the anatomy of love [BxB] COMPLETED

19

"Coach, please, hear me out―"

    "Jackson, no. You are not doing the talking right now. I am. And as your coach, I have the right to tell you when you are playing. Like. SHIT!" Coach Nels presses a hand to his forehead, taking deep breaths. Jackson stares, stunned. The sound echos like a familiar, cold breeze that raises goosebumps on his arm. He's never seen his coach so worked up.

    "I'm sorry, Jackson. I don't enjoy yelling at my boys any more than you like hearing it. But I've been talking to you about this lack of focus and ambivalent attitude for weeks now. We are in the middle of getting our asses kicked by a school we should handle. I'm putting Theo in."

    "No, that's not fair―" Jackson wants to shout. He wants to cry. Soccer means so much to him, and he hates that Theo is snatching it from him so easily. Typical European douchebag.

    "It's not about fair, Jackson. It's about drive. It's about passion. You have to want it. Show me that you want it, Jackson."

    "I do!" Jackson almost got on his knees right there on the edge of the field, with his teammates watching, with the crowd curiously observing. Instead, he lowers his voice, trying to control the panic rising in his breath. "Coach, please, I promise I will do better. Give me another chance."   

    "Jackson," Coach warns.

    "Coach―"

    "Until you prove to me that you are changing your attitude, Theo's taking your place, and Caleb will momentarily have Captain status until you prove that you care."

    "What?" Jackson asked in disbelief. "Caleb? What does he have to do with this? He's not―I mean, seriously? Caleb? He's so immature, he fucks around―"

    "Jackson, it's my decision. I'm not changing my mind."   

    "No, that's not fair!" He sounds like a child. Like a child whose parents deny him candy. Jackson's self-hatred crystalizes like ice.

    "It's not about fair, Jackson." His coach starts to walk back to his teammates, who gather at the center of the field.

    In a desperate last attempt, he shouts at his coach, "I do have drive, you know! I'm going to therapy. I'm gonna do better. I promise!"

    I promise. Jackson sits himself on the bench, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes until the black blooms with stars. How many promises has he made? To his mother. This year I will make time. I promise. To Bonnie. Dear Bonnie, I'll try the therapy. I promise. Just please don't tell my parents about this. I'll fix it. I promise. To Caleb, to Lauren. To Hunter, to Robin. So many promises, so many lies.

    Sometimes he can't remember which is which.

☆★☆

Jackson does not like to remember his first and last therapy experience. He was young, in shock after the sudden divorce of his parents, the two people who were supposed to love each other and love him forever viciously ripped apart.

    He's blocked the memories for so long now, when he does try to bring them into focus, to recall the room, the couch he sat in, the questions he was asked, all he finds is a hazy fog, a wash of beige and white. Sometimes the face resurfaces, harsh and pale, with dark hair and dark framed glasses, a business man, he thought. Tough, with strong arms, and classically handsome, like his dad.

    "How are you feeling today?"

    "What's on your mind?"

    Jackson remembers questions like that, too. But mostly he remembers the silence. Not just from himself, but from the therapist, too. At first, the silence would go on, stretching the full time of the session. Soon the therapist got impatient, filled the silence with questions, so many questions. He answered none of them.