The Imperfect's Journal: 1

June 26th, 2066

We're finally at the airport and have told volunteer aids where it is we want to go. When I was asked if I have any physical or mental ailments that would prohibit me from fighting, I lied and said no. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get to Queensland--to get to Sara. Thankfully, Trent vouched for me.

Jess and Candice were sent to the other side of the airport, so we said our goodbyes. I said mine through gritted teeth--I think Jess knows I'm upset with her. She probably doesn't understand why, though--not totally.

I've been cheated on. Many times. Even before my disease (not that my disease gives someone a license to do something like that) and it hurts like hell. To trust someone that much and watch them throw it all away for a fling or a tryst... It's devastating. So many thoughts run through your mind.

I always compared myself to the other guy. I would find some way he must have been better than me, than I'd aspire to change that about myself. He was a bodybuilder? I'd start working out. He was a painter? I'd take art classes. He was a musician? Well, that's why I learned to play guitar.

I'm a conglomeration of all the "other men" that my partners slept with. I didn't really have an identity until my disease, and when I was diagnosed I just thought "this it", convinced I would never find love. Every other guy would always have something about him that was better than me, now.

Then I found Sara. Someone who understood. Someone who got it and suddenly I knew that all the pain I had experienced through past relationships was preparing me to truly appreciate the best relationship I would ever have.

So when I shook Candice's hand, stared her in the eye, and said nothing... It felt wrong. Even though the world is falling apart around us, she deserves to experience the end with someone who wouldn't betray her. And I didn't tell her that. Will the note be enough? Will she even find it? I'll never know.

Trent and I are sitting with numerous volunteers. Our plane will be arriving and departing tomorrow, so we're spending the night here.

Making up for how sick I feel about the Candice-and-Jess debacle is a warm bowl of porridge. It's the first cooked meal I've had in a while. All the volunteer soldiers got a bowl. Mine has cinnamon in it.