Pitbabe S2, Chapter 14 pg1

 Pitbabe S2, Chapter 14 pg1

  

   Chapter 14:

   BABE:

   I woke up in a state barely better than a corpse. The first sensation, even before opening my eyes, was a head so heavy it felt like a hundred tons, as if it might sink into the pillow and become one with it. My eyes throbbed, and though I tried to open them fully, I could only manage halfway. It felt like I’d slept for an eternity, but when I glanced at the bedside clock, it was 9:21 a.m.—meaning I’d only slept for about three hours.

   In Charlie’s perception, I must have slept soundly all night, from the moment he ranted at me until now. I just lay in bed with my eyes closed, as if sleeping were the most important thing in life. Even though I’d just broken up with my boyfriend a few hours ago, that couldn’t keep my eyes open, and I’m glad Charlie thinks that’s the case.

   In reality, I didn’t sleep until six in the morning. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d sleep at all, but my body was so exhausted that it shut down automatically. But let’s be real—if my body wanted me to rest so badly, it should’ve forced me to sleep when Charlie was pacing and packing last night, or at least let me wake up tomorrow. Not make me sleep for just three hours and then wake up in this lonely, quiet house.

   Charlie is gone.

   Last night, while pretending to sleep, I listened to the sounds of Charlie packing instead of a lullaby. Like Sonic said about enjoying ASMR, I thought it was kind of similar, but less annoying. Normally, I’d be irritated if someone made noises in the room while I was trying to sleep, but last night was different. Instead of feeling annoyed at being disturbed, my heart sank. The pain was so intense that I let tears silently stream down, soaking the pillow in wet patches. But, of course, not a single sob escaped.

   Let’s be honest—I’d been crying since Charlie said goodbye. The few sentences I managed to say to him were when my anger was still raging. I still had the voice to retort with hurtful words. But when he started speaking in a tone like he was on the verge of death, I didn’t even have a whisper left to respond. Some of the things Charlie said made me so angry, like telling me to forget him quickly—stuff like that. Hearing it made me want to turn around and yell at him, make him cry his eyes out even better. But that was just a thought in my head. In the cruel reality, the one crying was me.

   Some of his words were so sad. Even though he was still sitting beside me, I already missed him. Just thinking that he’d be gone from now on left my chest feeling like an empty void, no longer housing the beating lump of flesh it once did. All I could think was that tomorrow, I’d miss his face, his voice full of sweet words, his soft laughter, his warm touch, his fragrant scent, his delicious cooking, his stories about physics, politics, or whatever I didn’t understand, his glasses, the color blue, his car and the racetrack, his gloves, his goat, his kisses, sex, his smiles and tears, the future we thought we’d have but no longer will.

   I miss… him.

   From now on, for the rest of my life, will I have to spend every second missing him like this?

   Will it ever go away?

   Will there ever be a day when this longing truly fades?

   Sooner or later, I’ll stop loving him, right?

   I have a hundred more questions, and I think the only person who could answer them right now is Charlie. Because Charlie is a smart kid—he has answers for everything. Even for the question I asked last night, which I thought was harder than any I’d ever asked, Charlie still had an answer. It’s just that his answer was different from the one in my head.

   Last night was probably one of the few times I felt truly pathetic. It was like a cruel joke that I offered Charlie a choice, confident he’d pick me no matter what. My mouth kept yelling, repeating over and over that I wasn’t as important as his other priorities, but deep down, I believed that when it came to a real choice, Charlie would never pick anything over me. He loved me too much to leave me.

   Charlie once said he could never break up with me. That’s why last night, the word “breakup” never came out of his mouth. But everything he said meant the same thing.

   Even now, I still can’t believe we’ve really broken up. I shared every day with Charlie for almost three years, but today, that’s gone. Not just him, but his things—everything’s vanished completely, as if no one ever lived here with me. Part of me feels Charlie was so cruel to leave without a trace, not even a tiny fragment to remember him by. But another part feels like he’s doing his best to help me move past the memories filled with him. I don’t know whether to be angry or grateful.

   I got out of bed after lying there, staring at the ceiling for nearly half an hour. I didn’t even know where I was going. All I could manage was probably washing my face and brushing my teeth. But just standing in front of the sink, my energy drained, and even reaching for my toothbrush felt like a struggle. I looked at the toothbrush holder with two slots: one with a cat face, holding my red-handled brush, and the other with a dog face. No need to guess who that one belonged to. The holder was still stuck to the wall, but the sea-blue toothbrush was gone.

   He really took everything, like he didn’t want to leave anything to bother me.

   I finished washing my face and brushing my teeth, feeling utterly deflated. I didn’t want to do anything, but I still dragged my feet downstairs, scanning the room to confirm that Charlie was truly gone.

   No, I’m lying.

   I was just hoping he was still here.

   Hoping even though I knew I’d be disappointed. I don’t understand what I want. Last night, I told him to get lost, ordered him to pack his stuff and leave, said this wasn’t his home anymore—even though that’s not true. This is Charlie’s home. If I could go back, I’m not sure if I’d fix anything else, but one thing I’m certain I wouldn’t repeat is saying those stupid words. Even if we’ve broken up and things have changed, I don’t want him to think this isn’t his home. I should know better than anyone that if it’s not here, Charlie has no other home.

   The fridge was packed with food containers, stacked like a convenience store freezer. Inside were fully cooked meals with little Post-it notes on every box: “400 watts, 2 minutes,” “200 watts, 3 minutes,” “Add a bit of water, heat at 300 watts, 3 minutes.” I stared at those containers for several minutes before grabbing a green apple to eat instead of the food that selfish jerk prepared for me. What was he expecting? That I’d be touched?

   I slumped onto the sofa with the apple. I didn’t bother turning on the TV like usual because right now, I didn’t want to hear or feel anything. I just sat there, eating silently, not tasting anything, only aware that something was in my mouth and slowly going down my throat.

   My phone, sitting on the coffee table, buzzed. I couldn’t remember when I left it there—maybe last night, or maybe I brought it down just now. I wasn’t lucid enough to recall, including the notification that popped up on the screen.

   Tomorrow, 10:30 a.m.

   Psychiatrist

   Note: Appointment slip is in the top drawer by the medicine cabinet. Panic meds (pink pills) are out. Don’t forget to update about the nightmares (don’t lie to the doctor).

   I’m certain I’m not the type to meticulously log something like this in my phone, and I’m definitely not crazy enough to add a note in parentheses telling myself not to lie.

   The calendar app was filled with appointments I didn’t even remember: psychiatrist visits, race practice, dinner with Phii Alan, boxing with Kim, and more. All of these were my responsibilities, but the one who remembered every detail was Charlie.

   Charlie didn’t pack up everything because he had tons of possessions. He did all these pointless things, preparing everything so I could keep living. He acted like I was some idiot who couldn’t do anything, even though before he came along, I managed just fine without any problems.

   How dare he?

   Who does he think he is?

   Crash!

   The phone that was in my hand slammed against the wall before hitting the floor again, its screen shattering into pieces. It’s been a while since I’ve vented my emotions like this. If Charlie were here, he’d give me a stern look and say, “Breathe deeply, don’t break things,” before pulling me into a hug. He always treated me like a little kid with anger issues who needed endless love, which isn’t true at all.

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