One

I TOOK my phone in my pocket and saw Marcus' name on the screen. Instead of answering his call, I turned off my phone before I put it back in my coat pocket.

I grabbed the bottle of alcohol in front of me and chugged it as the doctor's word kept on playing in my head.

"I'm very sorry to inform you, Miss Buenavista. The result of the test says you have stage three stomach cancer."

I wanted to drown myself in alcohol tonight. This afternoon, I found out I was dying. The results of my laboratory test said I have stomach cancer—stage three. And according to my doctor, I have more or less six months to live.

Six fucking months.

I closed my eyes. An entire minute passed and I realized tears were already streaming down my face.

I couldn't grasp the fact that I'm dying in six months. I couldn't die. I'm still so young. I still have so many things to do!

Why me of all people? Why me?

I didn't deserve to be sick! I tried to be good all my life. Well, my employees called me strict but I believed I was a good person.

Twenty nine years of my life, I was a good daughter to my parents, a good sister to my brothers and a good fucking member of the society.

Never in my life had I disobeyed my parents. I followed everything they had told me. I enrolled in freaking business school for them. Even at my age, I still couldn't move out of our house because I didn't want them to be alone. Both of my brothers were out of the country.

Now, I couldn't even tell anyone about my sickness because I'm afraid that it would reach parents and I don't want them to fucking worry.

"Ma'am, are you okay?"

I tilted my head and saw the bartender looking at me with pity. I didn't answer him. I just took off my glasses and wiped the tears in my eyes. This is the first time I let myself cry outside. I just don't lose my shit in front of other people.

After putting back my glasses, I took a couple of bills from my wallet and placed it on the bar counter. "Just keep the change." I stood up and grabbed the bottle of vodka like my life was dependent on it.

With the bottle of vodka in my hand, I headed to the exit of the bar and went straight to the parking lot. But instead of looking for my car, I sat on the empty gutter.

I stretched my foot on the cemented pavement and looked at the dark sky. Then… tears started to fall from my eyes again.

I was silently crying at first until it turned into loud cries.

"Why did you do this to me?" I said between my sobs. "I don't deserve this!"

"He must've hurt you a lot for you to cry like that?"

I stilled when I heard a manly voice beside me. From my blurry eyes, I saw a figure of a man beside me.

I wiped my tears and blinked as I looked at him. He has a defined jaw… his hair black and a bit long. His eyes dark and deep-set, his eyebrows thick and in perfect shape. His lips were naturally pink and shaped like a cupid's bow. Damn. He was gorgeous.

My eyes moved to his body. He was wearing a Spiderman suit. What the hell, was there a costume party somewhere? But then my mind went back to what he had said earlier.

I scoffed. "Why do you always think that when women cry, it's because of a freaking man?" I asked him, annoyed.

I saw him shrugged. "Well, I heard you talking—more like shouting."

"I'm not crying because of a man." I rolled my eyes. "I'm talking to Him." I pointed my fingers at the sky.

"Who?"

"To Him. To the creator of the universe. To the Lord."

"Oh," he said in a small voice. Like he didn't expect my answer. "You're shouting and crying," he said as he sat next to me. "What did He do?"

I inhaled a deep breath while drying my cheeks.

Then, there. I blurted it out. "He gave me cancer." I didn't know why I kept on talking to him. I usually don't talk to people I don't know. Let alone share private matters.

I was sure it was because of the alcohol in my body. Or maybe it was the fact that I couldn't tell anyone about this so I decided to bare myself out to a stranger.

"I'm sorry." His voice was gentle. "That sucks."

I let out a heavy sigh. "I only have six months to live. I'm only twenty-nine, you know."

"And you're not ready to die." I heard the man beside me say.

I managed to laugh despite my situation. "Of course I'm not ready. Who was ready to die, anyway?"

"Me?"

My brow furrows. "How old are you now?"

"Thirty-one."

"And you're ready to die at thirty-one?"

He shrugged. "If I'm gonna fucking die in the next six months, I won't have any regrets. Why? Because I live my life the way I wanted it to be. I did the things that made me happy. I'm satisfied with how my life turned out." He chuckled. "If death came to me, I would fucking embrace him." He smirked at me. "People who fear death are those who didn't really live their life."

I fell silent as his words reverberated through me. And I hated to agree, but he was right.

"I wasn't ready to die. I still have a lot of things I haven't been able to do in life…" I said in a small voice. "I still have a lot of things I haven't been able to experience."

I looked at the bottle of vodka in front of me.

"Like what?"

"I still haven't experienced being in a real relationship."

I let out a silly laugh. I was already twenty years, I only had sex once. My first and last relationship was in high school. My cousin said that couldn't be considered a relationship. I guessed he was right. How pathetic was that, huh?

"How old are you again?"

"Twenty nine."

"And you're still a virgin?" He looked aghast.

"No. Of course I already had sex." I pursed my lips. "But that was years ago."

"Why didn't you get a boyfriend?" He turned to me and our eyes met. I noticed how he stared at my face. "You're attractive. Just wear more fashionable clothes and throw away your glasses."

I felt my cheeks getting flush. Damn. I couldn't believe I'm blushing. Must be really the alcohol.

I slightly looked away from him. "I don't have time. I have more important priorities in life."

My past years revolved around studies and work. After finishing high school, I flew to the States to study Business. I stayed there for seven years until I finished my Masters.

When I went back to the Philippines, I started working at my family's company. And now, my whole life revolves around work. At twenty nine, I was already the VP in my family's conglomerate.

I smiled sadly at myself. I just realized I had spent my whole life living a life that my parents wanted for me, not what I want for myself. I had lived my life for other people, not for myself.

"You still have six months to enjoy your life. Start getting a boyfriend, you know."

"I don't want to get a boyfriend," I told him. I don't want to waste my six months dating and trying to find love. What's the use of falling in love when I'm already dying?

"Then what do you want to experience before you die?"

I thought of the simple things that I wanted to do but didn't get the chance to in the past years.

"I want to go on vacation at a private beach. I want to travel to Iceland and see the northern lights. I want to paint again. I want to get a pet. I want to attend a concert. I want to learn how to cook. And bake. I want to get a tattoo." I bit my lower lip. "I want to have sex…lots of sex."

Damn. My cousin Marcus was right. My life has been so boring.

"Well, you can easily do all those things within six months. Except for the Iceland thing, you need to have money to do that."

"I have the money." I answered cockily.

He smirked. "Then everything's easy."

"It's not. It's not that simple." I sighed. "I just can't leave my work."

"What? You're going to spend your six months working?" he asked incredulously. "That's just… fucking sad and depressing."

"You don't understand," I said defensively. "You don't know me. I have an important role in the company."

"No matter how important you think you are, you'll always be replaceable." He scoffed. "Who's a crazy person who'd spend her remaining time on earth working knowing that she's gonna die soon?"

My brows furrowed. "What? Did you say I'm crazy?"

He shrugged. "If you choose to continue working knowing that you're going to die soon? Then you really are sick in the head." He even had the nerve to wink at me before he grabbed my bottle of vodka on the ground. I watched him chug it before turning to me.

"Start doing things that'd make you happy while you can still do them. So even if you die in the next six months or three, next week, then you have nothing to regret. You only live once, make it worth it."

I looked at him. And I realized… He's…right. I should now live my life the way I wanted it to be. I already live my life according to my parents' liking. I already sacrificed too much for them. It was now time to live my life. Until I have time to do it.

I wanted to do things that would make me happy. I don't want to die with regrets.

I cleared my throat and stood up from the gutter. Then I looked at the man beside me. I gave him a small smile.

"Thanks for the talk…spiderman."

He stood up. Then I heard him chuckle. He sounded amused. "You're welcome. And don't call me Spiderman."

I pursed my lips. "You're wearing a Spiderman suit."

"I attended my cousin's costume party." He smiled. And I blinked. Three times. This guy… he's a more handsome version of Andrew Garfield, my favorite Spiderman. But he was a rugged version of Spiderman, if there's any. I felt the inside of my belly churned at the sight of him.

"My name's Adam."

He extended his right hand to me.

I wiped my palm on the side of my skirt before I accepted his hand.

"Claire."

His hand was warm and a bit callous, his grip firm and strong.

My eyes moved to his body. His suit fitted him like a second skin. My eyes landed between his thighs. I saw his bulge there. I didn't know why my throat suddenly felt dry.

Before thoughts ran through my head, I withdrew my hand. "I have to go."

"Are you going home?"

I cocked my head to his direction. "I don't know. Trying to get myself a tattoo, I guess."

"Wait. I know a great tattoo shop. I could bring you there."