Pitbabe S2, Chapter 6 pg9

pg9

    “Yeah.”

   “Which country?”

   “America.”

   “Just for studying?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Then why come back? Why not work there?”

   “Missed home.”

   “And why help Charlie with his research? Don’t you have a job?”

   “Is that a question or an insult?”

   “A question, but I kinda want to insult you too.” My response earns an immediate warning. Charlie lightly squeezes my thigh, saying, “Babe,” in that low tone he uses whenever I do something he doesn’t approve of. “I’m just curious. You graduated as a doctor from some fancy foreign place, could probably make a ton of money working. Why waste time helping Charlie?”

   “Just wanted to help,” Chris replies casually, as if he hasn’t even thought it through. He sits with his legs crossed, leaning back against the sofa, not taking my question seriously at all, acting like I’m dying to chat with him. “The project’s owner is this famous. Who wouldn’t want to help if they could?”

   “That’s it?”

   “What more do you want?”

   “Sounds like there’s no real reason.”

   “Oh, right, Pitbabe, the paragon of reason.”

   I hear Charlie’s soft chuckle, but it cuts off within seconds because the cheerful guy gets a pinch on the thigh from me—a warning for laughing at the jokes of someone I can’t stand and for laughing at a jab aimed at me.

   “Look, let me tell you something,” Chris finally seems to get a bit more serious, though only slightly. The faint smirk still lingers on his lips, but this time I can sense a shift in his gaze. “I’m not that complicated. I do things because I want to. Instead of questioning me, you should probably thank me for valuing your boyfriend’s ideals. Not everyone gets this stuff, you know. Right?”

   I realize now why I can’t stand this guy, even though we’ve known each other for less than an hour. Beyond his infuriating expressions and provocative words, I think Chris is arrogant. He thinks he’s better than everyone else, like he knows it all, as if he’s an expert on everything. Even when it comes to me and Charlie, he seems to have already written a summary in his head and graded our relationship, despite knowing next to nothing about us.

   “Okay, thanks for appreciating Charlie’s ideals and lending a hand,” I said to Chris, who let out a soft chuckle, as if surprised to hear the word “thanks” from me. “But I’m not as kind as Charlie, so whatever you do, just be smart about it.”

   

   KENTA:

   “…Thirty-two, Room Ten, total inmates, thirty-two, all accounted for, sir.”

   The loud, clear voice of the inmate at the front of the line reported. I wasn’t sure what that guy’s name was since everyone called him “Hero.” It wasn’t because he was particularly good-looking—though I’d met plenty of attractive people who weren’t celebrities. The first one that came to mind was Babe, whose stunning face needed no debate. Charlie, his partner, was also undeniably handsome; even his glasses, like a third organ, couldn’t hide the gift of his parents’ genes. Then there was Pete—sure, maybe it was personal bias, but his looks weren’t just my preference; they were objectively striking.

   I figured “Hero” was called that because he was a front-of-the-room type, not because of his face. He looked average—not ugly, but not so handsome you’d turn to stare. Tall and sturdy, with dark skin and noticeably uneven eyes, yet no one ever teased him to dent his confidence. It was almost unbelievable in a place where people fought over a scrap of meat or spit-soaked candy stuffed into the pants of someone they hated, yet rarely mocked each other’s looks or physical flaws.

   Hero loved being the center of attention, always volunteering for tasks assigned by the “bosses” (that’s what they called the guards here). He was the room leader (the dorms were divided into rooms housing twenty to thirty inmates, each with an appointed inmate leader to manage the group for the guards—basically a lackey, to put it bluntly). He was also the kitchen leader and took on whatever other jobs the bosses threw his way. Organizing the room, counting heads like he just did, was one of his main duties. Hero was always the first to speak up, the first to make noise, and the first to get punished. But he seemed content with that life, which was part of why I didn’t vibe with him. His thirst for living so loudly annoyed me. Still, his annoying traits were somewhat useful—they made me realize why it’s so easy to be biased against someone who’s your polar opposite, even without knowing them deeply.

   “Hey!” A voice rang out close to me. I didn’t need to look to know who it was. I ignored it, sitting on my bunk and picking up the book I’d left off reading yesterday. “Kenta, tomorrow you and me are in the same work group.”

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