Pitbabe S2, Chapter 33 pg 1
Pitbabe S2, Chapter 33 pg 1
JEFF:
Phii Alan’s favorite jeep pulled up at the lab’s entrance. He unbuckled his seatbelt before reaching over to unbuckle mine, kissing my cheek and gently ruffling my hair, like he always did when saying goodbye.
“Not coming in?” I asked when I saw Phii Alan acting like he was just dropping me off and leaving, not going in to greet Charlie and the others as usual. “You can come in, you know. Charlie said so.”
“I know, Charlie told me too,” the captain replied slowly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smile, as if trying to make everything seem normal. But I couldn’t feel that sense of normalcy at all. “But I don’t want to intrude. They went through the trouble of moving the lab for safety reasons. I don’t have any business there, so I’d rather not get in the way. Makes it easier for them to work, right?”
I looked into his eyes, trying to understand his reasoning with an open mind. To be honest, it was a reasonable explanation. But for some reason, I couldn’t convince myself to believe it. Does that mean I’m starting to distrust him?
“Why the long face?” Phii Alan asked with his usual smile. He was probably worried about my silence, but he still tried to keep things light to avoid a heavy atmosphere. That’s how Phii Alan always is. He’s a serious guy who pretends to be carefree because he’s afraid of stressing out those around him. By nature, he’s used to his own stress and can handle it well, but what he can’t stand is being the reason someone else’s day is less bright.
“Look… the fact that Charlie even let me drop you off here is already a big concession. Didn’t he say at first that he wouldn’t tell anyone about this place?”
Why?
Even now, why won’t he just say it?
“I’ve got to go help Dean with the engine later. Been working on it for days, and it’s still not done. He’s starting to complain,” he went on, talking about things I know are true but, at the same time, feeling like just an excuse. “You head inside. I’ll pick you up this evening?”
“Phii Alan… is something wrong?”
I thought waiting for him to speak first would be better. I wanted him to talk on his own terms, to say what he wanted when he was truly ready, not because I pressured him. But now, it seems like time and understanding aren’t helping at all. He keeps his mouth shut, pretends everything’s fine in front of me, and lets this awkwardness drag on. I can’t help but wonder when he’ll start considering my feelings.
Even after asking him directly, he just stays silent.
“I was going to wait and not ask, wanted you to speak up yourself, but I can’t take it anymore. I doesn’t know what’s going on, but I feels suffocated. If I did something wrong, can you please tell me?”
He hesitated, making it even clearer that he has an answer but just isn’t brave enough to say it.
“you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not mad at you at all.”
“Then what is it? Why are you acting so strange?” For a fleeting moment, I wondered if I was pressuring him too much. Am I making him feel bad? Have I become the clingy boyfriend I swore I’d never be? But enduring this confusion and discomfort is just too hard. “Is it because of Charlie? Are you mad at Charlie?”
“No, I’ve never been mad at Charlie,” he replied firmly, his expression serious. But what confused me more was the look in his eyes, which seemed to contradict his words. “The things he asked about, I understand everything. I don’t hold any grudges.”
“Then why are you avoiding Charlie? Why are you acting weird with me?”
“Weird how?” he shot back. “I’m normal.”
“If you were normal, would I even be asking?”
“And hasn’t you considered that maybe you’re just overthinking?”
“Don’t turn this back on me, Phii Alan.”
When I first asked, I was standing beside him, holding his hand with understanding, trying my best to get him to open up without pressure. But the moment he started twisting the truth, trying to make me doubt my own memory and perception, it pushed me to step across and stand on the opposite side. Every time we argue, I’ve always listened to his opinions and reasons with an open heart, even when I completely disagreed. But this crosses the line. I’ve always prayed he wouldn’t respond to my frustration with, You’re imagining things, but he went and did it anyway.
“I just told you, it’s nothing,” he says, his tone shifting. His eyes start reflecting an image of me as some foolish person picking a fight over nothing. “I was just minding my own business. I answered all your questions, but you keep trying to make it into something.”
Phii Alan calls me “you” when he’s annoyed or when we’re fighting, which is kind of weird. For others, that pronoun might be used for sweet-talking, right?
“Is that how you see me, Jeff?” I’m getting more and more irritated. When we argue, it feels like Phii Alan doesn’t know me at all, and I don’t know him either. “Like I just start trouble out of nowhere, pick fights for no reason? Is that how you normally see me?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead of responding to my question, he sighs and turns his face away.
“Don’t turn away.”
“Don’t order me around, Jeff.”
He’s angry, even though stuff like this never used to make him look at me that way. Phii Alan is always calm, especially with me. Even when I misunderstand something, he explains with logic and reason until I get it. No matter who was wrong, after we opened up and talked, all the bad feelings we were carrying would vanish like they never existed.
But this time, he’s making me feel worse and worse, acting like some stranger I don’t recognize—someone I could never have fallen in love with if I’d known he was like this from the start.
I’m more narrow-minded than I thought.
“I’m not ordering you,” I say firmly. “But I don’t like it when you turn away while I’m talking to you. Because when you do that, it feels like you’re deliberately refusing to listen.”
“And do you ever listen to me?”
“Have you ever thought about being straight with me?”
In the end, it all dissolves into silence. Both of us know we’re no longer interested in being the listener. We have so many words in our hearts—words that are honest to our feelings but hurt the person in front of us at the same time. We want to speak them to prove we’re right, to show our reasoning is heavy enough to crush the other’s nonsense, no longer caring how much we’ve sacrificed to get to this point.
“If you’re going to keep acting like this, don’t bother picking me up tonight. I’ll go sleep at Charlie’s.”
That’s all I say before opening the car door and stepping out. I slam the door shut with a loud bang, fueled by anger. Normally, that would’ve earned me a scolding, but this time, I know he won’t roll down the window to look at me again. Even when he had the chance just now, he chose not to.
CHARLIE:
I heard a car pull up near the lab’s entrance a while ago, but no one came inside. Just from the sound of the engine and the tires crunching on the gravel, I could guess whose car it was, so I didn’t get too alert. Jeff had told me last night he’d come help at the lab today.
Right now, everyone’s on the second floor—Phii Touch, Liu, and Dr. Chris. Lately, they’ve been holed up in the lab from morning till night. The main reason is the mounting pressure closing in every second, plus Dr. Chris has some ideas he wants to test ASAP. My researchers are working flat out, barely finding time to bicker or sit around snacking like before. While it’s great to see our work making progress, I can’t deny that sitting alone doing quiet tasks for hours like this feels a bit lonely.
Our new lab is twice the size of the old one. Since it used to be a warehouse, there’s tons of space. The ground floor is a wide-open hall with high ceilings. The second floor has a walkway wrapping around the warehouse, letting you look down at the hall below. Downstairs, there are three rooms (not counting the bathroom). They were originally empty since Dr. Chris didn’t know what to do with them, but now each has a purpose. One’s a storage room for equipment used for external events and lab work—cameras, tripods, drones, mobile whiteboards, and other office supplies, basically a mixed bag. The second room, deeper inside, is set up for live broadcasts since it’s spacious with good lighting, but we haven’t used it since moving here. For now, I’m sort of a “missing person” (as the internet calls it), though I’ll need to show my face to the media again soon.
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