Optimism

A/N: So I found this back on AuthorsTea and I never posted here? Interesting development. I'm honestly not getting any reviews on this collection anymore so I might just cap it off at 70 one-shots and direct my attention elsewhere. We'll see.

Enjoy!

. . .

"Don't worry, Usa. He'll come back to you. He has to." Minako's breath brushes against my ear as I feel my body tugged into her warm embrace. My arms remain still against my sides and one by one the rest of the girls pile onto me. As if I was a stuffed animal that they could squeeze until all bad feelings dissipated into the air. They should know better.

Ami's short bob nestles against my neck. "You just have to stay optimistic," she coos. Sugar drips from each and every one of her words at it takes all my effort not to cringe. Out of all of them I expected Ami to be the least cuddly. School before boys, she would always remind me in the early days when I would drag her along to the Crown Arcade to oggle Motoki. "Optimism is the key."

All this time and none of them know me.

I started losing my optimism the moment I picked up that damn locket.

That was the day when I could no longer say all was good in the world. There are monsters and there is evil. Neither were created by the manga I read and instead lived in the very world I exist in every waking moment. And somehow I have to fight it.

Goodbye silly girl whose dream was to be a married woman with a picture perfect prince charming. Even though my actions and face screamed naivety the works of my head were spinning. At every minute and chimed every second. To remind me that things were not as okay as I thought they were to be. But I play along every day. No way I would let this evil take away my whole life.

"Mhmm," I agree, nodding my head and taking a shaky hand to wipe at the tears streaming down my face. "I will see Mamoru again."

Even as I say the words I cannot feel them. Instead-I feel like my words are being written for me and I just have to play along and act the part.

Truth is? I already think Chiba Mamoru is far gone. I could feel it the moment he was taken from my arms. A sudden emptiness and a sense of dread filled me as the white haired man floated away with my past beloved in his arms. The Dark Kingdom could have killed him.

And that would have been that.

But they couldn't. They know how much he means to me. Not as my identity as the "Soldier of Love" but as "Princess Serenity". Because to the enemy Mamoru Chiba is more than my baka and more than my "Tuxedo Mask", instead he is my "Prince Endymion." So they changed the very fibers of his being. All I know is that they will unleash him on me soon.

"Until then, I will be here to help him." I will pray and hope and talk myself into believing Mamoru will somehow be okay.

"Help who?"

Feeling the curious stares of my friends I inwardly curse. Leave it to me to spill my thoughts in a careless whisper. Outwardly I shake my head wildly and feel as my hair whips around my torso. A saccharine laugh tumbles from my lips and I make tear-filled eye contact with all four of my friends. Blue. Violet. Green. Midnight. "Nothing. Just little drabbles." They smile at me pretending nothing is wrong. In their minds Mamoru will find his way back to me, clawing the path until his nails were bleeding. I know better.

The next time I see him he will not be the man I have loved through the centuries. Instead he will be an enemy. And this speech about optimism that the girls are feeding me will go down the drain. Fight, they will scream. I will be ready to fight. Fight not only for him but for myself.

Because I don't just want Chiba Mamoru's innocence back. I want my own back.

I want everything to go back to the point before I picked up that golden locket shining with the emblem of the Silver Millennium. Before I knew the taste of blood and the sight of evil. If I meet the girls again- it will be fate. And if I meet Mamoru again and fall in love again- it will be destiny.

But I am sure as hell not going to leave myself clinging to quickly fading optimism.

. . .

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