I'd like to say I was shocked when they told me that Dr. Cloyd was right. That when I saw what my brain looked like, I was left speechless. That the squeeze of Carl's hand as he too saw how much my brain lit up in colors it shouldn't, it became too much.

But it wasn't, not really at least, if anything it gave me a sense of ultimatum. The last straw. The final nail in the coffin.

"You've got a pretty nasty tumor in your dorsolateral prefrontal cortex." Denise explained, "Which would explain short term memory loss or lack of alertness." Carl's other arm is wrapped around me and pulls my shoulder tightly against his.

"So," Carl pauses, his jaw trembling slightly, "is it as bad as it looks?"

Dr. Cloyd's lips tighten, and she doesn't reply right away, "I can't say for sure. I was never an oncologist, nor did I aspire to be one. Actually, I was a general practitioner, convenient for most apocalypse needs, just not this." her head shakes slightly and I make myself nod like I understand, "Really, there's no way to know how bad the cancer is without a sample of the tumor, but I will come out and say right now I refuse to do that. It would further jeopardize what life span you have left and I can't take that from you. However, from what I can tell, keeping in mind my lack of total knowledge, this is probably a grade III tumor. And on a scale from I to IV, that's not too good."

"How long?" I make my tone stay firm, "How long have I got?"

Denise clicks her pen against the clipboard with the pointless notes, "Without treatment? And especially when it's already this big? You won't make it to winter."

It becomes different suddenly. I mean, before all the bullshit, I knew I was going to die, but I hadn't much to fear because it was inevitable, we all died.

This is an entirely unequivalent beast. Now I stare helpless at the thing that will kill me in a matter of months and I know this is what will be my killer.

The latter is a much more dramatic sensation, the fear and panic rises up inside, as the body desires to live and all it possibly wants is to flee. But it cannot.

I cannot.

I'm stuck here in this seat, in the dark room, staring at a screen, clinging desperately to Carl, and he holds me back as though he intends to never let go. All I want is to cry, because even though I've been facing facts for a week now, it's suddenly become more real, I can't trick myself into denying it. It feels so raw, burning my throat and my eyes, taunting me. Cry. It demands, show the weakness you know you feel.

But I look at Carl and I know where his mind will go if he sees me scared, I can't. He's strong, but everyone breaks at some point.

"We can make this as painless as possible for you, with the medicine and all. But as far as time goes, like I've said before, there's just nothing we can do. Please know that I am truly, truly sorry." she lays her sympathy on a little thick in my opinion.

There's silence for a while, because honestly, what can you say?

Carl speaks up stiffly, and the voice doesn't sound like his own, "Well if that's all you've got, then we should probably get back to the safe zone." there's undeniable accusation toward Dr. Cloyd, as if the cancer is her fault. I squeeze his hand, letting him know he shouldn't be so harsh.

Denise nods, "Of course, but can I have a word with you for a moment, Carl? Just you," her eyes flit nervously to me, "There's just a couple things I'd like to discuss."

Carl's brow knits and he looks at me, "Sure, if that's not an issue?"

"No, I'll be just fine," I assure him. I stand up and walk out the door, this whole section of the hospital has been cleared, so I don't feel nervous by walking around a bit. Besides, I've still got my knife and gun, nothing is going to get past me.

I wander through the near darkness, the light that shines through the windows at the end of the hallway and through the windows of the rooms with open doors being my only aid. My feet shuffle down the hallway and I lose myself with all the turns I take. The smell of decay and cleaning products linger in the air in a most unpleasant manner. A wave of nausea hits me, but I manage to keep it at bay.

For reasons I don't understand, I stop in front of one room, the door is wide open and I can see a dead bouquet of flowers, or what used to be one, on a dresser. A skirt of dried up petals surrounds the vase filled with brown, withered stems. One petal of the entire bouquet remains, and it's as old and gone as the rest, but yet it still manages to cling on, that last hope.

I walk into the room, one hand on my knife and I blow the last petal away. The last hope is gone. Now I'm faced with the starkness of reality and it's like jumping into a lake of ice water. I turn to see a corpse lying in a hospital bed. The skin all shriveled up against the bone, the lips peeled back, exposing an open mouth and a black tongue that's mostly decayed. There's a hole in the forehead where they must have been taken out. There's a side table beside the bed, and immediately my eyes go to the stack of turned over books on it. Everything is covered in such a thick layer of dust, that the backs of the books are illegible.

I turn over the first book, Living With Cancer, it's titled.

No thank you.

I set the book on the edge of the bed and flip over the next one, In Your Finals Days: What to Expect From Yourself or A Loved One.

Come on. I set that book on top of the other.

One more try.

Life After Death, reads a white book with thin black lettering.

I give up.

I turn away, and march out the door. Of course, I walk into the room of an ex-cancer patient. It would most certainly be my luck. I find my way back through the hallways, just as blindly as the first time, my mind whirring. I'm so out of it that I nearly smack into Carl.

"Whoa!" Carl grips my shoulders and I look up from my Docs, "There you are."

"Sorry," my eyes grow wide, I've got to pay better attention, "I... was just thinking. Too much," I smirk a little, trying to lighten the mood.

His eyes run over me, still obviously concerned, "Yeah, I guess so." he pauses and then opens his mouth to say something else, but must decide against it because his mouth closes again.

"We should head back," I comment

He nods, "We should," he grabs my hand and we walk back to the van.

Carl's gotten better over the last week, he's definitely acted better in front of Judy. But you can still see glimpses sometimes, the sad look in his eye, the way his looks linger in a way they shouldn't, the blank look on his face he gets from staring at nothing for too long. The past week he and I haven't really talked much, about the serious stuff that is. He works to keep his mind busy, bless his soul for at least that much. So we only see each other for a couple hours, and during those few hours, normally we entertain Judith, by reading or telling stories or whatever it takes to keep her happy. So the rest of the time is generally spent on how his day was- seeing as mine are never too eventful. I can't tell if not talking about the serious stuff is to a benefit or not, maybe secretly we both hoped that not bringing it up would make it less true, that's clearly not an option anymore.

Carl and I sit together in the back of the van, I can feel the fatigue setting in on me. My head rests against Carl's chest and I feel his arm wrap around me, gently pulling me into his side. I feel my eyes shut and his lips press against the top of my head. This is the last sensation I feel before falling asleep.

"Hey," my ears sharpen and I begin to stir from the doze. I blink open my eyes, "Come on, we're back." Carl tells me. I exhale and sit up, blinking a few more times. After a moment, the van stops and everyone piles out. The sun is nearly almost setting so it must be dinner time. Carl and I walk to the pavilion and after we pick up our food, we sit at our table where the rest of our group is.

There's a nervous tension in the air. Everyone knows where we went today, well everyone except for Judith, she's pleasantly ignorant to the situation as always. We sit down and I immediately look down at my plate, I haven't much of an appetite tonight, which I'm told is another side effect, loss of appetite.

Why does everything seem to be a goddamn side effect? I squeeze my fork tightly in my hand, much tighter than forks are meant to be squeezed and I try to keep calm even though I feel all the eyes on me.

"Sam!" Judy says, breaking the silence, and now I make myself look up, "You came to eat with us!" she gets out of her spot and toddles around and hugs me from behind, "Are you better now? You aren't sick anymore?"

I turn around and hug the kid back, "I'm much better, thank you." my heart aches at the bitterness of truth, "I'm still sick though, but don't worry you can't get my sickness." I promise her.

Her big green eyes look up at me hopefully, "Will you come home tonight?"

"Yes, sweetie, I will. And I can read you whatever story you want tonight," a smile I don't have to force comes to my face.

Judith gives me another, extra tight hug, "Yay!" she giggles and runs back to her seat next to her father.

Beth is on Judith's other side, she bends her head down, "Now Judith, what do you say to Sam?" I guess maybe we're trying to teach the kid manners?

"Thank you!" There's that big grin again.

I smirk back, "No problem kid," my chest feels lighter now, and I manage to put down a little over half the food on my plate. I give Carl the rest, he starts out protesting, but his own stomach gives into temptation and he finishes off my potatoes and cucumbers. After dinner, I head back to the duplex, walking with Carl and Judith, we have to bathe her and put her to sleep for the night and then we're supposed to meet over at Daryl and Beth's house to talk about... things.

Judith's gotten better at this whole bath thing, she doesn't make nearly as much of a mess anymore and she actually is picking up on how to clean herself.

Carl and I wrangle her into her pajamas and then Carl's tucks her in while I figure out what story she wants. Peter Pan she says, Carl and I exchange a glance and then I sit down beside her, with the old, worn out book. Carl sits on her other side and she holds her doll tightly to her chest as I read, like I always do.

Judith falls asleep quickly, and even though the story isn't finished, I quit reading. I close the book and set it on Judith's bedside table and then Carl and I quietly creep out of the room, and then out of the house. We go next door, and everyone else is already there. Of course they are.

Michonne is the first pair of eyes that meet mine as I walk in, she's seated in a recliner beside a couch, which Daryl is seated at, there's a space there, presumably for Beth who's walking in from the kitchen, probably getting water for everyone or something. In a wooden chair on the other side of the couch is Rick, his lips are pressed tightly together, one arm is crossed, while the other elbow rests in his hand and he's running his empty hand over his beard. Already trying to prepare himself for the worst.

Carl and I sit on a smaller couch, across from the bigger one. Beth offers us water, as to be expected. Bless Beth, trying to make the best of things, be accommodating. It's good to know even after all she's been through, she can still be like this.

After everyone has a glass of water, Beth sits beside Daryl and everyone's eyes are on me.

I stare at the clear liquid in the clear cup, and I wish life was this clear. That you could see right through and figure out what was on the other side. That there were no secrets or darkness, or things people didn't know.

But the light refracts through this glass of water, and though the substances may be clear, the image is not. The objects on the other side may appeared magnified, distorted, or otherwise not what's really on the other side. And I decide that's a lot more like what life is, we may have a vague idea what lies ahead, but we can't know what happens until we get there.

I think it's time I started being more clear.

"Dr. Cloyd's diagnosis was right. I do in fact have a- rather large- tumor in my cerebrum. Which is like this part-" I point to the general region where I recall seeing the tumor, but maybe it was on the other side of my head, I don't even know anymore, "of my brain. And there's nothing they can do about it, except try and make it as painless as possible." I'm gonna lose my mind and there's nothing I can do about it, I silently add.

But they don't want to hear that, that's the part of the glass that refracts a little bit, the part they can find out when they get there.

Carl stands up and he walks out, just up and leaves, he heads out the back door, and I don't follow him. He probably wants to be alone, or maybe has to pee or something. I don't know, he's a guy, he can do that.

"How long? Did she say?" Daryl's eyes narrow.

I nod, then I stop, because I mean there's not like a date or anything, "She doesn't think I'll make it to winter." as many times as I thought it in my head, it's a lot more difficult to say out loud. It makes an ache form in my chest, and stirs my stomach, bringing back that nausea again.

Beth gets up quickly, as much a woman 6 or so months pregnant can, and walks over and hugs me. Then she sits down beside me and takes one of my hands with both of hers and then she turns to me, "We'll be here for you. I'll pray for you every night." she promises.

I nod like that means something, God hadn't helped us much in these past few years, so pardon me for my faith not being as strong as it could be.

But I still believe my parents and brother are in heaven, and I guess that means I believe that I'll join them... sooner than I would've preferred.

"Thanks," I force a small smile that doesn't expose my teeth.

"I'll make sure Judith gets taken care of," Beth promises, "I know she can be a bit of a handful."

I shake my head, "I enjoy it, really, besides Carl helps me out, it's not that big a deal," for now.

She gives me a careful look, "If you're sure. And if you ever need me, I'm literally right next door." then she gives me a hug. Once she lets go, I stand up, I should go make sure Carl's ok.

"Hang in there, kid." Daryl tells me, "I know you're tough enough."

"We're here for you," Rick's words are carefully placed after much thought.

Michonne stands and walks over to me, "It's gonna be ok," though at reluctant at first, she gives me a hug.

If Daryl is my father figure, then I'd say Michonne is the closest thing I have to a mom.

"Thanks, all of you," I tell them earnestly, I couldn't ask for a better family, "If y'all don't mind, I think I'm gonna check on Carl." I turn away, setting my glass down on the coffee table. My head pounds as I walk to the door, I can feel a bad headache coming on, the medicine must be waning.

The back door creaks open, and I step through, Carl's sitting in a large, old, faded lawn chair, and he's turned to me.

I press my lips together nervously, "Hey, are you alright?" I walk over behind the chair and place my hands carefully on Carl's shoulders.

One of his hands stretches up hesitantly, and presses against one of mine, "Yeah, I just... I needed some fresh air I guess." He's a terrible liar.

I gnaw anxiously on my bottom lip, "Can I sit down?"

"Yeah," everything about Carl is tight, his expression, his voice, his muscles against my arm as I sit down, while he tries to make room in the wide lawn chair. His arm goes around me, and my head settles into that place on his chest beside his neck. My legs sprawl over his lap, the metal arm of the chair presses into my waist, "Comfy?" There's a hint of joking in his tone. Something I've sorely missed for a while now.

I smirk at him, "Very much so, thanks for asking." I look up at him and my fingers brush the hair out of his one good eye, he still wears the sunglasses with the one lens poked out. I tip up the brim of his hat just slightly so that moonlight catches more of his face, "Now will you tell me why you're really out here?" I practically beg.

He looks away from me and mumbles something unintelligible.

"What? Can you repeat that?" I ask as gently as possible.

He coughs, clearing his throat, reminding me of way back at the prison when he caught the walker flu and I was scared he was going to die. But I did something about it, and now he's still alive. Then I look up at his eye. I thought he was going to die then too. And I realize then that I've been where he is now, only I had hope. There was always the chance that he'd live. But with me...

"I couldn't hear it again." He blurts out, finally, "I didn't want to hear it again. I know it's pointless to deny it, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. It's bad enough hearing it from the doctor. But from you, like you believe it." He shakes his head, "I..."

"I get it," I stop him. I don't want him to go on any longer, "you don't have explain yourself. I understand."

My head rests back on his chest, I close my eyes trying to fight off the headache that remains adamant.

His fingers graze slowly over my hair, "What about Judith. What are we gonna tell her? One day we just tell her you're gone?"

I grimace, "I don't know. She doesn't know what cancer is, much less have a vague understanding of it."

Carl shakes his head, I can feel him grinding his teeth, the muscles in his neck taut, "I don't even know why I'm bringing this up, you have other things to worry about."

I sit up, and I give him a firm expression so he knows I'm serious, "Carl, I love that kid like she's my sister. I am gonna worry about it. I mean, I think I should think while I can." There's a certain bitterness in my tone, and I regret my words. I don't want to admit that there's a crippling weakness ahead of me. It increases the crushing pressure on my head. I need to calm down. My hand squeezes his, I force my tone to be much more soothing, "Come on, let's go inside."

He looks at me for a moment, his lip tight and jaw firm, then the look in his eye changes and he nods, "Alright." I stand up first, and then half pull him to his feet, and I sneak a quick kiss on the cheek. The moonlight casts silver shadows on his face, exposing the slight smirk he has now.There, I knew I could get him out of that mood.

We go to our room, and Carl calls first dibs on the shower, so while he does, I sit on the bed, reading. I finish the book I had been reading, and my eyes go to the pile beside the bed, searching for a different story. My eyes go down the column reading the spines until they find the unlabeled one, and though it wasn't my initial purpose, I carefully slip out the book. The binding is hard and rather worn, the cover is a faded red with gold piping on the side.

My mind pulls up a memory from years prior when I received this book, a different kind he called it.

My mind whirs more the longer I stare at the object in my hands, my fingers curl around the unmarked spine. Then my eyes go to the bathroom door, the roar of running water has stopped. Quickly I bend down to my backpack and I stash the hardback for a later time. Then I grab the book on top and start reading before Carl returns to the bedroom. The door creaks open a few minutes later and my eyes move from the page and I set the book down.

"It's all yours," he nods to the bathroom, dirty clothes in his left hand. He's simply wearing basketball shorts now, and there's a couple beads of shower water on his chest, probably from his soaking mop of dark, shaggy hair. I close the book and I get up, going to the dresser, grabbing my change of clothes and then into the bathroom.

I shut the door behind me, and then I turn on the shower, giving it time to heat up. I strip down and my eyes can't help but go to my body in the mirror. My time here has done me good, I've definitely put on weight, my ribs no longer protrude extensively. My fingers go to the scar of the bullet on my shoulder. A permanent reminder of the past.

You're letting good water go to waste! I point out, snapping me out of my momentary daze. My eyes skim the bottles on the sink counter, a thought forms, but disperses just as quickly as it came, and I dismiss whatever it could've been. I step into the warm patter of the shower and feel the water melt against my tired head, it smooths my hair against my skull, and becomes soothing to the powerful ache.

I quickly shampoo and soap down, the soap is dripping off my body when an uncontrollable hit of nausea claims my body and I double over, hacking up my dinner. My arms stretch out, bracing against the shower walls as my stomach relentlessly heaves. I let out these awful coughs as I try to draw in a breath against the retching.

"Sam?" I hear Carl's call over the smack of shower water on the tile floor, "Are you ok?"

Great, I've managed to attract a crowd.

The beat of the shower forces my hair into my face as I continue vomit. The water washes the remains down the drain in a relatively swift manner, "Fine!" I manage to reply in between hacks.

My stomach convulses, releasing a round of mostly bile, but then I blink and I cough again, the unmistakable hue of crimson appears on the tile floor, only to be diffused after a moment to a repulsive pink. My whole body trembles with strain, and I cough some more.

No, no, no. This is not good. Definitely not good.

I feel tears swelling in my eyes, blurring my already distorted vision, and I slap a hand over my mouth to hold back a sob and possibly more bile.

Uncertainty plagues his tone, "Are you sure?" he asks patiently

I remove the clamped hand just long enough to choke out, "Yes!" I force false serenity into my voice this time.

I must have been more convincing this time, because he doesn't say anything else.

Shuddering breaths pass my lips as I try and calm down, thankfully the heaving has stopped. The pounding of the water I found comforting a few minutes ago has become an arduous, unbearable, weight.

I shut my eyes and simply try to slow my heart rate down. When I feel somewhat better, I reach out an arm and my fingers fumble for the faucet, when they find it, I turn it hard so the water shuts off.

That's enough shower for one night.

I wipe my mouth, hoping none of the blood stained my face. I step out of the shower, grabbing my clothes, ignoring any efforts to towel dry. I put my undergarments on, and pull the oversized shirt over my head. I squeeze what water I can from my hair. Without another moment's delay I down my dosage of medicine.

I take a last look at the mirror, and I surprisingly look similar to before, just with wet hair, and perhaps a bit more strain in my eyes. I ball up my clothes and emerge from the bathroom.

Carl's at the edge of the bed, arms crossed. He stands quickly and walks to me with urgency. His hands go to my shoulders and his eye is wide with worry and fear. He's not wearing the sunglasses now, it's just me here.

"What happened?" He demands

"I got soap in my mouth," I lie easily, "it was disgusting. Sorry for making you worry, but really it was nothing."

He looks anything but convinced. My eyes run over him, and I think about staring at that shower floor, seeing the blood come from my mouth. The proof that I haven't got long. That I should be living while I can.

Live is brutally short, I'm not gonna be able to do a lot of things in the time I've got left. In the old world, they had the Make-A-Wish Foundation for that. Dying kids could have a final wish granted for them. Now, there's not much that I can do for myself in terms of "new and yet to be done". However, there is one thing I can think of.

"Carl, I've been thinking." I blurt out without too much more thought.

His head tilts slightly, "What about?"

"I don't want to die a virgin."

His eyes go wide, and he bends down some to get eye level with me, like he can't believe the words coming from my mouth, "Sam." Is all he can say, in a breathy tone.

I shrug meekly, with blatant disregard to the fact that I threw up about 10 minutes ago, "I don't. And I know that you didn't really want to before, because of your mom and all. But I'm gonna be real here, I'm not gonna last that long. And I-"

He cuts me off, "Would this make you happy?"

I'm confused by his words, I stammer at first, trying to form an adequate answer, "Y...yeah. It would. I mean, as long as you want to. If you don't wanna, then I understand."

"No I do," he immediately answers, the moment the words passed my lips, and I can't help the laugh that escapes.

He frowns, but it's like he's smiling at my laughter, plainly just trying to understand the matter, "What?" There's a little smirk on his face.

I smile back, shaking my head, trying to keep back the chuckle that keeps bubbling up, "You can be such a guy sometimes." I tease.

The smirk grows, the corners of his eyes crinkling, "I hope I'm a guy all the time," he points out.

I roll my eyes, the meds have started to sink in, removing some of the tension in my head. I kiss Carl, and I relax as his arms go around my waist, letting the night take us where it will.