Developed A Conscience

SIRI

When I woke up in the morning with a bitter taste in my mouth, a headache pounding against my temple like it wasn't happy to be there—well, neither am I, buddy—and a hard, warm body pressed against my back, a large hand on my stomach, one thing hit me squeeze on the face; I was fucked.

Fucked. Fucked. Fucked. Say it with me: FUCKED. 

Yes, because what the fuck was that last night? Why the hell had I done… any of that? I had learned one thing and thought to experiment on him? 

Right now, I was cursing my perfect memory after drinking. I wished it could be blurry, but also… I didn't want that. 

When I remembered how he looked, naked with his perfect demigod-like body, his abs clenching and unclenching, his dick erect and angry-looking. When I think about those sounds he made, how he had moaned my name, oh God, it had me rubbing my thighs together. 

I remember every single detail: what he tasted like in my mouth, how I could almost taste his manly scent, and I could still taste his climax in my mouth. I have never in my life wanted to relive a moment the way I was reliving last night’s moment. Not even our first sex felt that good, and I didn't cum, didn't even touch myself.

It was just everything about Jackson. 

Everything about him makes me feel so, so many things, all of them new, some of them scary. 

And speaking of the devil… He sighed in his sleep, his hand pressing into my stomach deeply, and that feeling I get whenever he was like this returned. 

I have always hidden this body, tried not to think about it, but with every moment I spend with him, with every touch in all the places I hate, I find myself looking differently at the mirror, seeing something different in those places he was so obsessed with. Especially my belly. 

I shifted carefully so I didn't wake him, and he sighed again, unconsciously trying to hold me tighter, but I managed to turn so I was looking at his face, and when I was, everything in me paused. 

I have never caught him sleeping before. He was always up before me, already watching me in that way that made me want to melt into the bed and bask in his gaze at the same time. But now… now I was watching him sleep, and Heavens, I hadn't thought this man could get any more perfect. But here he was, deeply asleep. 

His dark hair was a complete mess against the pillow, a few strands falling over his forehead, and his face looked softer without that usual arrogant smirk sitting on his lips. His lashes were unfairly long, casting shadows over his cheekbones, but that wasn't what made him look more perfect. The features I'd seen countless times weren't what made my chest tighten as I looked at him: it was the softness I was seeing now, something I'd never seen before. The vulnerability, with his guard nonexistent in that moment. 

There were no furrows between his brows, no teasing remark just waiting at the curve of his lips. 

Jackson and I are closer than I ever thought we would be, but there’s still a wall between us. A wall he keeps, and I do the same. At this moment, there was no wall. So looking at him, I saw the exhaustion, something not just physical, just like the one I have carried all my life, and I realized… he was also scared. He was drained and tired. He probably had insecurities too. He had his own fears and shares of pain. 

He was just like me, even if his scars looked different. 

Seeing him in a new light made my chest tighten. I pushed a strand of hair away from his forehead, a slight tremor in my fingers, and he didn't shift. I placed a soft kiss on his lips, resting my forehead on his, and just closed my eyes. I felt his warm breath on my lips, felt his steady, strong heartbeat when I placed my hand on his chest. 

I had this sudden urge to cry.

“You’re just like me,” I whispered so low I could barely hear myself.

Why was that realization doing this to me? It was like a weight had been added. It was like I wanted to do something for him. I didn't know anything about Jackson. I didn't know what life was like for him growing up, what his father was like, if he had a happy childhood, and why he started playing hockey. I knew nothing, and that made me feel like the worst person to ever exist in the whole galaxy. 

I squeezed my eyes shut, a tear slipping out. “I’m sorry.”

It felt like I suddenly developed a conscience and realized he had problems too. He might be rich, handsome, popular, but he had problems and fears too. Maybe even worse, from the weight of the responsibilities and expectations demanded of him. 

I decided that I didn't like having a conscience.

“For what, sweetheart?” 

My body jerked when I heard that deep, raspy voice. I pulled back from him like he was on fire, my heart racing as I sat up, eyes wide. I stared down at him, and he stared up, still lying on his side, his expression still soft, and his eyes hooded with sleep.

“I-it’s nothing,” I stammered, about to escape because I couldn't face him right now, not like this, not while my emotions were still bleeding out. “I’ll be in the–”

He wrapped his strong arms around my waist, and I froze when I felt him sit up. He moved slowly, his arms moving as he did. He sat behind me, his legs stretched out on both sides of me. His arms were wrapped around my shoulders, his nose pressed into my hair.

“Morning, my love,” he rasped into my hair, and my heart kicked violently against my ribcage like it wanted to escape before it melted from the heat that erupted inside me. “Waking up to you watching me was perfect. Maybe I shouldn't wake up so early anymore.”

I gave up trying to escape, my shoulders dropping. “Maybe.”

He rubbed his nose against my nape, and I chuckled softly when it tickled.

“Siri…” he whispered, his voice suddenly too thick, and my spine stiffened.

“Y-yeah?”

“What are you sorry for?”

I stared down at my lap, my eyes watering. “I… I don't know you, Jackson. I don't know anything about you.”

“And neither do I.”

That made me pause. “Are you serious?”

“Hmm.”

“So we’re both the worst people to ever exist in the whole galaxy?”

He scoffed, something so tender about the sound. “It would seem so.”

“That’s… good.”

“I’m not going to ask you why you think that's good. What I'm going to ask, though…” He kissed my shoulder blade, and I shivered. “Will you go on a date with me, Siri?”

If he had asked me this question last night, I would have panicked, made an excuse, and run. But I did none of those things. Instead, I smiled even though he couldn't see it, and said, “Yes.”

I realized something else, something that hit me hard and didn’t make me panic like I thought it would: I was falling for Jackson. 

And I was looking forward to this date, to getting to know him.