Pitbabe S2, Chapter 16 pg1

 Pitbabe S2, Chapter 16 pg1

   Chapter 16:

   BABE:

   Charlie led me into his room (which used to be the lab’s shared sleeping quarters). The stuff in the room still looked unpacked, like it hadn’t been properly arranged. If I had to guess, Charlie probably planned to stay here only temporarily, at least until he found a new place. The room wasn’t big to begin with—it was meant for researchers to crash in when they worked late and were too lazy to go home, or to sneak a nap during the day. Now, with Charlie’s boxes of belongings stacked around, the usable space was even smaller. Apart from the bed and the area around the desk, there was barely enough room to stand. The three-and-a-half-foot bed was already full with a big guy like Charlie sleeping alone.

   The state of Charlie’s room made me sad. Even though I knew it was just a temporary stay and that Charlie had enough money to find a better place without much trouble, the thought of him not sleeping on a comfortable bed, even for just one night, made me feel awful. Maybe it’s like how he couldn’t stand seeing mosquito bites on me. He knew it wasn’t a big deal—I wouldn’t die from a few bites on my arm. I also knew that Charlie living in this room wasn’t the end of the world, but I still couldn’t help feeling hollow inside. I hated when he had to struggle, hated when he wore old shoes or took public transport with no air conditioning. Others might not see those as big deals, and Charlie himself didn’t care about such things, but I couldn’t stand seeing it.

   “Stop staring already. You’ve seen it a hundred times and still haven’t gotten over the excitement?” Charlie walked over to open the wardrobe, which had only a handful of clothes hanging sparsely inside—no more than four or five pieces. He pulled out a white T-shirt from a hanger and slipped it on casually, as if to block me from staring any further. It was only when he spoke that I realized I’d been staring too much.

   But he’s got a great body—why can’t I look a little?

   “I’ve only seen my boyfriend naked, not my ex,” I shrugged, unfazed by Charlie’s scolding look, and shuffled over to plop down on the bed without asking the room’s owner. I already knew Charlie wouldn’t mind. Even if it wasn’t me, with a room this small, where else was there to sit if not here?

   “Boyfriend or not, the body’s the same,” Charlie narrowed his eyes at me, now fully dressed in long pajama pants, no longer in the precarious towel from earlier. “Talking like you’ve had a ton of boyfriends.”

   I wanted to argue but couldn’t. I felt a bit embarrassed as Charlie pointed out that he was my only boyfriend, making it seem like I was just as inexperienced in relationships as he was. If we’re being honest, Charlie actually seemed to have more finesse in relationships than I did.

   “You’ve only had me too, you know.”

   “Yeah,” Charlie admitted easily. “And I don’t have a problem with that.”

   I’m so annoyed with Charlie when he’s like this. When I’m upset about something he says about me, and I throw the same thing back at him, he just accepts it like it doesn’t faze him at all. Once, he said I was nitpicky about pointless things because I kept vacuuming my car and scolded North for eating snacks in it (his own car). I was so mad at being called nitpicky. I hate being nitpicky—it’s an annoying trait, and it makes me seem like an old man. So I shot back, “You’re just as nitpicky. You can’t sleep if the curtains are even slightly off.” But instead of getting mad, Charlie just nodded and said calmly, “Yeah, I am nitpicky.” I swear, that was peak annoyance. Just thinking about it still gets me riled up.

   “So, what’s up?” While I was muttering curses under my breath, Charlie was the one to bring up the topic. Looks like he’s eager for me to say my piece and get out of here. “You came this late—couldn’t it wait until tomorrow?”

   “Wait until tomorrow, and I won’t be able to sleep.”

   Charlie went quiet. He stared at me, his brows slightly furrowed, like a question mark had popped up in his head, but he was hesitating whether to ask.

   “What?”

   So I asked instead.

   “Nothing,” Charlie denied, like he’d decided it was better not to ask. But the more he avoided it, the more I wanted to know what was on his mind. “It’s nothing.”

   “Just ask.”

   “It’s nothing.”

   “Whatever you’re curious about, just ask. So you don’t have to wait until you’re drunk to call and whine again.”

   I hit Charlie with that jab for the second time. Honestly, I didn’t mean to attack him. I was just being straightforward with my feelings. I know he has a lot he wants to say to me but chooses to ignore that urge, thinking it’s not the right time to talk. And honestly, I agree. Since we’ve broken up, I don’t want him meddling in my life anymore. But that’s only if he hides his “I still care” act seamlessly—not stammering awkwardly in front of me like this.

   “Sorry for calling and bothering you,” Charlie said flatly. He probably didn’t expect me to bring up that night and might’ve wanted me to pretend it never happened. But why should I do what he wants? “I’ll be more careful next time.”

   “Good to know,” I acknowledged his apology briefly before pressing on. “So, what were you going to ask? Just say it.”

   “It’s really nothing,” Charlie said, seeming hesitant to bring it up, which I kind of understood. He probably thought it might be overstepping. I thought I’d be angrier too, but for some reason, it was just a faint irritation instead. “I just wanted to know about your sleep. You said you’re afraid you won’t sleep tonight, so I was wondering if you’ve been sleeping fine all this time.”

   “And what do you hope for?” I tilted my head, meeting his gaze openly, and Charlie didn’t look away either. “That without you, I can’t sleep at all… like that?”

   “I hope you can sleep normally,” Charlie answered firmly. It felt like we were in a fight, battling in some pointless war where winning wouldn’t gain us anything, but neither of us wanted to back down. “I’m not too worried about other things. I know Babe can take care of himself. But sleep’s different. You can’t control it…”

   “I can sleep.”

   I had to cut him off.

   I couldn’t keep listening to him talk like that. The more he spoke, the more it seemed like Charlie still cared about me. He was still worried about me, like always. This might be his true feelings, ones he can’t easily erase. I’m not trying to force or dictate what he can or can’t feel. I just don’t want to know.

   It’s already hard enough.

   “How’re you sleeping?” Charlie kept going. He knew I didn’t want to talk about it, but he pressed on. “Taking your meds?”

   He knows everything but still asks.

   “What other way is there?”

   This time, Charlie looked away. I knew what he was thinking. In moments like this, only a few thoughts could be swirling in his head, and one of them had to be, This is our fault. That’s how he’s always been—anything about me, Charlie sees as his responsibility. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about him being like that. Before, I wanted him to know how hard it was without him, to feel guilty for making me someone who can’t sleep alone, to feel bad for deciding to break up.

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