Pitbabe S2, Chapter 15 pg1

 Pitbabe S2, Chapter 15 pg1

   Chapter 15:

   CHARLIE

   I woke up feeling like someone who’d just come back from the dead, my wandering soul drifting back into my body as sunlight filtered through the curtains. My head was heavy, a nauseous sensation lingering in my mouth. No need to guess—I was hungover. If that empty beer can by the bed was a person, it’d probably be staring at me with pity right now.

   I didn’t need long to recall last night’s events. It all came back clearly: how it started when I raided the fridge for beer (Dr. Chris’s beer), brought it up to my room, and drank alone after everyone left, trying to drown the unbearable pain born of longing and unhealable yearning. Each day, I missed Babe more. I needed him more with every passing second. In fleeting moments, I wanted to drive back to his house, cling to his legs, and beg for another chance. But every time I thought that, a voice would echo in my head, a resounding reminder to endure.

   Go back, and then what?

   Go back, and can you protect him?

   Every scar and drop of blood on Babe—I’ve etched them into my eyes, brain, and heart. Even though I was by his side the whole time, those things kept happening over and over. I said I’d protect him, but in the end, all I could do was bandage his wounds. Every rumor, every malicious gossip—Babe said they didn’t matter. He never cared, but I know he saw them all and remembered every single one. At the very least, the amount of medication his psychiatrist prescribes each month is reliable proof. His emotional wounds aren’t just lingering pain from the past; they’re laced with the daily cruelty that keeps stabbing at him, ensuring the scars that should slowly heal never do.

   Since my being by his side still couldn’t help, I’ll create a world where he can live safely on his own instead. That’s why, no matter how much I want to, I won’t go back. Even if I miss him so much it feels like my heart’s breaking, I’ll endure it. All of this is so Babe can live the peaceful life he’s always deserved.

   I sat up in bed, my head spinning so much I had to steady it with my hand. Thinking about last night’s mistakes only made the headache worse. It’s not that I didn’t know what I was doing—I knew full well. From the moment I dialed, waited for the call to connect, and when Babe picked up, to all the disgusting words I spewed, I was fully aware. My mind was screaming against it—What are you doing? Stop talking, hang up already! —but my mouth wouldn’t stop. I don’t even know if Babe was listening. Maybe he set the phone down and walked away to do something else, which, honestly, would’ve been better than him sitting there listening to the nonsense coming out of my mouth.

   I grabbed my phone to check notifications, hoping just a little for a message from him, even if it was just to curse me out. But there was nothing—not a single message. It seems Babe truly has no lingering attachment to me. Or maybe there was a bit before, but after I called and bothered him last night, whatever was left snapped, leaving no chance to reconnect.

   This morning’s top news is about my breakup with Babe. It’s not surprising. Me, Babe, and everyone on Team X knew it was only a matter of time before it reached the public. Especially since paparazzi photos of us leaked almost daily, and then suddenly there were none of us together—it was bound to be noticed. Personally, I don’t think I need to make any statements about it. People can interpret it however they want. As for Babe, if he wants to say something, he’ll say it himself. And whatever story comes from his mouth, I’ll accept it as it is.

   ‘Not that shocked. Knew they’d break up eventually. Babe’s awful, Charlie put up with him this long, that’s impressive enough.’

   Though I promised myself I wouldn’t care, some social media comments still got under my skin. I don’t mind if people criticize or misunderstand me, but seeing these comments bashing Babe, acting like they know our whole story, is infuriating. Where do they get off saying “Babe’s awful” or “I put up with him”? Utter nonsense. I never had to “put up” with being with Babe. It’s being without him that takes every ounce of endurance I have.

   ‘Guess Babe got bored. Or found someone else.’

   ‘Charlie couldn’t handle Babe. Too young.’

   ‘What’s surprising? Babe used to cycle through people all the time. The weird thing is Charlie lasted longer than the rest.’

   ‘Happy for Charlie. Finally free.’

   ‘Honestly, always thought these two didn’t match. Charlie’s great, but Babe… better not say.’

   Almost all the comments are flowing in the same direction. The good part is that I, and Babe, are the ones to blame for everything. These people spew out their messages as if they’ve been living under our bed, always itching to share their opinions on every matter, inserting themselves into the lives of people they don’t even know in real life. I’ve never understood the nature of these types. If Babe or I broke the law or clearly violated morals, I’d accept and agree with social punishment. But what’s with these people? Is my relationship with the person I love just fodder for them to analyze and gossip about like some leisure activity?

   I hope Babe doesn’t see this nonsense.

   Knock, knock, knock.

   The sound of knocking interrupted my heated morning mood.

   I left my phone on the bed and walked to open the door, feeling a bit dizzy when I stood fully, but I managed to walk straight like a normal person.

   “Chris said someone flinched his beer.”

   It was Jeff, knocking on my door early in the morning.

   “Yeah… I’ll buy some to replace it later,” I replied wearily, dragging my feet back to the bed. Seeing it was Jeff, my energy drained back to its usual low. My brain must’ve signaled my body that in front of this guy, I could be as pathetic as I wanted.

   “Turning into an alcoholic now?” Jeff sat on the chair at my desk. “Didn’t you say you didn’t like it?”

   “I don’t like it, but sometimes it helps.”

   “Helps create more problems?” My little brother tilted his head, his odd remark making my heart skip a beat. It felt like he knew something, and he probably saw what I was thinking, so Jeff clarified, “Phii Babe called.”

   “Really?” My eyes widened. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it wasn’t something I wanted to happen. “What’d he say?”

   “He said, ‘Tell your brother if he calls me drunk and bothers me again, I’ll block his number.’”

   Just hearing that, I could imagine Babe’s tone. He must be furious that I called and rambled nonsense at him. Initially, I thought if I let some time pass, we might meet again someday. Even if we weren’t as close, we could maybe chat casually, catch up like acquaintances. But last night, I probably ruined that chance completely.

   “Ugh… damn it,” Of course, all I could do was clutch my head and curse like a loser. “I shouldn’t have.”

   “If you miss him that much, you should go talk to him properly,” Jeff said, resting his chin on his hand, looking at me. I knew he was probably exasperated with me, maybe even a bit pitying, but he hadn’t said it outright. “At least if you’re not drunk, you might have a better conversation.”

   “If I wasn’t drunk, I wouldn’t have the guts to bother him.”

   “So you got drunk on purpose to have an excuse to call him?”

   “No…” I thought I should deny it, but when I met Jeff’s eyes, I was too ashamed to speak. My little brother doesn’t just see the future—he sees right through my soul. No matter how good a liar I might be to Babe, with Jeff, I’m just a kindergarten kid trying to lie to his mom. “Not exactly on purpose. Just… if I’m drunk, I might be braver.”

   “You’re being ridiculously annoying, you know that?”

   “I know. You don’t need to tell me,” I sighed deeply. It’s not just Jeff who’s fed up with me—I’m sick of myself too. Childish, contradictory, refusing to grow up. I’m making everything worse than it needs to be because of my pathetic self-control. “But you’ve never broken up with a partner. What would you know?”

   “Fine, whatever. If thinking that way makes you feel better, go ahead.”

   “Jeff…” I whined, fully aware I’m not acting like the older brother I should be. But what can I do? I have my weak moments too, and since becoming an adult, this is probably the most powerless I’ve ever felt. “It’s torture… I’m dying here.”

   “Then go beg him back.”

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