This is the story of Jack and Rose, and no, they have no relations to the Titanic I'll have you know. A cold snowy night in October is met with tragedy when a drunk driver plows into Rose's car, a nineteen year old on her way home to see her family...
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~Jack
November 18th was a morning, or I guess night, that I'd never forget. I laid awake, staring up at the cracked ceiling of my college dorm room. The snores from my roommate, Matt, echoed through the small space. What kept me up that night you may ask? Well, thanksgiving break was only forty-eight hours away, for life there at Oregon State University, this meant mid-terms. There was a solid chance that I'd fail some, if not all, of my exams this year. To say the least, school wasn't even close to being one of my top priorities.
I'll admit, I slacked off. I barely made it into half the classes, literally just enough to keep me enrolled. When it came to other tests, well, let's just say I creatively acquired the answers. It was my senior year, I had already been in that prison for three painfully long years. I was done, ready for my freedom to finally sweep me off my feet.
Yeah, that couldn't come soon enough.
I took a glance towards Matt, who was about as asleep as a human could get. I just couldn't wrap my head around how he was able to sleep on a night like this. This was the man that I'd swear could sleep through a tornado, but still. He was just as bad, if not worse off, than I was. I guess at the end of the day we were both doomed.
I let out a long sigh, focusing my attention back to the ceiling.
'It wouldn't hurt to at least try to fall asleep.' the subconscious part of my brain whispered. It was worth a shot. Still not thinking it would do me any good, but willing to attempt, my eyes fluttered closed.
At first I thought my effort was useless, but then the exhaustion started to seep in. My mind was tired from a day of classes that I didn't pay any attention in, my muscles sore from football practice, and just every other part of me.
It felt as though I were just on the brink of sleep when my phone started to buzz. At first I thought it was just some stupid notification or something, but then the vibration came again. And again. And again.
I sat up slightly in bed, rubbing a hand over my eyes. The black i-phone sat on my small end-table to my left, its screen lit. The buzzing almost sent it over the edge of the table surface, and would have if I hadn't reached out and grabbed it.
The brightness was blinding my dark-adjusted eyes. On this painfully lit screen, was a picture of my mother's face, and below it "Mom".
My browsfurrowed in confusion and worry. It was after five in the morning, far too late, and early, for me or her to be awake. Not wanting the call to go off from time, I quickly unplugged the phone from it's charger, slid a finger to answer, and held the cold glass to my ear.
"Mom?"I asked in a sleep doused voice. She didn't respond. For a millisecond I contemplated the thought that she could've butt dialed me. That suspicion faded away rather quickly. The sounds of whimpering and sniffles came from her end, clarifying that she was in fact there. "Mom?" I asked again, this time with more force, and even more concern.
