Salvation

18 |

The Doctor Told Me I Don't Have a Heart. I Said, "Shit, Doc, I've Known This Since Day One, It's Obvious. Huh, Maybe This is Why People Hate Healthcare."

A L E X A N D R I A
—

"I didn't expect that."

Duke smirks. "Which part?"

I lay my head back on my cheap, stiff pillow, which may as well be expensive and as soft as a feather, considering that I'm deriving a great deal of enjoyment out of it. No – I think that's just the enjoyment I'm getting from thinking of Daya.

She's amazing.

"The entire occurrence was fairly shocking, Du."

She's different.

"Can't argue with that," Duke agrees.

She's my polar opposite.

"Goddamn right, you can't argue with me," I retort.

She's not like me. She's not mine.

"Sure," Duke allows teasingly. "Now – I'm going to bed. I'm tired. So are you, even if you won't admit it. Lie down, scoot over."

She is what's missing from my life.

"I'm scooting, you lonely pine needle!" I shout as Duke shoves into my side in an attempt to garner more space for herself.

But she hated me. And if we ever meet, she will hate me.

It's with that in mind that I drift off to sleep. And it's with that in mind that I wake up, startled, in the middle of the night, panting as I realize that I just had a nightmare about her.

And about how the world will never let us be together.

—

In the brightness of the morning, my nightmare appears, if I were to put it gently, ridiculous. However, I'm not one for putting things gently, so I mentally (then physically) slap myself across the face for entertaining, even momentarily, such fears and tell myself what I need to hear.

"You don't love her," I remind myself in a scolding tone. "And she doesn't love you. And the world hates you both. Don't waste your time on idle fretting. Let the hatred of the world work its magic and crush any dreams you have. Reality is a bitch, but at least it's honest. Sometimes."

Duke rubs her eyes beside me. "First of all, stop hitting yourself. Second of all, Jesus cries, that's pessimistic." I smile at my expression before taking in her words.

"I hardly consider myself pessimistic," I deny, frowning. "I smiled just two seconds ago. You should've noted that; I haven't smiled since I got Aya's text last night. Formulate a better case."

"My point is proven."

"Excuse yourself," I demand, slamming my fist down on the bed beside me. "I am far from a pessimist."

"Of course you are."

"Oh, but I am. I'm a realist."

"Right. Well, I'm a diehard optimist."

"Did you place the word 'diehard' ahead of the word 'optimist' because when you employ the tactic of optimism, all your dreams die hard?"

"If I'm being entirely honest, that wasn't my plan, no."

"Your foolishness is understandable. Here, allow me to explain." I smirk, stalling so I can assess Duke's facial language. The manner in which her features are forming imply that she is enjoying the joke as much as I am, so I continue. (Though I'm not normally incredibly considerate of the emotions of those around me, Duke is one of the few who deserves consideration. I don't give it as frequently as, perhaps, I should.)

"People often think that being realistic is the same as being pessimistic. Ridiculous, clearly."

"I would counter that by saying that a frequent misconception people make is that pessimism is simply realism."

I dislike Duke's words, for they seem to rebuke my own. Nevertheless, she's right.

"Sometimes reality is negative," I lash back, unwilling to give up my argument.

"That's true, but accepting that and moving on is being realistic. Bemoaning it is pessimistic."

I frown. Again, she's got me.

"Losing a good thing without complaint – "

"Hold up!" she cuts me off. "I never said shit about losing a good thing."

"My point is simply that if reality makes you lose a good thing, that is most certainly negative."

"Firstly: not inherently. If you lose your shiny, pretty hair to donate it to cancer patients, you might be losing a good thing, but I wouldn't deem it a negative occurrence.

"Secondly: you know, you don't always have to lose something just because you're sure the world'll snatch it away from your outstretched hands."

She says the last sentence gently, as if I'm a child, innocent to the ways of the harsh world. As if I don't know that the world will snatch everything good out of my desirous palms.

"Duke."

"Yeah?"

"The effort is greatly appreciated, but I can't find it in my heart to believe you."

"That is because you simply don't have a heart, Alex."

She chuckles, entertained by herself, and even I smirk.

"What are you, a science book? Stop stating facts."

—

This amuses me.