"We have your results back, Mr. Block. The white count is extremely low and…"

"I know what it means. What stage is it?"

"Second. But I firmly believe we caught it in time. I recommend you undergo this new treatment, it's just been approved, and hopefully it won't come back again…"

I've been driving around aimlessly for hours. Or at least that's how it seems to me. It's fairly bizarre how you lose track of time just when you're about to run out of it. I'm not scared. I know I should probably be, and pretty much at that, but right now I can't bring myself to think about anything else other than the end of this road. I can't recall whether I should take a left or a right here, or where it'd lead me to at all, and I'm trying hard to give a flying crap about it.

I wish I'd never have to let go of this steering wheel I'm holding onto for dear life.

I wish I could keep driving all over Australia until a freaking apocalypse struck us all.

I wish my phone stopped ringing and she'd just go to bed already.

I wish she just accepted the fact that I'm not coming home tonight.

I don't want to be with her now.

I don't want to sit on the couch trying to comfort her even if it should be the around way around.

I don't want her to go and put up that cocky façade I could always see through anyway.

I don't want to have to pretend to be asleep so she can cry her guts out in the corner of the room and I don't want her to kiss my nape to wake me up in the morning.

I just don't want any of that. But most of all I don't want her to be alone. I don't want her to sleep on the couch because it'll take months for her to bring herself to sleep in our bed without me.

I'll be coming home at dawn.

I'm really coming home.

I flick the door open and drop my car keys on the small wooden table in the foyer. It's all about repeating the same little tasks everyday and being glad to be able to do so, and if you get good at fooling yourself you can also believe you can do all of it in slow motion.

It's 5 A.M. and she shouldn't be up, but I can hear footsteps coming towards me from the kitchen. The sun is just about rising and little light beams through the window panes, still I can clearly see her slim figure angrily approaching me.

I think this must be the point where I should say "it finally hit me". Well, actually I guess it dawned on me, both literally and metaphorically.

I think I never took the chance to realize how Charlie herself has changed in these last few months. I used to spend hours by the mirror looking for more bald patches on my skull or bruises on my chest, worriedly staring at the dark red circles around my eyes, while I never really even had a glance at her.

Her eyes are no longer ocean bright blue but more greyer than how I thought I remembered them. Her soft skin that used to set all my nights on fire is now almost as pale as mine and her collar and hip bones are clearly visible beneath it. I can tell she's trying so hard to speak but she's just shaking uncontrollably and her bony wrists are held high right on her temples, as if she was trying to fight off the urge to pull at her hair. If I hadn't known any better, I'd say she was the sick one.

It's just been a few hours since I last kissed those pouty trembling lips but I feel like a whole decade went by and I didn't even notice. How can it be, that I just came home to a stranger?

She's just a poor woman ten years older than her formal age, and no longer the bright little girl I married a couple of months ago.

And it's me. It's me doing this to her, and therefore she can't even bring herself to touch me.

If I was given the chance to, I'd kill myself on the spot right now. Before this horrendous sight does. I had come to terms with all the pain I might have been going to go through long ago, but not even once had I pictured it being as defeating as seeing her in such a state. I'd give the very remains of pounding life in my veins to see her smiling at me right now and greeting me home as usual.

"Where have you been…" her voice is merely a husky whisper.

I really don't know what to say. We were probably the only couple in the world to never experience embarrassing silences, but I assume this must one of those. The thing is, I don't know where I was. It's a miracle I managed to find my way home at last. And I've never been one to be granted a miracle so far, as one can see.

"Charchar, please, babe, I…"

"Screw it! I'm in no freaking Charchar mood right now! And spare me the crap saying you were at work because I called your father at midnight and he said you left at 5 because apparently you were taking me to dinner! Now how sweet of you!"

Well, her temper is still the same, at least. I used to think she was so sexy when she was screaming at me and I'd love to go back to the days where it'd only take a heated kiss to shut down her anger and end up making love on the floor for hours.

"I called everybody, and guess what, you were the only one that constantly refused to pick up my damn calls! Nobody had a clue to where you were and the hospital receptionist said doctor Jenkins had no patient checked in. I was just so fucking scared, thinking you had got in an accident or just fallen unconscious and hit your head in the middle of nowhere. And I just… Oh my gosh, it's five in the morning, Jase! Jase! Listen to me!"

"I'm in no remission."

I don't know how I got the strength to say that, but I did and it hurt even more than having it said to me by Mr. Jenkins. It feels like falling down a waterfall and feeling ice cold water filling your lungs before you even hit the bottom. But most of all, it feels like seeing her break down in front of me for the very first time.

"Wh… what?"

"I'm not in remission. And I'm just too weak to undergo another cycle of chemo or any other treatment. I'm just too far gone."

"No. Please…" before I can even say anything she's falling on her knees slightly shaking her head. I thought I was never going to live to see the day she'd actually let herself cry in front of me. But there she is, curled up on the floor with tears streaming down those soft cheeks. She's blankly staring at my legs as I kneel beside her and try to reach out for her.

"How much."

My eyelids slowly shut down. That's just so like her. Straight to the point.

"They don't really know for sure. Dr. Jenkins said it shouldn't be more than six months, maybe seven if I was to be put on maintaining therapy, which I don't really want actually. I'm done with hospitals and treatments and all that crap. All that suffering was just pointless. I'm gonna do it my way now."

"Pointless? Pointless? Is that what you think? It gave us one more years to be together. And now please spare me that sappy part about how you'll always be with me and watch over me because I'm not buying that!"

She stood up and now she's facing the door and I can tell she's fighting the urge to punch it hard. I'm just so sick of this. All I know is that I've been going through chemo-due puking and pain for a whole year, and it did me no good. All I know is that I'm 22 and dying and my beloved wife just can't help going hysterical on me right now.

"Well, ok, then I don't believe that either! Now the thought of my flesh and bones just slowly being devoured by worms is a much better comfort than that, isn't it? Me just disappearing…"

She raises her hand as if to stop my violent stream of empty words. "I love you, Jase. I know I don't say it aloud that often, but I really do. And very much at that, too. So please, please, don't leave me." Her voice is barely a whisper and I just keep staring at her back, not knowing what to say.