OPHELIA

Chapter 8: Suicide!

“Seniorita...” Bobga called in his usual grumpy but warm tone. I thought I would never see him again but here he was and his timing was wrong. He pressed my hand against his forehead. I could tell he was at loss for words. But wait! How did he know where to find me?

“Seniorita…I heard what those assholes did to you…I’m so sorry.” Tears welled up in my eyes; I sniffled. Where was that nurse? Finally! She came in. I struggled to seat up; the pain almost caused the pills to fall out but I was determined to hold it in. Bobga helped me seat up.

Suddenly, Pastor Man pushed open the door like he had a score to settle. In that split of a second, I thought maybe he had discovered what I had done to him and was here to set the record straight. I took the glass of water from the nurse.

“Wait! I’m thirsty…I’ll drink first. You should have told me the water I bought was finished. I would have bought another before coming.” He ceased the glass from my hand, his eyes piercing into mine. I was enraged and scared but I couldn’t utter a word, no, not with a mouth full of pills.

“Sir…the patient is thirsty. I brought it for her.” The nurse was agitated.
“She doesn’t mind just get her another glass.”
“Urghh! Sometimes you guardians are crazy…” She left.

“Sir...” Bobga said. I never heard him call anyone that. “You must be the Pastor. I’m honored Sir.” He added. It looked like he would prostrate.
“And you must be Bobga…thank you for trusting us.”
Pastor Man quickly moved his gaze back to me. “Ophelia, you don’t look so happy seeing your father. If your freind here didn’t call back that night, we would never have known it was all an act. You probably would have died.”

As it were, I rather that I had not been found—my death would have been easier. I glared at him.
“Don’t you think it is better to be alive? Why do you keep lying?”
No! It was hell being alive. The nurse came back. I took the cup from her but he ceased it again.

“Open your mouth.” He said sternly and I looked away. “Open your mouth now!” My lips slowly uncoiled.
“Blood of Jesus!” The nurse held her hands over her mouth.
“Ophelia.” Bobga called like he had seen a ghost. The pastor man took a plastic bag from the cupboard “Spit it out! Next time, if you have to die, be more dramatic. Walk to the highest floor and then jump down. Don’t use such a pathetic method. It’s embarrassing.” He said; extra veins popping on his fore head. He gave me the glass of water. “Rinse your mouth.” He turned to the nurse. “Next time, be more careful.”
“How is it my fault?” The nurse defended.
“She could only have gotten the pills from you!” He yelled.
“From me?......”
I didn’t think the nurse was to be blamed so I wanted to intervene. “It’s not……”
“Zip it!” He shushed me. There was an awkward silence. I could hear the enraged breath of Pastor Man. He closed his eyes to calm down then he removed a Bluetooth speaker from his bag.
“I brought this to keep you company.” He placed it on the mini cupboard and left without another word. We all stood frozen. I never thought Pastors could get that angry; he did and it was because I wanted to die. Truth be told, for the first time in a long time, I felt special—it felt good. 

“You spoiled child.” The nurse retorted “You think you are the only one going through problems? See me see trouble oh, life that people are looking for, you want to take it.” She left angrily still talking to herself. She must think I’m a psychopath but who cares? Everyone was entitled to their own thoughts. “You are very silly!” Bobga said pushing my head with his finger
“Hey!” For God’s sake this was my life why was everyone acting so possessive of it?
“You think you can just do what you want all the time.” He glared at me and I looked away. Even in his angry state, he stayed with me a while before leaving. I couldn't process the presence of caring human beings around me. What was I to make of it? Was I to feel good, bad, okay, hurt…what did I want or better still what did they want?

The rest of the day, I couldn’t take my mind off the Pastor Man. I thought about what he was thinking and how annoyed he must be. I thought about what I would do if I were in his shoes—I definitely would abandon me. Picking up the gift he left earlier, it dawned on me that people never gave gift just like that; they thought about the person and then they bought a gift—he was thinking about me. I never thought I would trust a Pastor again but this one was gently getting to me.

While I spun the mini speaker, Pastor Man came in. I wanted to greet but my mouth won’t open. He removed food from his bag  and displayed it on a tray. Usually he asked how my day was but today, he said nothing. I  to stared out the window at the sun set. He pulled a chair closer to the bed and propped the tray for me. He handed me a spoon and I reluctantly took it.
“Do you know how to operate it?" He referred to the Bluetooth speaker but his voice relieved the tension in the room. “Yes I can.” I wanted to say something more, I wanted to ask many questions, I wanted to hear him talk, but he was quiet and asked only closed ended questions. I wanted to live one more day—one more day where he was present. He looked frustrated and tired unlike any other day. I was scared he might give up.
“I’m sorry.” I blurted; sweat formed on my skin. He stopped fidgeting with the books and papers from his bag and sat down. In that second he reminded me of my father—his chiseled jaw line, and popping facial features, gave me a weird comfort.