It was a Saturday. I still remember it to this day. We done everything the way we usually did it, everything the same in our normal lives. Apart from one small detail. A small detail that changed both our lives. Forever. He was fifteen, and I was thirteen. We were just two kids, living our lives to the best we could.
Until that day.
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"Come on, Christian, we need to go now," I said, tugging on his arm. He rolled his eyes, and picked up his bag.
"Mooove," I moaned, still tugging on his arm. He laughed at my impatience, and ran a hand through his hair.
"Fine, fine, I'm coming, no need to whine," he said eventually, walking out the door. I followed, finally relaxing a little. I didn't have to fret as much now as he was finally ready. Christian was possible the laziest boy when it came to doing stuff. I loved him anyway.
"Hello," the taxi driver greeted us cheerfully as we stepped inside, Christian first. I glared at his butt as he sat down.
"Christian, you know I always sit on the left side," I whined, and I gave him the hardest glare I could muster. He laughed silently to himself, completely ignoring the subtle hint I gave him to move out of my seat. I huffed and sat on the right behind the driver, a place I hated sitting for no reason. I hated change, and I guess this was something that I didn't want to change.
"Christian, move," I ordered, and he looked at me.
"Seriously, you're whining about a seat? It's just a seat, it's not as if my seat is jinxed or anything," he said, and he flashed me one of his infamous smirks. I rolled my eyes, and reluctantly sat in the seat.
He gave the taxi driver the address, and put his seatbelt on. He gave me a hard stare, and I sighed and put mine on too.
Christian is one of the only people I knew who was 100% car safety freak. He said two seconds at the start of your journey could save your life. 'But seriously though, what is the worst that could happen?' I thought to myself whenever he grilled me for not putting my seatbelt on.
I let out a breath when the driver started driving. I plugged my headphones in, and turned my music up full. I used to do it all the time. Car journeys relaxed me.
Ten minutes into the journey, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I pulled my headphone out of my ear, and turned my head to see Christian looking at me.
"Yes?" I asked, coldly. I never liked getting disturbed when listening to my music.
"I was just going to ask... How long do you think we'll be stuck in this traffic for? We're not even halfway there yet," he indicated to the long line of traffic, which seemed neverending from our position. We were on the motorway, and it seemed as if we were at the back of the queue.
"I have no idea, I don't really care," I replied, putting my headphone back in. He shrugged, and looked back out the window. Which had a perfect view of the river and overlooked hundreds of beautiful buildings. Which is probably why I picked that seat to be mine.
As the song I was listening to finished, I looked down at my phone to select another, when something else caught my eye. Red and blue lights flashed behind us, indicating the police were on an important chase. They were weaving through the idle cars, chasing a red ford which was speeding, driving crazily.
For the first time ever, I felt sick in a car journey. A wave of terror washed over me, and a chill creeped up my spine. I shivered, and tried to get rid of the daunting feeling that washed over me.
Red and blue lights flashed in my head. They warned me I could be in serious danger. As the car weaved closer, it knocked several cars, though not causing too much damage to them. It came up behind our taxi, veering to the left. It crashed into the car next to us, before turning and crashing straight into us. I screamed, Christian let out a loud cry, and the taxi driver stayed silent, probably suffering from shock. The car continued to drive into us, pushing us against another car. The door was bashed, the window broke, and suddenly, the world tipped upside-down. I closed my eyes tight, praying. It wasn't me that usually prayed, normally Christian would. He believed in heaven, he believed in god. I wasn't so sure.
The car had pushed us off the bridge, straight onto another underneath. The car tumbled several times, before stopping on its side. On it's left side.
I ignored the throbbing pain in my legs, my sore head, my twisted arm, and forced myself to open my eyes.
"Christian?" I croaked. My voice cracked. No reply came, and I slowly twisted my head. I let out a sob when I seen Christian.
Soaked in blood, glass sticking out his arm, slumped sideways on his seat. His eyes were closed. My heart skipped a beat.
"Christian?" I whispered, telling myself he would only be sleeping. 'He must be tired, right?' I thought. I know I was.
I heard sirens in the background. I reached down with my good arm, which somehow survived most of the damage. It was my right arm, the one that got bashed into the door when we fell that was messed up.
I unclicked my seatbelt, and I twisted slowly so I was facing Christian.
"Christian, wake up, it's over," I said quietly, more to myself than him. He looked impossibly pale, under the blood. I reached over and touched his hand. Deathly cold. My mind went numb, as I shut out reality.
I held his hand.
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An ambulance arrived, and took us to the hospital. Well, by us, I meant the taxi driver and me. Though I insisted they should take Christian, as all it would take was a few stitches and he'd be better. Of course he would. Doctors could fix anything.
When we got to the hospital, Christian was wheeled away to the emergency ward. I was treated, told I had two broken legs and a broken arm, though I kept getting told I was lucky. They told me the driver was lucky too.
They never mentioned Christian.
They let me out of the hospital a few weeks later. I went home, greeted my mother, who was a sobbing mess. She was so happy that I was okay. Well, would be. I never showed any emotions. I felt none. I was numb.
Every day I would demand to visit Christian in hospital. Of course, my mother never once said no. She'd take me, I'd sit beside the bed with Christian. I would hold his hand and whisper things to him, mainly apologies.
He never talked back, but that was because he couldn't. He was in a coma.
I heard my mum talking to the doctor one day.
"If he does make it out alive, he won't be able to talk, walk, do anything he could do. He has brain damage," he lowered his voice as he realised I was listening, "all that's keeping him alive is the machine. If he doesn't show any signs of improvement, I'm afraid we'll have to pull the plug," my mother sobbed at that.
I ignored him, and continued talking to Christian. Of course he would get better.
"Christian, this was my fault. It should've been me. It's okay, you'll get better. You need to get better. Christian, I need you," I was sobbing, shouting intelligible things. The doctors and my mother had to tear me away from Christians still body.
"I don't think this is good for her," the doctor told my mother. She nodded, and took me home.
She told me I couldn't go back to the hospital. I was distressed.
I refused to eat, I refused to do anything.
I sat with my thoughts swirling round my head, day after day, till I couldn't handle it anymore.
I had to face reality.
I asked my mum to take me to the hospital one last time. She reluctantly agreed, seeing my expression and hearing the defeated tone in my voice.
I took my usual spot beside Christian, taking his hand.
"Christian, I'm sorry. For this. For being such a brat. You don't deserve this. It should've been me on the left side of the car, not you. Thank you Christian, you saved my life. God will see what a pure kind soul you have and he'll let you straight into heaven," tears were streaming down my face as I faced reality. Christian, the kindest boy I've ever met, who lived to cheer people up, would no longer be here to help me with my problems, put up with my cheek or soothe me whenever I got upset.
He would be gone. Forever.
"Hey Christian, tell gran I said hi. And watch yourself up there. I hope you cheer everyone up with that smile of yours," I choked on a sob, but I had to finish. "Don't forget me Christian. I love you,"
Christian died three days after that. I decided I wasn't going to cry. No, Christian would be up with god, up with all my other relatives who had passed away. Christian wouldn't want me to sit around crying over him. No, he would want me to live the life that he never got a chance to live.
At his funeral, I had a small speech ready. It said all the words I couldn't say to him. Everyone was crying, apart from me. I didn't want to cry. I wanted to remember.
We scattered his ashes on a hill that overlooked a lake. It was a beautiful, quiet place where I knew he would be at peace.
Sometimes I wanted to cry, especially on the anniversary of his death every year. I would visit the place where his ashes were. I would whisper to him, my words soaring with the wind. I hope he heard them.
I told him everything. Once a year, at the lake, I would talk to him. It was almost as if he was there with me sometimes.
I told him about how I married my childhood crush. I told him about how we had a child, and named him Christian. I told him about how little Christian grew up to look like his charming uncle, with the cocky smile and the tousled brown hair.
Yes I told him everything. Including when I got cancer. He was the first person I told.
I was sad at first. But then I realised, I shouldn't be afraid of death. I was old, I was weak, and I was sure Christian would be waiting for me.
When my time finally came, I embraced death like an old friend.
I was finally with my whole family again. My brother, mother, father, aunties, uncles, grans and grandpas were all waiting with open arms.
I finally felt at peace.