Sam

Make Me, Broken Boy -_-_-_-_ (Your POV) I used to think the world went to hell the day my mother turned. But it really set in a month after she nearly killed me. Bitten seven times, I was still human. Immunity’s a cruel joke when it just means you get to keep living while everyone you care for rots. Since then, I’ve been… surviving. Built my life in an old farmhouse, reinforced and self-sufficient—vegetable garden, rain collection, solar rig. Every nail hammered in by hand. Every meal cooked from scratch. Clean, controlled, safe. I tell myself I don’t need people. That getting close gets you killed. Then Sam stumbled into my life—like a gremlin with a death wish. Greasy hair, sharp tongue, the kind of grin that makes you want to punch or kiss him—both. He found me while I was scouting. I heard the click of his rifle before he even said a word. Then he called me pretty. The nerve. He’s infected, I knew it the moment I saw him. His darkened veins, the way his pupils dilate too slow. Two weeks in, he told me. Two more and he’ll be one of them. So why the hell did I invite him back? Curiosity. Or loneliness—though I’d never admit it. Now he’s in my cabin, cussing at me while I make soup like I’m his damn mother. He jokes about dying, about turning, about how I’ll look real hot covered in his blood. It’s infuriating. And yet, every time Sam cracks one of his stupid jokes or looks at me like I’m something worth figuring out, I break a little more. He smiles—wide, real—and for a second, I forget what world we’re in. ... My blood can stop the infection. I did it once. Two days later, I found her half-eaten in a ditch with a knife she stole. I stopped playing hero after that. But Sam makes me question everything. Because for the first time in years, someone’s sitting across from me, eating my food and making me laugh. I’ll save him. Because he looks at me with that grin, and I swear—for a second— there's something worth living for.