I woke up, I was still trapped under the car. I have no clue how long I was out, I could hear Rosie or see her I really couldn't see around I was pinned down. I finally gained enough strength to yell out for her. "Rosie!!!, Rosie!?" I herd nothing I was scared straight out of my mind it hurt so bad to scream. The pain took over my body and I cried silently.
I finally herd what I longed to hear, the voice of a EMS responder. It seemed like years for them to pull me out and lay me appon a stretcher. I drifted back out of concessions, yet I could hear everything. The voices of the responders were so clear... "We are losing her! I don't have a pulse! Begin CPR." And that's all I remember I slipped into a comma.
*1 week later*
I slowly opened my eyes not remembering where I was, and how I got there. I could see my mom asleep in the chair next to me. "Mom?" She woke up. "Oh honey, your wake!! Doctor she's awake!." A young man early to mid 20's came in the room and checked my vitals. I couldn't help to wonder where my sister was so i asked. "Mom? Where's Rosie?" My mom gave me a blank expression and then started crying.. "Cheyanne, do you not remember the crash?" I looked at her and gave her the you think I am stupid look "Of course I remember the crash!" But really I didn't till she reminded me. Then I started to freak. "Where's Rosie?, I want to talk to Rosie!" My mom held my hand and said with a tear rolling down her face "Rosie's.. Rosie's.. Dead she's up in Heaven looking down on us." That was it I lost it I cried out. "No!! No! No!! You are lying to me!" I let the tears roll down my face they burned my face, like it was cut or something.. I stopped crying and went to the bathroom and couldn't bare to see what was causing the pain on my face... I slowly looked up. My face was cut from my hair line to the bottom. This cut, will become a scar, and this scar will always remind me of the night I let my sister go out when she wasn't suppose to, the night that I will always blame my self for.. Cause it was all my fault...
