Pitbabe S2, Chapter 11 pg3

 Pitbabe S2, Chapter 11 pg3

   “Agreed.”

   I left the convenience store with two packs of mint gum. Pete, meanwhile, was carrying a huge get-well-soon basket. Before we even reached the ER, we ran into Babe’s crew heading out. Everyone looked shocked to see me and Pete together. Pete briefly explained that we’d bumped into each other, chatted a bit, and once we sorted out who was who, decided to walk over together. The racer gang, of course, was floored. Babe stepped up as the mediator, introducing me to his team. The kid named North nearly screamed, but the overly dressed-up guy next to him clamped a hand over his mouth. The young guy, Dean, pointed at me, mouth flapping open and shut. The oldest-looking one just stood there, staring at me silently, not saying a word. All I could do was smile and greet them politely. I knew I’d get reactions like this, but it’s still annoying. Looking like Way by chance isn’t as fun as I thought.

   Charlie came over, saying he’d sorted everything out for Babe and was about to take him home to rest. Apparently, the patient knew I was the one who answered the call and drove Charlie here. Babe walked up to me with a sour face, stared for a moment, then muttered, “Thanks,” sounding less than thrilled. I didn’t call him out on it, just smiled and nodded. I didn’t have the energy to bicker with him right now, and he probably felt the same. My emotions had been flat since leaving the convenience store—until Charlie whispered in my ear, “I didn’t order it.” That’s when my mood ticked up just a bit.

   Less of a jerk than I thought.

   I glanced at Babe, thinking that, but then realized I’m hardly in a position to judge anyone’s character.

   We didn’t talk long before everyone split up. Charlie was whining about getting his boyfriend home to rest ASAP. Honestly, Babe looked totally fine—stronger than some of us, even. But for Charlie, a paper cut on Babe is probably a national emergency.

   I said goodbye and peeled off first, since I was the only one who had to walk to the hospital’s front parking lot. Before breaking away from the group, I accidentally locked eyes with Pete. He didn’t look away but stared like he wanted to say something. I gave him a few seconds, but he just kept looking at me silently. In the end, I smiled instead of saying goodbye and turned to walk away.

   I didn’t look back once, though I’m 100% sure Pete watched my back until I was out of sight.

   

   BABE:

   “Charlie, nail clippers…”

   “TV cabinet, top drawer, in the clear container.”

   Before I could finish, the house-husband robot named Charlie answered with the precision of a high-tech AI. He didn’t even turn around, just kept washing dishes, flaunting his bare back and ocean-wide shoulders like he knew exactly how to draw my eyes.

   “Found it?” he asked.

   “Got it,” I replied, sliding the drawer shut before shuffling over to flop onto the living room couch. I’d planned to head straight to bed, but Charlie was still fussing around in the kitchen, refusing to go upstairs. So, I had to find something to do down here while waiting. If Charlie caught me sitting idle, he’d probably shoo me off to bed first. “Nails are getting long. Gotta trim them before I scratch you.”

   “I invited you just yesterday.”

   “You mean another scar?”

   Charlie’s laughter echoed from the kitchen. Since we got back from the hospital, he’s seemed a bit tired from handling my stuff, but even so, he’s still smiling constantly. I’m so grateful for that. Today could’ve been way worse if Charlie had been frowning, worried about me, upset that I got hurt, or angry at the people tailing me. Instead, he’s chill, just saying, “It’s fine, as long as you’re safe.”

   The manicure went smoothly. I’m proud to say I didn’t just clip haphazardly—I even filed the edges into nice, smooth curves. Not only does it look better, but it also makes the nails less sharp, reducing the chance of Charlie getting scratched. I’d say I handled it like a pro. So, the only issue left is these toenails. I don’t know what position to sit in, and no matter how many times I shift, it doesn’t make trimming any easier. That’s why I’m always too lazy to bother with my toenails.

   “Like a roly-poly toy,” Charlie said, having finished washing dishes at some point. His voice was suddenly close, and he laughed seeing me on the couch, legs bent, wobbling back and forth. I probably do look like a roly-poly toy, like he said. “Gimme that.”

   Charlie snatched the nail clippers from my hand. He sat on the floor below, pulled my left leg onto his lap, and started trimming from the big toe, redoing my half-assed attempt since it wasn’t exactly pretty.

   While clipping my nails, Charlie didn’t say a word. He focused on my foot, carefully and deliberately trimming. I didn’t know what to say either, so I just sat there hugging a pillow, staring at his round head and bare upper body, feeling like the luckiest guy in the world. If reincarnation and karma are real, I must’ve done some massive good deed in my past life—or maybe saved the nation—to end up with someone in this life who treats me like a little princess, even though I’m nowhere close to that.

   “You cut your own skin,” Charlie muttered, lightly touching my index finger, where I must’ve accidentally nicked myself and didn’t notice. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

   “Didn’t at first, but now that you mention it, it’s starting to.”

   “I’ll put some ointment on it when I’m done.”

   “It’s fine, it’s just a tiny cut.”

   “You’ll lose the finger, it’ll rot.”

   “How old do you think I am?” House-husband Charlie laughed again. Everything I say makes him laugh. I don’t know if he’s got a low bar or he’s just crazy. “You still feeling woozy from the meds?”

   “Better than this afternoon. Should be fine now.”

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