Pitbabe S2, Chapter 5 pg7

 pg7

   It might not have been a big deal to someone else, but I’d never used that tone with him before.

   “Babe, pull over quick,” I said, my voice softer now. I didn’t even dare use my normal tone.

   “It’s fine,” Babe replied, still trying to drive, his voice shaky and muffled from crying.

   “Please, pull over,” I begged, reaching to touch his arm, pleading for him to listen. Babe paused for a moment, sighed, and slowly changed lanes to park by the roadside in front of some closed restaurant. I just hoped the owner wouldn’t pop out from somewhere to shoo us away.

   Once the car stopped, silence settled between us again. I knew I should say something but didn’t know where to start. Babe kept his face turned toward the window, wiping his tears, though I knew once they started, they wouldn’t stop easily.

   “Babe…” I tried to take his hand, but he pulled away. I leaned in to hug him, but he pushed me back with a weak, half-hearted gesture, like he didn’t want me close but wasn’t angry enough to make a scene. He was probably more annoyed and embarrassed about crying than anything else. “Babe… don’t.”

   “Don’t… don’t touch me.”

   “Babe.”

   “The more you fuss, the more I’ll cry… just stop.”

   He said that, but this time I didn’t listen. I pulled him into a hug, wrapping my arms tightly so he couldn’t escape. Babe squirmed for a moment before giving in. He buried his face in my shoulder, staying still, letting out a soft grumble—probably annoyed that I was trying to comfort him when he wanted to stop crying but couldn’t.

   “I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing his head, genuinely remorseful. “I shouldn’t have spoken like that.”

   “It’s not what you said…”

   “Right, right, it’s the way I said it, isn’t it?”

   “Yeah,” Babe replied softly, his voice still slightly nasal as his tears dampened my shoulder. “Why do you have to sound like that? Can’t you just talk normally?”

   “Sorry… I was angry.”

   “Angry over nothing.”

   “It’s not nothing, Babe,” I said, unable to let him brush it off, even though he was crying. “Think about what would’ve happened if you’d swallowed it.”

   “But I didn’t.”

   “What if I hadn’t noticed in time?”

   “It would’ve…”

   “What about next time? You might not be scared, but I am.” I hugged Babe tighter, comforted by the fact that I could still hold him like this. But beneath that comfort was a deep well of fear. The more I realized how precious this feeling was, the more terrified I became of losing it. We’d both been through enough already. I’d nearly lost him several times, just as he’d nearly lost me. My greatest fear now was that Babe would be dragged back into that same vicious cycle again.

   “I’m sorry for snapping, but if something happened to you, how would I go on? Can you try to understand me a little?”

   Suddenly, my eyes burned, my throat tightened as if I’d swallowed gravel, and my chest felt squeezed so hard I could barely breathe. This was the clearest example of the mind and body’s connection. Aside from a slight infection in my left eye, I was physically fine—no wounds, no injuries. Yet this pain was real, sparked solely by imagining the worst possible outcome in my life.

   “I understand,” Babe said softly. “But I just don’t like it when you worry about me too much.”

   “What’s ‘too much’?”

   “Like how you’re being right now.”

   “And if it was me in your place, could you stay calm?”

   Babe’s silence was an answer we both understood. He often thought I was overprotective or worried too much about him, never realizing he was the same way when it came to me. This might be our smallest but most destructive flaw. The upside is that we always put each other first. The downside is that we tend to forget ourselves without even noticing. In my case, any self-awareness was fleeting—when something happened, I’d forget everything else and focus only on Babe.

   “I could stay calm…” Babe’s response made me chuckle despite the serious moment, as he always managed to do. He wanted to argue but couldn’t fully commit, knowing deep down that “calm” was the opposite of how he’d react. It was practically a distant concept for him. “I’m a lot calmer now compared to before.”

   “Sure, from a blazing sun to a nuclear reactor.”

   “That’s a big improvement, right?”

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