The officers notice the movement, but don't react at first, shocked at your actions. Yunho takes another step back and it's ready to take his leave when you yell.

"PLEASE, HE'S GOT A BOMB" and chaos erupts. You watch as Yunho tries to run but is tackled, his face colliding with the floor, and the group of security guards try to restrain him. Another officer comes from behind you, taking your hands behind your back and taking you under custody as well.

They take you to a quieter room, still with your hands cuffed behind your back. The officer that is questioning you, analyzes your face further, she can see the dried blood on your hairline, the dark circles under your eyes, the raw, bleeding bruises behind the police cuffs. "This is just protocol, we need to ask a few more questions and then I'm gonna have a paramedic come check on you."

"Please, he is responsible for the explosions on the building downtown. He said there was a bigger one waiting to be triggered if something happened to him." You say to her with urgency in your voice. "Don't worry, most of the time it's just empty threats." She says, and with that she gets up and leaves you alone in the room. After what feels like infinite hours of police and airport security asking the same questions again and again, the paramedics come in, take your hands out of the cuffs and start cleaning your wounds.

They ask you routine questions, "Do you feel any pain? Do you feel dizzy, nauseous, or have any other symptoms? Do you have any medical conditions we should know about?" to which you respond monosyllable, a simple yes or no. But you just want the officer to come back, to ask her if she knows, if they know what happened back at the JYP building. "I need to speak with the police, please." You say to the paramedic as she finishes examining the back of your head.

They load you into a gurney and then an ambulance. Apparently, the blow you suffered on your head a few days back is probably infected and they need to check you further to discard any dangerous consequences from being taken against your will. But before the driver starts the engine, the police officer you were talking to opens the back door of the vehicle as if on cue.

"Can you give us a moment, please?" the officer asks the other woman, she just bows her head and leaves. "Miss Park, I know this is not easy, especially after all you've been through. But unfortunately, the bomb did explode a few minutes ago. We are investigating, but we don't know how many casualties or injured there are, if any." You think you're dreaming, or she is just joking, so you laugh. You laugh until your tummy hurts, until you're out of breath, hyperventilating almost, until you realize you're crying. Desperately crying, because whatever happened back there, it's no one else's fault but yours.