The Optimist

forty one

FOUR chapters left.. -Mocha

Nadia

. . .

My head aches from the constant hair pulling, my room is a mess of books including clothes scattered everywhere and my unmade bed and my eyes burn because I can't see. My fan is quickly collecting dust and I..

Well.. I'm just another part of the mess. Better yet, the reason.

I knew Jacob better.. or do I? Why didn't he tell me? Or why didn't I see the signs?

The questons linger in my head like the smell of lost hope in my room. I feel like I'm in a contaminated room, dark and dirty like Jacob's on that fateful night. He wanted to die in the dark, not completely, but not in sun bright daytime.

I don't think Mother Teresa is in any better condition than me. I heard she's been transmitted into a mental insitution, checked in by herself. Mom told me she'd told her that she couldn't bear to see her dear son like that and there was even a report going around school that she'd driven Jacbo to do it. That's messed up, to be straight forward.

I decked them. All of them. I wasn't going to let them talk badly of the Perez's. At least, not in front of me.

Mother Teresa, besides my mom, is the sweetest mother on Earth. She'll never harm a fly, instead probably take care of it. She's the best cook and grandma to Jacob's older brother's daughter. She's cute. She also would kill to be in Mexico, but stayed here in America to raise her sons with the best quality education.

Anyway, I slowly bring my freezing cold hand to my blazing hot forehead. I've been studying still, but lately I can hardly focus anymore. I don't care about the questions on tests, I care about the unanswered ones about Jacob.

Especially one in particular: why?

Even if Jacob were to give me a full lesson on why he'd attempted suicide, I'd still never understand. My hand numbs my forehead as I sit up, grungily kicking my feet over in my bed. My hair is a mess, my glasses are lost in my room, and I haven't left my room in almsot three days.

I decide I should visit Jacob in the hospital. Go back to my most hated place. Despite recently ceasing the reguar visits for Dad, it's time to do it again.

Maybe I should just live there.

How?

Trying to kill myself, just like Jacob did.

I'd never do it, though for I can't bear the sight of blood and the pain of anything sharp. Besdies, I despise needles with a sheer hatred. Ask the doctors.

I throw on a huge plain, dark blue sweatshirt, then push my feet in my old leather boots afterward, not even bringing myself to unzip it. I trot down the carpet stairs, grabbing the keys to our family's shared car, a plain dingy Toyota. I hear the clank of heels behind me. I whiz around, staring at a madeover Nathan.

He wears a pink spaghetti strap dress that falls just above his kness. Mine. He adds my little strapy sandals with the small heel on it, his pink glazed toes shning through. Mine. He wears a black leather jacket and sunglasses and as my eyes make their way up, I end my gaze at his beam.

It's all my clothes.

He smiles widely, thrusting his hands on his hips. "Hey Nadia." I mutter an inaudible greet back and he groans, batting his eyelashes.

"So? What do you think?"

Staring at him, I realize two things: he has a better way of making stylish with my clothes and he'd be utterly gorgeous as an girl. That's almost bald. I smile and bat my eyelashes back.

"Great boo." I giggle as he joins soon after. I lean on the counter, making my first small talk in days. "So, where are you going all prettied up?" I ask in my best creeper accent. He stumbles over clumsily as he tries to strut to the seat, sending us both into a fit of laughter.

It feels so good to laugh.

"Thank you. I'm going to visit Chresanto." He beams again, flattering his hand.

I stare at him. "Does he..."

"I know what you're going to say." Nathan says, picking up off my sentence. "Know about my new look? Yes. And he loves me even more now!" Nathan laughs. I shake my head, pursuing back on my feet again.

"And you?" Nathan asks. I can feel the dry concern in his voice as he knows where I'm going.

"Oh yeah, sorry. E-enjoy your trip, I guess. Tell Jacob I said hi." He mumbles, holding it mouth. "Again, sorry."

Why does Nathan regret that question so much?

. . .

"He's still asleep. We did, however, get him to take a few of the prescribed medications given by his physiatrist while he was awake. His neck is still suffering from the asphyxiation, but..."

I drone out the reviews of Jacob's condition and stare at his limp, life-less looking body. His hair strays aloof and his arms are sprawled out but tucked in. Scanning over him, I notice a pen barely grasped in his hand, let loose by his snoozing.

He wrote something.

Peering over the room for clues, anything would have worked, I spot a white piece of paper next to him, laying weightlessly on the tiny bedside table. I rush to the torn, crumpled paper, snatching it up in one quick spot.

"Dear Nadia. As bad as it may sound, if I'd had the option of pulling the plug on myself, I would." Jacob's scribble scrabble is neat enough to decipher, but my heart rips in two as I read it.

"I've come to nothing. You're working toward valedictorian, I'm working toward nowhere. You're not known much, but you will be. I'm only known for my advice. You know why I give it and why it's some of the best in town? (Okay, a little exaggeration there. Maybe a lot. Whatever.)" I laugh at his vulnerability to get off track so easily.

"I bet you don't, so I'll explain. When I'm gone, I try to give you the best advice for how to cope with my loss, so when I give you the advice it's based off of his life will be without me. Anyway.. Damn, I'm sleepy. Are you sleepy? I hope you're not, because this is the best.."

"Hello? What is your relation to Mr. Perez, darling?"

I completely forgot about the nurse and quickly shuffle up an answer. "Oh, uh, girl..." I pause, glancing at him. He looks so peaceful yet stressful in his slumber. "Friend." I choke out, crushing the letter in my hand. I feel my eyes burn with tears, but I hold them back as I await her answer.

She looks between me and the clipboard, raising an eyebrow. "You're lucky." She says, scribbling something down. Her dark features light up as she smiles, turning on her heels to exit.

"I wanted you to be.. genuinely happy. That's why I did it." A deep grumble follows sounds as I walks toward the door.

. . .

Sorry for any mistakes you spot in this chapter. Wattpad is glitching. With all love, Mo. :) (4 chapters left, btw.)