Pitbabe S2, Chapter 24 pg 6

 Pitbabe S2, Chapter 24 pg 6

   Wait a second.

   What if this time… I don’t wait for the green light?

   I know it’s a crazy assumption, but my instincts are kicking in. I can feel this is one possibility worth trying. But yeah, it’s just a “possibility,” which means it’s not certain. If I’m right, I’ll break free from this cycle. If I’m wrong, my car might get smashed into a pile of scrap.

   The good news is, my SLS AMG is pretty tough, based on crash tests. If the impact isn’t too severe, I might survive.

   But I don’t know if it’s possible to die in this loop.

   All I’m thinking now is that either way, I might die. So, picking the faster way to go seems better. If I can’t get out of here, without food or water, I’ll be dead in seven days anyway. There’s no reason to keep driving around aimlessly until I drop. Others might choose differently, but for me, if I think of something and my gut says it’s right, I’ll try it. It’s better than lying around waiting for an answer that might never come. And if the right answer doesn’t exist, I’d just be wasting time.

   I flicked the turn signal and veered left, not caring much if I cut off the cars flowing in the far-left lane. After all, I’m about to do something way more reckless soon. This is just a warm-up.

   Twenty seconds left before the light changes from red to green. I took a deep breath, my hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. This feeling isn’t exactly new—it’s like when I staged crashes on the track. The difference is, this isn’t staged, and I have no idea what the outcome of this decision will be.

   Here goes nothing.

   If I mess up, I just die.

   “I love you, Babe,” I muttered to myself one last time before flooring the accelerator. I didn’t even wait for the road to clear, because it probably wouldn’t make much difference. My brain just commanded, “Step on it,” and I obeyed without hesitation.

   A massive truck was crossing the intersection, and my car was seconds away from colliding with a vehicle several times its size.

   I didn’t close my eyes. I didn’t even blink.

   In my mind, I imagined the deafening crash, the immense force that might crush me into pulp, the fleeting moment between life and death. The image that flashed in my head was of Babe.

   If I die here and no one knows, that’d be fine. I don’t want Babe to cry over me again.

   Everything went black for a moment. The sensation of my body being sucked into a tunnel hit me again, lasting less than a second before a shrill car horn pierced my ears, pulling me out of it.

   No intersection. No truck. No crashing sound.

   I made it.

   I broke free.

   I let out a soft laugh, relieved, but at the same time, I had to focus on keeping my car in its lane. The blaring horn from earlier came from a car behind me, cursing me out for swerving into their lane and cutting them off as I sped out of the loop.

   The changed scenery and road confirmed the loop was over. In less than five minutes, I’d reach my destination after spending over two hours trapped in the intersection loop (based on the car’s clock, which had returned to normal time).

   And that red Volvo turned into a small alley, disappearing right before my eyes.

   

   ALAN:

   Today was the first time in nearly three years that I spent the entire day alone. I never realized how Jeff and I had barely been apart for more than a day. Even on days when we had our own tasks, I’d at least see his face in the morning and before bed, exchanging a few words. That alone was enough to make my day complete.

   Maybe I’m being too sensitive. Jeff staying at Charlie’s isn’t a big deal. They have important things to do, and besides, they’re brothers. It’s not strange for them to have some private time together. But for some reason, it’s so hard for me. I thought those four days in the hospital had lifted my spirits, because no matter what—hungry, needing the bathroom, wanting snacks, too hot, too cold, or bored and looking for something to do—Jeff called for me. All day, it was “Phii Alan,” “Alan,” “Phii Alan.” Just hearing him call my name made my heart swell, even if it was to ask for help. The hollow ache in my chest, which had lingered for a while, was replaced by a soft warmth. I was happy to help Jeff, and my name became the first word out of his mouth before any sentence.

   But once Jeff left the hospital, that feeling came rushing back, as intense as if it had never left. I felt like I couldn’t breathe properly when I dropped him off at Charlie’s place, even though I knew full well that the next time I picked him up, Jeff would be a normal, healthy person again. His body and mind would be free, no longer burdened by that curse-like power.

   The thing that made us different is about to disappear, and even though I know that, it doesn’t make me feel any better. Instead, it makes me pity myself more. Because on the day we finally stand on the same step, it’s Jeff who’s stepping down to me, not me climbing up to him. And all of this is happening with the help of his Phii, a kid who’s more special than anyone else.

   When we stand side by side, others probably wonder: Who’s that old guy? Why’s he standing there? Poor thing, that kid could do better. Those words sound cruel, stabbing at my heart, but deep down, I agree with them.

   What am I doing here?

   Jeff doesn’t even need me, so why do I still have the nerve to stick around?

   Even though I’ve been drowning in these depressing thoughts all day, I’m still excited to pick Jeff up and bring him home. I packed my gardening tools into a wooden crate and placed it under the eaves by the house after planting new saplings and trimming the sprawling branches of the paddle-leaf pine. Tending to the garden calms my mind a bit—not as much as working on cars, but it’s about half as good.

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