Pitbabe S2, Chapter 19 pg5

 Pitbabe S2, Chapter 19 pg5

   “Very happy. Thanks for finally telling the truth.”

   I hate when we throw sarcasm at each other, but I couldn’t stop myself.

   “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time.”

   “Waiting for me to say I don’t love you?”

   “Waiting for you to stop lying.” We stand on opposite sides of the bed, clothes haphazardly thrown on because we’re both too caught up in this unplanned war of words. Who’d believe that the two people glaring at each other now were, just hours ago, clinging and calling out to each other like they couldn’t breathe without it? And less than half an hour ago, we were acting like we might reconcile. “You’ve been saying you love me for so long. Doesn’t it feel suffocating?”

   “Not really,” I reply flatly. “Saying ‘love’ isn’t that hard.”

   “No surprise there. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have kept up the lie for years.”

   “Then I must be a great liar, since you never suspected a thing.”

   “Of course. You’re already a pro at lying.” Babe looks at me, smirking with contempt. It’s been a while since I’ve seen that expression from him. I wouldn’t call it nostalgic, but it’s like we’ve gone back to the first day we met, when he didn’t love me yet and saw me as just a toy to pass the time, like all his other flings. “All my life, I thought the best actor in the world was that Tony. But now, I think I’ve met someone just as skilled.”

   It shouldn’t hurt this much.

   Going back to how things were before we loved each other—it shouldn’t be this hard.

   “And honestly, no surprise there. Father and son, you and Tony colors aren’t that different.”

   “Babe!”

   Once again, I raise my voice at him without meaning to, but this time Babe doesn’t even flinch. He locks eyes with me fearlessly, clearly pleased that he’s made me lose control. It’s always been like this. Babe knows exactly where to hit me to make it hurt the most. He knows I despise Tony and want nothing to do with him, not even his name. And the thing I hate most is being told I’m like that man.

   I’m not like him. No matter how many lives I live, I’ll never be like him. And I’m not his son. Never was, never will be.

   “I like it when you yell at me,” Babe says smugly, completely unbothered, while I can only tilt my head back, stare at the ceiling, and take a deep breath to keep that side of me from slipping out again. “It feels honest.”

   “No… you don’t like it,” I say, shaking my head slowly, still avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

   “Why apologize? Yell again.”

   “Enough, Babe.”

   “Hmm… getting close. A bit louder.”

   “Just go,” I say firmly. I never thought I’d have to kick him out like this, but if I let Babe keep provoking me, I’ll end up doing something crazy for sure. “If you’re going to act like this, just go. I don’t want to fight anymore.”

   “You think I want to stay here?” Babe grimaced, storming toward the bedroom door and yanking it open. But instead of walking out, he froze, standing still for a moment as if he wanted to say one last thing. “You’re right, actually.”

   His voice was calm. He didn’t turn to look at me.

   “I know you love me.”

   I felt a wave of relief hearing that, even if the situation wasn’t exactly relieving.

   “But just not as much as I love you… that’s all.”

   The door closed. Babe was gone—out of the bedroom and out of my life. His final words left my legs weak. I collapsed onto the bed, still warm from his presence, but that warmth was all he left behind.

   I’d been glad, momentarily, that at least Babe didn’t think I didn’t love him. But now, that thought felt heavier than ever. I kept asking myself, why, why, why, why am I such a failure? I had years to make Babe happy, and I was always confident I’d done a good job. Until today, when the truth came out. Babe revealed an evaluation I’d never known, and it was far from impressive.

   I love him less than he loves me.

   How could that possibly be true?

   

   ALAN:

   These past few days, my main job has been helping Charlie settle into his new house. Beyond finding the place and negotiating the sale, I’ve also been playing architect, engineer, and interior designer. Sonic said I take care of my boyfriend’s brother like he’s my own, which is odd. He might’ve forgotten that Jeff’s Phii is Charlie, and Charlie is like a Phii to me too. I think it’s unfair that everyone always sees Charlie as either Jeff’s brother or Babe’s boyfriend. Because of that, people assume he’s well taken care of due to his connection to someone important to me. But that’s not true at all. I look after Charlie because he matters to me directly.

   I think Charlie gets overlooked a lot when it comes to needing help. He hates asking for it. No matter the issue, he prefers to think it over alone and handle it quietly. If you don’t ask, he won’t say a word. That’s why I’m always checking in, asking what he’s up to, if there’s any trouble, or if there’s anything I can help with. If Charlie trusts you, he’ll open up, but even with me, it feels like he only shares certain things. Part of it is his cautious nature, and part of it, I suspect, is that he doesn’t like burdening others. If it weren’t for me dating Jeff, Charlie probably wouldn’t let me help this much.

   Jeff and I stop by Charlie’s house every day, assembling tables, cabinets, and shelves, organizing his stuff. It’s taking longer than expected because Charlie has a lot he wants to keep—mostly books and collectible toys. His model cars alone fill a whole cabinet, half of them gifts from Babe. I knew right away when Charlie told me to handle them carefully. From his tone, if I dropped one, I’d probably have to shave my head in apology.

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