Pitbabe S2, Chapter 10 pg4

 Pitbabe S2, Chapter 10 pg4

   “We looked him up. He’s pretty famous, isn’t he?” Dr. Chris remained as calm as ever, even while talking about something potentially awkward. “We really do look alike. When we saw his picture for the first time, we were shocked—thought we were a racecar driver.”

   “They do look alike, yeah.”

   “You don’t like him, do you?”

   Dr. Chris has a knack for hitting the nail on the head. It’s like his mind is a massive library, with every piece of information neatly categorized, and with just a faint spark of intuition, he can pull up the right answer in seconds. Maybe that’s how genius brains work. I wouldn’t know—this is the first time I’ve met someone like him.

   “We… don’t really get along,” I said, thinking it was the broadest, least awkward explanation. “He doesn’t like me much either.”

   “Love triangle, huh?”

   Is he reading my memories or what?

   This is getting too creepy.

   “Something like that.”

   “Must be exhausting, competing with someone who was there first.” I didn’t give him any details, yet Dr. Chris pieced the story together like he saw it firsthand. Now I’m starting to wonder if he studied in America to become a doctor or a fortune-teller. “We saw pictures of him and Babe everywhere, so we knew they were close. No need to look so scared.”

   Even my thought that he’s creepy—he picked up on that too.

   “To be honest, it’s not that exhausting,” I said. “They’re just friends.”

   “That’s such an annoying thing to say, you know that?”

   “I didn’t mean it like that…”

   “Got it,” he chuckles, looking at me like I’m a small child who wants to communicate but can’t quite form all the sounds yet. “Babe never saw Way as more than a friend. He’s not even your rival.”

   “I never thought about competing with anyone to begin with.”

   “Then why don’t you like him?”

   The question triggers a memory, like a password unlocking a room in my brain—a room sealed shut two years ago, filled with things I don’t want to think about too much. I don’t want to forget it, but I also don’t want to keep opening that door, because what lies dormant in there is too awful.

   “He did some really terrible things,” I say after mulling it over for a moment. “It wasn’t so bad with me, but he was awful to Babe.”

   “Awful enough that you can’t forgive him even after he’s dead?”

   “That’s already being too kind to him.”

   Dr. Chris doesn’t respond right away. He goes quiet, sips his coffee, and stares at me as if my words have completely changed how he sees me, like I’ve morphed into someone other than the Charlie he thought he knew.

   “You’re a lot tougher than I thought,” the doctor says, nodding slowly. “When it comes to Babe, you’re like a different person.”

   “I’m not happy he’s dead.”

   “I know, but you’re not sad either, are you?”

   “It’s… hard to explain.” It really is. Even now, I can’t find a single word to define that feeling. It’s like I have to spell out exactly what I feel every time. “I feel sympathy, as one human to another… sorry, as Babe’s boyfriend… and glad for him, as someone who’s angry. I’m not happy he’s dead, but I know if he were still alive, he’d be in torment every day. He’d suffer his whole life for what he did to Babe.”

   It’s probably true, like Dr. Chris said. I can’t forgive Way, even now. Just talking about what he did, I still can’t let go of those old feelings. His death might have settled things for Babe or Phii Alan, but for me, it’s worthless.

   “Way loved Babe a lot. I don’t want to admit it, but in this world, I think the only person who could love Babe as much as I do was him. That’s why I know he must have felt so guilty, hurting every time he looked at Babe. I’ve been there before. When I knew I’d hurt Babe, I felt the same—like dying might be better than seeing the way he looked at me. It was agonizing. And I know Way felt that too.”

   My voice keeps getting softer, my speech slowing down. The edges of everything, including Dr. Chris’s figure, start to blur. The medicine must be kicking in stronger now—this isn’t my usual drowsiness.

   “If that’s the case, dying might actually hurt less,” the doctor’s voice is hard to make out. Or maybe it’s clear, but I’m too sleepy to process it. It’s like he says one word, pauses, then says another, all disconnected. “Living with guilt… it’s not easy.”

   I should say something back, but my body can’t keep up. My eyelids are heavy, slowly closing beyond my control. The sounds I could once hear clearly turn into faint echoes, like they’re coming from far away, before everything fades to black.

   I don’t know how much time passed. When I felt someone shaking my arm, for a moment it seemed like I’d only dozed off for a couple of minutes, but in another moment, it felt like hours. While I was arguing with myself about how long I’d been asleep, a sudden thought popped up: Is this a dream?

   In short, I had no clue what was going on.

   “…-rlie.”

   A voice sounded close by. It was probably the person shaking me. I wanted to respond, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. I couldn’t even open my eyes.

   “Charlie…”

   It was clearer now. Someone was calling my name.

   “Charlie… wake up.”

Previous

Next