Status: In Progress
Survivor's Guilt
Before the Accident
I can't pinpoint exactly when I fell in love with her, but I do remember the first time that we met. We were walking out to the busses in fifth grade when Bon Jovi's, "Livin' on a Prayer" played over the speakers. We both sang along, and talked about how much we liked Bon Jovi because our dads had both gotten us into classic rock. We didn't talk again until eighth grade.
There was really no reason for us to be friends when we became friends. We had one class together, no mutual friends, no shared interests (with the exception of Bon Jovi), and we didn't have the same taste in boys, most notably due to my lack of taste in boys at all.
None of that seemed to matter. It was always really easy for us to talk, and we got along swimmingly, hanging out all the time. I watched her heart get broken over and over again, from her first boyfriend our freshman year, to the man she thought she would marry. It made me so angry - why did she keep chasing these boys down? All they ever did was call her pretty and eventually make her cry.
She was never just pretty. She was the most beautiful person I had ever seen. But she never seemed to understand when I told her I loved her. I suppose that all close friends tell each other that they love each other, but I meant so much more. I always meant more. I suppose, in a way, she always meant more to me than I did to her. But it didn't matter - I loved her.
Every year on Valentine's Day I would write her a letter confessing my love and send her flowers after I tore the letter to pieces. Then, I would sit at home and watch a rom-com while she was out on a date or getting fucked. And it always bothered me, but she was happy, so I let it go.
All I ever wanted was for her to be happy. I mean, I wanted her to be happy with me, but that wasn't what she wanted. I knew I wasn't what she wanted.
Traditions like that were always a key element in our friendship, though. Her birthday was always my day, no matter who her boyfriend was at the time. I planned her Sweet 16, and I took her out for the first time on her 21st birthday even though I had never had an alcoholic beverage, even at six months her elder.
Most importantly, though, we went camping every year to the lake a few miles west of our small town. Even once we had grown up and graduated college, we took the same trip. It never got old - just the two of us, no matter who she was dating - out at the lake for a full week. It was always the best week of my year. And I didn't plan on this one being any less amazing. In fact, I wanted more.
I wanted her to understand what I meant when I said I loved her. I wanted her to know how much I cared. She had to know eventually.
"Maura?" She called as she drove down the familiar path to the lake.
Her voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "Yeah?"
"Are you alright? You've been spaced out for like five minutes.
"Yeah," I sighed, "I'm alright. Theres just something I need to tell you..."
There was really no reason for us to be friends when we became friends. We had one class together, no mutual friends, no shared interests (with the exception of Bon Jovi), and we didn't have the same taste in boys, most notably due to my lack of taste in boys at all.
None of that seemed to matter. It was always really easy for us to talk, and we got along swimmingly, hanging out all the time. I watched her heart get broken over and over again, from her first boyfriend our freshman year, to the man she thought she would marry. It made me so angry - why did she keep chasing these boys down? All they ever did was call her pretty and eventually make her cry.
She was never just pretty. She was the most beautiful person I had ever seen. But she never seemed to understand when I told her I loved her. I suppose that all close friends tell each other that they love each other, but I meant so much more. I always meant more. I suppose, in a way, she always meant more to me than I did to her. But it didn't matter - I loved her.
Every year on Valentine's Day I would write her a letter confessing my love and send her flowers after I tore the letter to pieces. Then, I would sit at home and watch a rom-com while she was out on a date or getting fucked. And it always bothered me, but she was happy, so I let it go.
All I ever wanted was for her to be happy. I mean, I wanted her to be happy with me, but that wasn't what she wanted. I knew I wasn't what she wanted.
Traditions like that were always a key element in our friendship, though. Her birthday was always my day, no matter who her boyfriend was at the time. I planned her Sweet 16, and I took her out for the first time on her 21st birthday even though I had never had an alcoholic beverage, even at six months her elder.
Most importantly, though, we went camping every year to the lake a few miles west of our small town. Even once we had grown up and graduated college, we took the same trip. It never got old - just the two of us, no matter who she was dating - out at the lake for a full week. It was always the best week of my year. And I didn't plan on this one being any less amazing. In fact, I wanted more.
I wanted her to understand what I meant when I said I loved her. I wanted her to know how much I cared. She had to know eventually.
"Maura?" She called as she drove down the familiar path to the lake.
Her voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "Yeah?"
"Are you alright? You've been spaced out for like five minutes.
"Yeah," I sighed, "I'm alright. Theres just something I need to tell you..."
♠ ♠ ♠
In case there is any confusion, this is what takes place immediately before the accident. The following chapter will be in the present. Thanks for your feedback!