Too Similar

SIRI

I have been staring at the ceiling since I woke up, blinking slowly. 

I was warm. I could still smell him on me. I could still feel his long, slender fingers deep in me, deeper than anybody has ever gone–and his fingers weren't the only thing going deep. I could still hear the way he had whispered my name repeatedly in that hoarse, deep voice. 

I could still feel him on my skin. 

When I woke up, you want to know the first words that slipped through my lips?

“Jackson.”

Yeah, I know. 

I decided that I hated this. Why? Because I was liking this a bit too much. It wasn't good. Every bell in my head was going off. It wasn't good at all. 

But what could I do? Tell my body to stop feeling? Tell my heart to quit racing? Stay away from him? But I couldn't. I know I couldn't, but I could reinforce my boundaries, tell him this is where he’s meant to cross, and not cross. 

That… I needed to do this. If we keep this just sexual, nobody would get hurt. No emotions that we couldn't handle would grow, and… and we wouldn't be seen as pathetic. Feelings make you pathetic. I’m never going to be pathetic again. 

I finally got out of bed and started my day. But then I reached for my phone to check the time, and I froze. When the screen lit up, the first thing I noticed was a new saved number. 

My phone doesn't have a passcode so that means anyone could unlock it, and the fact that Jackson did wasn't what bothered me. 

What did bother me was the number saved on my phone: the name Jackson, with a red heart emoji beside it. I stared at the emoji. I stared at his name. 

I dropped the phone. 

Boundaries. We were going to talk boundaries. 

I went downstairs still braiding my hair, following the smell of coffee to the kitchen. I knew Jackson would already be gone, so I didn't bother to ask for him.

I got into the kitchen and saw only my father, with no sign of Lilian. Greattt, it was just the two of us. 

“Morning,” I grunted as I moved to the coffee machine after tying the tip of my hair. 

“Hmm,” was his response, but I was used to it, so I didn't let it throw me off. 

I poured myself a cup of coffee and fixed breakfast in silence, the way it has always been between us. Expect…

“You’re getting attached to them,” he said softly, and my hand paused with the egg halfway flipped. 

I stared down at the frying pan, saying nothing.

“That will be a first,” he mused to himself. “You usually try as much as possible not to get attached to them. What’s different about this one?”

I went on flipping my eggs. “Can’t you tell? Or do you just want to hear what I have to say?”

“Yes. Exactly that.”

“Well,” I answered as I picked out two plates, “they’re different. Nicer people. I feel bad that they met a person like you.”

He hummed, unbothered by my tone or words. He was used to it. After that huge fight we had four years ago, nothing about my harsh words bothered him anymore. Not like they ever did.

I set the two plates on the table, one in front of him, and I sat opposite him. I picked up my fork, about to start eating, but then I paused when I felt him staring at me. I raised my head, and our eyes met—our too-similar eyes. 

My father and I shared the same look: the same nose, the same shape of lips, even the same eyebrows. It was unnerving. The only difference was our hair color. Mine was dark; his was a dirty blonde.

“What?” I asked with my eyebrows furrowed as he kept staring at me.

“Nothing,” he said and went back to sipping his coffee, looking away from me.

Well, that was… weird. I focused back on my food, but then I paused, looking back at him. 

“You can’t do this forever, you know,” I said, my eyes fixed on him.

He stared at me from the rim of his mug. “Do what?”

He knew what I was talking about. He just wanted me to say it out loud. 

“Keep stripping people of their life's work. It’s not a way to live.”

He scoffed softly. “You think I don't know that?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do you? Because to me, it seems you enjoy what you do.” I dropped my fork, picking up my plate and coffee as I stood up. “One day, dearest daddy, you will slip. You won't be able to clear away all the evidence like you always do, and when you get arrested, I won't cry as I watch them take you to jail.”

Matter of fact, I will throw a damn party. I left the kitchen, muttering under my breath, “And I feel that day is near.” 

Unlike the other women he married, Lilian knows what he does. And she has a son–a rich one–who loves her and wouldn't want to see her get hurt. So his days were really numbered. I just hope he won't take me down with him or make my life any harder. 

~.~

After a week of avoiding it like the plague, I went to the bench that afternoon. I sat down, brought out my lunch and book, and waited. Twenty minutes later, he walked up to it. I noticed that he froze.

When he just stood there without moving, I turned to him with an eyebrow raised. “Are your feet glued to the floor, maybe?”

He scoffed and finally walked to the bench. He dropped down on it, staring at me with a grin.

“You came.”

I huffed as I looked away. “This is my bench, until you come and ruin it for me.”

“Still,” he muttered, his voice soft, “you came.”

I didn't look at him because I wasn't sure I could bear the look in his eyes, and just kept on reading. I was ready to talk to him about boundaries, but he spoke first. 

“The team’s invited for an international series,” Jackson said after a moment of silence, and I turned to look at him. He was staring off into the distance. “Two weeks. Five countries.”

I stared at him. “Five?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Last stop’s England.” Something in his expression changed, grew tight. “We’re playing my old team.”

“Oh,” I whispered, shocked.

“Yeah,” he scoffed, running his hand through his hair. “I don't know why I never thought of that. That I would one day play against them.”

I looked down at my half-finished lunch. “That must be hard.”

“It’s going to be. Awkward, too. I…” He sighed, his hands clenching and unclenching. “I loved that team. They were like a family to me. Like my brothers, and now we would be playing on different sides. Against each other.”

I slowly looked at him, and my chest tightened when I noticed the sad look he was trying so hard to hide. I have seen different emotions in Jackson, but I have never seen sadness. It made my chest unbearably tight, and I suddenly had the urge to make it go away.

“Do you want to go somewhere with me?”