Pitbabe S2, Chapter 31 pg 5
Pitbabe S2, Chapter 31 pg 5
I closed the garage door and headed toward the house, but before I could punch in the code at the front door, I suddenly sensed something strange.
The flowerpot by the door had shifted from its usual spot, and there was a small amount of dirt scattered on the ground. It was minor, but I was certain it was different from when I left this morning. That shouldn’t be possible for a house only I have access to.
The relaxed feeling of coming home turned into tense alertness in a split second. I slid my hand to the holster at my waist, unfastened the strap, and rested my fingers on the gun’s handle, ready to act. In my mind, I thanked Dr. Chris for insisting I carry a gun ever since I started appearing in public. I’d barely used it before, since I’m usually more comfortable fighting with my bare hands. But because the doctor teased that if I could stop a bullet with my hands, he’d become a monk, I followed his orders. Back then, I really couldn’t stop a bullet with my bare hands.
But now… actually, there might be a way to pull it off.
I punched in the door code as fast as I could, the beeping and unlocking sound so loud I couldn’t believe it hadn’t bothered me before. I pushed the door open, stepping inside cautiously, as if sneaking into someone else’s house. My right hand hovered over the gun hidden in my jacket, while my eyes scanned the room. Everything inside looked normal, but I was absolutely certain someone was already in the house before I got there. I’d heard something moving from deeper inside, past the living room. The closer I got, the clearer it became—the smell of another person hit my nose, growing stronger with every step.
The final confirmation of an intruder was a faint clatter from behind the kitchen counter. I moved closer, gripping the gun tightly, ready to draw it from its holster, when…
“Whoa! Papa!”
Babe popped up from behind the counter.
I froze for a moment, a mix of shock and relief overwhelming me, my brain struggling to catch up. It took several seconds for my breathing to steady. I slowly released my grip on the gun tucked in its holster, silently thanking myself for not being so trigger-happy as to point it at Babe. That would’ve led to a long explanation.
“How’d you get here, Babe?” I asked, confused. I’d asked him to let me stay at my own place for one night because I had a lot to think about and sort through. I didn’t want to sit there brooding with a furrowed brow in front of him, so I reluctantly decided we’d sleep apart for a night. When I called to tell him, Babe had agreed so easily. I thought he’d matured and could handle things like this, but it seems I expected too much. “Didn’t we agree to spend one night apart?”
“We’re sleeping apart, but we can still see each other before bed, right?” Babe answered with a cheeky grin, holding a large tomato in one hand and a knife in the other in a way that, honestly, looked a bit menacing. I only just noticed he was wearing my apron—a sight so rare it might happen once in a hundred years.
“Why’d you freak out so much? You’re pale as a ghost.”
“You didn’t tell me you were coming. I get home and find someone else in my house—who wouldn’t freak out?”
“What! I told you I was coming. Why are you still shocked?”
“Huh?” His response threw me into confusion again. “Told me when?”
“This afternoon, when I called you,” Babe explained, his face serious, but my mind was blank. Not a single memory of the conversation he was describing came to mind.
“When I said I’d come over in the evening and head back late. You were grumbling about driving at night, eating dinner, and a bunch of other random stuff.”
What is he talking about?
Why don’t I remember any of this?
“You seriously forgot all that, Charlie?”
I don’t even know how to respond. I try to think, to dig through my brain for the event he’s talking about, but there’s nothing. All I remember is calling him at noon to say I wouldn’t be sleeping over tonight. In the afternoon, I was swamped with lab stuff and the seniors all day until we parted ways, and then I drove back home.
I thought I remembered everything, except whatever Babe is referring to. He wouldn’t make something up just to mess with me, would he? His face looks dead serious, and Babe has never been good at lying anyway. If he were lying, I’d catch it.
“There was a lot going on today. I might be a bit out of it,” I conclude, as it seems the most reasonable explanation. It’s bizarre that I can’t recall even a fragment of this event, but it’s possible I was so focused and stressed about other things that I completely forgot about it. “Sorry.”
But forgetting something about Babe?
I must be in rough shape.
“You okay, man?” Babe asks with a concerned look, which I don’t like much. I’ve tried hard to keep that look from appearing too often, but in reality, I’m not all that great at it.
“I’m fine,” I reply casually, walking over to the amateur chef who doesn’t even seem to know what dish he’s trying to make. “What are you making? Go sit down, I’ll handle it.”
“No way!” Babe jerks away, forgetting he’s holding a knife. Luckily, I dodge just in time, the sharp tip grazing past my chest by a hair. If it weren’t for my borrowed instincts, we’d probably be rushing to the ER right now. “Whoa! Did I get you?”
“Nah, I’m good,” I reply flatly, eyeing the skilled racer who turns into a clumsy mess in the kitchen. I’ve been so wary of outsiders that I forgot the real danger might be right here. In the end, I might die because Babe accidentally stabs me or blows up the kitchen with a gas leak. “But that’s dangerous, Babe. Just stay still.”
“You worry about me too much.”
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