Page 129 of Break Me

It doesn't stop because the path changes.

Neither can I.

I don't want my last weeks to be machines and white walls and sickness layered on sickness. I don't want him remembering me like that.

I want him to remember this.

The sound of the water.

The warmth of the late afternoon sun against my skin.

The way the world holds its breath just before autumn takes it.

I press my fingers into the damp earth beside the rock.

The ground is cool.

Solid.

For the first time since the doctor said Stage IV, something inside me settles.

Not acceptance.

Not yet.

But direction.

I wipe my face with the heel of my hand and sit a little straighter.

The water keeps moving.

So will I.

One day soon, I'll sit here again.

Not because I'm breaking.

Because I'll know it's time.

And when that day comes...

I'll be ready.

Samuel

Every mile should put more distance between me and the doctor's office.

It doesn't.

The road unwinds beneath the tires in a blur of trees, fields, and houses I've driven past a hundred times before, but I couldn't tell you where any of them are. The wind tears at my jacket while the engine hums beneath me, steady and familiar, yet neither is enough to silence the doctor's voice.

Stage IV.

Not curable.

No matter how hard I twist the throttle, those words keep finding me.

I don't remember making the turn. One minute I'm riding, the next I'm pulling into the clubhouse parking lot, gravel crunching beneath the tires as I roll to a stop.