2 years ago I was involved in an accident. A car accident. There was a lot of rain and I was on the way to visit my parents' grave. In that accident, I wasn't alone. Mark was there; he was the driver. Little did we know about the fate written ahead of us. Little did we know that only one can survive. I tried to survive, I really did. But Mark was exception. It would've been selfish of me to try and defend myself, so I made a choice: 

Protect Mark as long as I can breath. 

It does sound cheesy but when you only have one person whom you truly love and care for; when you lost everyone else that mattered to you; when you experienced being broken; you learn to defend that one thing that attempted to put you together and to fix you, even if they didn't do a good job. For me, Mark was that one thing. 

You could say, it was an act to repay him for trying to fix me when I was already broken. It's the thought that counts, right? 

Some of you who are reading this might not have experience something like this yet. You either do or don't. It might've been already too late for you to learn. I'm sorry. But life goes on. In other people's cases, they might be that one thing. Wait, I lied. It's not 'in other people's cases', everyone is someone's one thing. Believe me or not, it's true.

Long story short, since it rained a lot, another driver couldn't see clearly where he was going. He ended up hitting us and the car behind us, causing big or small damages to everyone involved. I was listening to music when that happened so I couldn't hear the honks. (Yes, my music was that loud). I only realized something was wrong when Mark shook me really hard and when I took my headphones off, he told me to close my eyes. Being the stubborn girl I am, I told him no and he started to yell. Before I could even respond, I heard the honks. It happened fast. I remembered trying to protect Mark by throwing, literally, throwing myself on top of him to protect his body and half his face. My ninja skills to take my seatbelt off during that time came in pretty handy. But since I was on top of Mark, he couldn't control the wheel and that was probably a stupid decision. He did try to get me off him but, again, I'm quite stubborn so he failed.  

I survived, barely. Mark, of course, survived. At least I could do something right. But little did I know that he was suffering quietly inside. Not physically, but mentally. He had a few cuts and a few bruises, a broken leg which healed in no time. But every time he looked at me, looked me in the eye, he suffered a little. Because my condition was a thousand worse than his. Of course, I felt sorry. But hey, he only suffered minor injuries.

Since Mark only broke his leg, he was discharged from the hospital after a few months. He would've left sooner but they had to monitor our condition. I, on the other hand, had to stay. I had a few injuries. I don't really know the technical terms but my back isn't in a perfect condition. I was put in this special room with these special beds where it supported my back and made it comfortable. I had to stay in the same position for 4 months until my back can handle my weight when standing. Still, when I'm standing I have a brace that supports my back. On top of that, I injured my arm and legs which only required a few surgeries to treat them. They only had to take some glasses out which came from the windshield when it shattered. Oh, they mentioned my head. My head bled a lot and it still does now and then. I don't know what happened to it but it requires a lot of attention. I don't really know. I try not to think about all these medical stuff since they only give me headaches. 

Mark felt bad. Really bad. He visited me every day and made sure I was okay and that I was still breathing. Every time he visited, he never came empty handed. He always brought me something, from cookies and books to home-cooked meals. He always accompanied it with flowers. The type of flowers changed every day and he never bouquets; je just brought one flower. I didn't mind. He would put it in a vase on the table beside me. 

Today, he brought me a white lily with cookies. The cookies were soft since I hated hard ones. Hard cookies always had crumbs. I hate crumbs. The soft cookies taste better and the ones Mark bought me was really nice. Anyway, he told me what he did today. 

"I visited the orphanage. My brother seemed happy. He was eating well and studying well, too." He sounded proud when he said it. 

Mark's brother doesn't know that Mark is he's brother. Mark kept quiet about it that he didn't tell me the reason why. "He still doesn't know?" I asked. 

"No." 

"You should." I would say this to him every time he refused to tell the truth, but it only got on his nerves and he wouldn't even bother to respond. But today was different. 

"I will." That statement made me stop eating the cookies. I looked at him, urging him to continue but unless you actually ask him questions, he won't say anything. But I didn't know what to say. "My parents, along with you, keeps bugging me about it." 

Mark's parents abandoned him when he was born. A nice couple adopted him straight from the hospital. His biological parents gave birth to another son and, again, they didn't want him. This time, they brought him to an orphanage when he was 2. His brother don't have memories about their parents. He accepted the fact that he was abandoned and that he wasn't wanted by his parents. But we all know, there was a deep cut in his heart. 

"So when are you going to tell him?" I asked. It's been 5 years since he found his brother and he kept quiet for 5 years. I asked him before how he found out that he had a brother and he told me that when he spoke to his parents, they told him about it. As soon as they said it, he went to search for his brother and soon found it. 

"When I lose something." He simply replied. He gave a small smile but turned to look out the window. He was avoiding my gaze.

"What something?" I asked. 

It took him time to reply and when he did, he turned to look at me again. He looked me in the eye and said, "That one thing." 

And that's when I knew he was talking about me. I only had a few months to live. A year at the most. My brain is slowly dying and it's affecting how my body and organs behave. It's affecting my heart functions the most. The doctor told us this good news (for me) a few weeks ago. It's good news because it can finally end Mark's as well as my sufferings. Mark might suffer a little more after but it will soon fade. Ever since the doctor told us, neither one of us spoke about it. I was too focused on the pain I felt physically while Mark just refused to think about it overall. He was in denial, of course. 

"Ah, I see." Was all I could say. "He'll definitely make a good replacement." I added. 

Mark shook his head, "You're not being replaced." 

"So it is me." I seriously don't know why I said that. "I've done my job so..."

Mark sighed, "We've been over this, it was never your job to keep me alive."

I smiled as warmly as I could. 

"You're that one thing for me. Whether you like it or not, it's my job.

He kept quiet, and I did too. It was nice to hear nothing but our breathing. Our breathing was enough to speak the words we weren't able to say. Not yet. It was enough because it confirmed something:

that we were still both alive.