An Actor

SIRI

It was just one country between him and England, and I could see that weight in his shoulders growing. I could see the circles around his eyes changing to purple, and he spoke less and less. 

And I felt fucking useless. 

Useless because I didn't know what to do for him. I knew words wouldn't help, so I didn't bother. And I felt like the worst person to exist on this fucking planet. He would have done something for me. If I were the one with this weight on my chest, Jackson would have found a way to take it off, but I had… nothing.

And that only added to the voices that say I don't deserve him. That he was a better person than I’ll ever be, and all I was doing was hurting him and giving him fucking excuses. 

“I know,” I whispered to those stupid voices as I stared at myself in the mirror, my reflection looking… wrong. 

My eyes looked too dark, my eyebrows pulled into a tight frown. My lips were pressed into a tight line, and I looked so much like… like my father. 

I barely saw him like this. He barely frowned or even showed any emotions, but in the few things that he had, the look on his face had scared me. And right now, I had that look on my face as well. That scared me more than anything. 

I pointed a shaky finger to the girl in the mirror, and the monster pointed back at me. 

“You. Are. Not. Him,” I snarled, keeping my voice low so Jackson wouldn't hear me and think I had gone crazy, which I have. “Marshall cares for no one but himself. He doesn't feel emotion. He isn't capable of it, but you are, Siri.” 

In my twenty-one years of living, that morning when my life was falling apart was the first and probably the last time I saw strong emotions on his face. It was the only time I saw how human he was. 

“You feel everything greatly. Too greatly, so you are nothing like him, you hear me?” 

But maybe that was the only difference between us: the fact that I felt things and he didn't. Maybe that was the only thing that made us separate beings. He was a con man, an actor in a way, and for the past few days, I've been an actor as well. 

I’ve been acting with Jackson, acting like I was fine. Like I wasn't freaking out every time he touched me. Like every time I saw that tender look in his eyes and saw myself mirroring it, I wasn't fighting the urge to pull my hair.

I could see that this feeling between us wasn't just mere “like” anymore. It was more than that, and to me, more was always scary. So I've been acting, and acting really well, because he hasn't noticed a thing was off.

“What is wrong with you, Siri?” I asked, my voice breaking, looking at myself through a vision blurry with tears. “Huh? Tell me, please? What is wrong with me? Why… Why can’t I just accept this? Why can’t I just go with the flow? Why do I have to think negative things?”

“Because negative things are all you’ve felt in your damn life,” that stupid, stupid voice in my head that sounds so much like Marshall’s whispered. “Because that is all you’re capable of.”

My shoulders dropped, my head hanging between them as I squeezed my eyes shut, the tears dripping out anyway. 

I needed help. Maybe… maybe therapy would be nice. If I didn't think about the huge amount I’ll be paying to just gossip about my problems with a person who just nods and pretends to write things down, then maybe therapy is exactly what I need. 

Because this wasn't just about Michael or the scar he left. This was about everything that happened before him, everything Marshall taught me about trust and love, and how badly it all fucked me up. 

And Jackson deserved so much better than this fucked up shell that I was. He deserves someone who doesn't act with him. 

~.~

“You okay, darling?” Jackson asked with a small smile when I finally stepped out of the bathroom. 

He was shirtless, now on the couch, his iPad on his lap, legs resting on the table, crossed over his ankle. His hair was messy, dark strands falling into his face and almost covering his eyes. It was longer on the top now, giving him this playboy look, and just looking at this sexy being had the tension leaving my shoulders. 

“I was about to come give you a blanket and pillow since it felt like you were going to sleep in there.”

“Haha,” I said dryly as I sat beside him on the couch, and he drew me closer to him with one arm around my shoulder. I looked at him as he scrolled through his iPad, watching Berlin's past game. “And you? Are you okay?” 

His smile dimmed, his shoulders stiffening. He stared blankly at his iPad, but when he turned to me, his eyes had a false shine to them. 

“Yeah. I am. Berlin is the last game standing between me and home.”

“But do you want to go home, Jackson? You’re not exactly going there to go shake hands with your old team and drink beer, you know?”

He looked back at the iPad, the sound from the device the only one between us for a while, before he answered softly, “Honestly… I… I am. Even though I'm not going there on friendly terms, I'm still excited to go home. I spent my life there, Siri.” 

He looked at me again, and this time, the shine there was genuine, soft. 

“Those people are more than just a team to me: they are family. Almost everybody in that town was part of my life growing up. So… yeah. Yeah, Siri, I'm pretty excited to go back home. And I'm nervous as hell too.” 

I rested my head on his chest, feeling his steady, strong heartbeat. “And I'll be there.” Even though that'll barely do shit, or even mean anything.

But Jackson’s arm tightened around my waist, and slowly, I felt the tension bleed away from his shoulders. 

“And you have no bloody idea how much that means to me.”

My throat was too tight to form words, so I just rubbed my face on his chest, and he hummed, almost like a damn purr. He dropped his iPad and caressed my ear with his thumb as he cupped the side of my face, his eyes bright and filled with so many things that made me want to hide. 

“Let’s go explore Berlin, shall we, my darling? We should be spending every second out there. Our world tour is coming to an end, after all.”