PitBabeS2, Chapter 1 pg9

 pg9

   “Hey, stop treating me like I’m four feet tall, wearing size-zero shoes, okay? I’ve been through worse,” I couldn’t help but grumble. Being pampered is nice, sure. I appreciate being taken care of by my boyfriend, but sometimes Charlie acts like I’m a delicate little girl who can’t do anything. “And for real, I’ve had it rough before. You’re the pampered one.”

   “Does Babe know how to cook?”

   “I’m great at it.”

   “What can you make?”

   “Instant noodles.”

   “Amazing. The noodle master!” The glasses guy gave me a thumbs-up, that goofy smile making it hard to tell if he was genuinely impressed or just being sarcastic. But when I heard that little chuckle in his throat, I was pretty sure I was being mocked again. “So, back when you didn’t have much money, how’d you eat?”

   “Phii Alan cooked for us,” I answered, feeling a bit nostalgic. Back before X-Hunter existed, it was just me, Phii Alan, and Way. Alan took care of us delinquent kids so well without expecting anything in return. Back then, the idea of me growing up to be a racer making money for the team wasn’t even in his head. For Alan, he probably just pitied kids who had nothing and would’ve felt worse if he didn’t lend a hand. “We rarely bought food ourselves. Early on, I ate with him all the time. Papa Alan loved buying tons of food to share with the younger kids at the garage or bringing us to his place to cook something. He even tried teaching me to cook, but I wasn’t great at it, so I didn’t really pay attention.”

   “Not surprised.”

   “But I’m working hard to earn a ton of money so I can buy food instead.”

   “Great plan, darling.”

   “You little—”

   “Stop it, I’m holding a knife.” I made a move to playfully smack the sarcastic guy a couple of times, but I had to freeze mid-air at Charlie’s stern tone. With no other choice, I let it slide for now. “What does Phii Alan cook that’s delicious?”

   “A lot of things, actually. Feels like everything he makes is tasty.” The moment I thought of Alan’s cooking, a familiar, savory aroma seemed to waft into my mind instantly. It’s like that smell is etched into my memory. “Oh! There’s one dish—fried rice, the kind with fluffy grains and crispy pork. Alan makes it so well. Whenever he cooks it, he has to make a full pan because Way loves it so much. No matter how much he makes, it’s gone by the end…”

   Suddenly, I felt I shouldn’t have brought this up. Almost every happy memory includes that person. Two years have passed, and that murky feeling should’ve faded at least halfway. Sometimes I think it has, but when I dig deep and face it head-on, it’s disappointing to realize that Way’s story in my heart has never healed. I’ve accepted my feelings, accepted the sorrow of his loss, accepted that he’s never coming back. But there are still things too hard to accept. I don’t want to admit that I’m pathetic enough to easily forgive someone who hurt me so deeply, especially after swearing to myself that I’d never forgive them, even in death.

   But I never planned for this.

   If he was the one who died, what would I do next?

   A warm touch on the back of my hand eased the turmoil in my heart. Charlie didn’t say anything. He just held my hand and gave a small smile, as if, even without me saying a word, he could sense what I was grappling with. His eyes spoke clearly.

   I’m right here.

   That’s what I felt when I looked into his eyes.

   …

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