I sat on my new bed with an expression that probably looked like absolute shit or at least, that's what I wanted it to be.
But naturally… I couldn't even show my real feelings on my face.
So I just assumed I looked like I had a shitty expression even if my face refused to cooperate.
Why? Well, what else is a man supposed to feel when he finds out he's going to die soon?
Can't exactly start dancing in happiness, can I?
I was prepared to die and didn't mind going out in a fight or getting caught by surprise… but knowing your death is walking slowly toward you with every passing second?
Yeah. That was shit.
"Fuck."
I cursed again and forced my mind back into focus.
I had just taken a cold shower after discovering the truth, hoping it would distract me but instead it only sharpened everything, made the reality even clearer.
"So I have approximately eighty-nine days to live," I muttered, still struggling to believe it.
