At What Cost?

            It was just another day.

         The sun was out and shining. People were spending time outside. Friends and family were connecting. Life was good. My friend and I were driving around that day. Neither of us had to work, so we decided to get in her car and drove off together. We went to a few different cities and towns within our state to look at the popular sights. We even did some modeling for each other. The shots turned out great even though we aren't photographers or anything like that. On the way back to my house, the sun was setting. It was beautiful. The sky was a melting blend of blues, pinks, and gold colours with fluffy clouds floating in it. We had the windows down so that we could feel the warm air as we drove along the highway. It was the most blissful moment of my life.

          Until the car hit us.

        We weren't expecting it. Traffic was going better than normally. There was plenty of space between us and the other drivers. I never once took my eyes off the road for longer than a second. I'm still not sure what happened. I just remember the sound of the cars colliding. I didn't even see where the other one came from. I remember hearing the glass break and her scream for me. I kept my eyes closed the whole time. I couldn't open them, not even when I tried. I heard everything and I could feel it. I could feel the car moving and flipping. I could feel the exterior bending. It wasn't until everything was still and I could hear people calling the police that my eyes would finally open.

        When I close them now, I go back to that moment. I see the reflection of the once-beautiful sky tainted with our blood and the broken glass. If I keep them closed for too long, I see her face again, panicked and bloody. She was asking me if I was okay. She helped me get unbuckled and told me to grab our phones. I went to get her down, but she wouldn't let me. That was when I noticed the wound in her stomach. Her knife got loose while the collision occurred and ended up attacking her. At her request, I put on one of her favourite songs. I remember how amazed I was that my phone was only a little cracked. We listened to the music together until the paramedics arrived. I'm still not sure when she actually died; whether it was then or later.

        My parents got to the hospital not long after I got there. The doctor told us that I was lucky to still be alive and that I should be fine as long as I don't spend a lot of time on my leg. Later, another doctor came around and told us that Olympia had died and there was nothing they could do. My parents cried along with hers. I felt like I had died inside. I started to hear this ringing in my ears that blocked out everything around me. It didn't stop until the next morning when the screaming found it's way into my mind.

        Eventually, my parents hired a therapist to come see me. He came to the hospital for an hour every day to talk to me and find out if I was okay. I wasn't okay. I was so angry about her death. I wanted so bad to find the drunk asshole who killed her and hurt him the way he had hurt us. My therapist gave me a collection of outlets to help me with my emotions. It kept me stable, but nothing really helped until I find out the man was being held on murder charges. He was found guilty and had to serve a five years with community service on the side. He recently got out and reached to me to apologise. He hasn't drank a drop since and got rid of all his drinking buddies. I'm still upset that he killed my friend and I don't like that it was her instead of him, but knowing that he feels bad brings me some peace. Apparently, he paid for her funeral and made donations to various organisations fighting against impaired driving. He also helped my parents pay for my medical bills. He wasn't a rich guy, but he did have a considerable amount. Not enough to bribe government officials, but enough to bribe a school board. He also gives speeches about how wrong drunk driving is and refers to himself as a bad guy a lot. At least he regrets it.

        I sigh and open my photo album. I flip through it to the pictures Olympia and I took that last day. There are a lot of us posing together. In most of them, I was holding the camera. But we were both smiling. She was wearing a fitted pair of blue jeans with this stylish red tank top. She looked so pretty, yet so casual. In the particular one I'm looking at, she's sitting on a rock smiling. She was in the middle of a work story about how she spilled a bucket of paint on accident. Her and her co-workers decided to paint a tribute on the floor to some great artists, both the well-known and the unknown. The customers still love it.

        In the next picture, we're outside of a museum. She's wearing the cap my dad gave me. It's grey and has the words "life, roof, play" on it. It didn't perfectly match her outfit, but she still looked good. We both looked great, actually. After the picture was captured, we went into the building. We decided to pay for the tour and received detailed explanations about the artifacts as we were lead around the building. Once the tour was over, we took a second look at our favourite spots before hitting up the gift shop. We split up to pick out gifts for each other. I got her a stuffed panda bear and she picked out an autumn-themed snow globe for me. We divided our money and shared the cost of the items. She was reluctant to the idea at first, but I didn't feel right letting her spend fifty dollars when I was only giving up twenty. So we split it fifty-fifty and called it good. She held onto that panda for dear life; like it was a part of her. As expected, she let go of it once the crash occurred. Out of respect, we had it buried with her. It was offered to me as a gift, but who wants to keep something covered in bloodstains?

        I flip to the next picture. It's one of me in the car. Looking at it, I see that it must have been right before the collision. We're clearly on the highway and I'm singing. I haven't smiled like that since. We listened to so many great songs, I can't even guess which one was playing at the moment. I didn't even know that she was taking my picture. I can't believe how happy I looked. I can almost feel that happiness again now just looking this silly little picture. I guess that I miss feeling human.

        People don't talk a lot about how much can change when someone you care about leaves. I mean, obviously people talk about the mourning period, but no one ever really talks about the rest following after that. Like how empty you feel. How bland and dark everything seems after that. It's like all the light left my world when she died and it's only just now starting to come back. It's been five and a half years and it's still so dark. But I guess that's what happened when you care about someone. You meet them, you love them, in any kind of way, and then everything becomes pointless when they aren't there anymore. I think the sad thing is that it can happen even without someone dying; that a person can feel this kind of darkness after losing someone to an addiction or a breakup, maybe to a mental illness. Humans, by nature, tend to care about other people, especially those who stick around and are nice to them the most. When that person just leaves suddenly, no matter the way, it hurts. It's one of the top mental pains. And all that caused it was caring about someone else. It was a matter of not being completely self-absorbed. The next thing you know, you feel like everything has been removed from your body.

        I wish that Olympia had never died. Of course I wish that. She was my best friend. She has been since I was in my first grade of school. If I had to lose her friendship at all, I really wish that it were to something not as permanent as death. I don't think that I'm ever going to stop missing her. To be perfectly honest, I don't think the hole in my heart will ever fully heal. I certainly hope it does, but the future looks bleak in that aspect.

        With a sob, I throw the photo album off my lap. I grab Olympia's favourite blanket, a support gift from her parents, and throw it over myself. I need to find a way to stop thinking about her so much, I know I do. I'm so afraid to, though. I'm afraid that, once I stop thinking about her, that I'll forget about her. Then she'll be nothing at all.

        From under my blanket, I reach out and grab my phone. I think it's time that I call my therapist.