"But I'm no Superman, I hope you like me as I am." - A Marco Reus Short Fanfic.

Part 1!

***This situation is set in the middle of December 2014***

Isabela walked into Marco’s bedroom only to find him all wrapped up in that black blanket of his… again. It was like a daily routine for her now; she’d come over to Marco’s place every time she had free time and sometimes early in the morning almost every single day, he’d either be wrapped in that blanket like a burrito or sitting in his living room watching TV. She knew that this injury curse was very harsh and every moment he spent off the pitch was killing him, but it was also turning him into a very bitter person. He’d be very quiet most of the time, like he was lost in thoughts. He’d have a lot of one word replies, and the only few times he’d speak full sentences, they would consist of mostly rude remarks. Isabela was starting to get a bit annoyed, but she knew that the moment she agreed to be his girlfriend, she had also agreed to be with him through thick and thin. And she knew he’d be back to normal as soon as he was back in the game, so she didn’t complain. She stood at a side of the bed, trying to figure out exactly how to wake him up today, she had already run out of new ways to do so. “Mr. Reus, it’s 6 PM, now is not the time to be in bed! Get up and get dressed!” Marco, as usual, didn’t even respond, let alone getting up. She lay down beside him and pulled down the blanket, and Marco hid his face with his hands as soon as she did. “Marco, get up!” Isabela exclaimed, as she held his arms by his wrists and tried moving his hands, only to see Marco’s grim expression. “I don’t want to,” he answered. Isabela planted a kiss on his forehead and looked right into his brown-ish green eyes, she hadn’t seen that spark in his eyes for quite some time – the spark that made her fall in love with him, the spark that would be there every time he played, regardless of the result. “Baby, get up and get dressed, let’s go out for dinner! I brought out your favourite Armani suit and bought you a white shirt since you spoiled the last three white shirts you had. Come on, now!”
“But I don’t want to go anywhere,” Marco answered, as he pulled the blanket back up. Isabela stood up, pulled the blanket entirely off of him and dropped it on the floor. “Up. Right now. I’m going to go get dressed, and I give you one hour to get up, take a bath, put on that suit and wait for me in the living room,” she said.
“But I said I don’t-“ Marco replied, in a stubborn manner.
“Right. Bloody. Now,” Isabela answered, in a very stern tone. Marco let out a deep breath and sat up, Isabela flashed a polite smile and walked out of the room, she always preferred getting ready in Marco’s guest room rather than his, it had better lighting and the dressing table had just enough space to fit all her makeup things. Isabela took her time to get dressed, and when she entered the living room, Marco was sitting on the sofa eating a bowl of leftover lasagna she made the night before.. He was almost dressed, just the suit was lying on the sofa’s handle; he’d wear it on the way out, Isabela thought. Suddenly, something hit her – Marco never eats before eats before going out for dinner, if he could he’d starve himself for hours before going out because he believes eating anything would ruin his appetite, he absolutely loved eating out. She realized what was happening and ran up to Marco as fast as she could in those high heels, and just when she reached him, she saw sauce stains on the beautiful white shirt he was wearing. “Oops, looks like we can’t go now,” Marco said, as he got up and started walking towards his room. Isabela stood there, she wanted to just shout at him but she controlled her temper and spoke up. “No baby, we can still go, you have a lot of other shirts, don’t you?” she asked, with an obviously fake smile.
“No, it’s fine, you won’t like any other combination as much as you like this,” Marco answered, while still walking.
“Marco Reus, get back here,” Isabela ordered. Marco walked back into the living room, it seemed like absolutely nothing affected him. His face was expressionless, like he was least bothered about the world, about everything. She indicated at the sofa with her eyes, asking him to sit. He sat down, and she sat next to him. She put her hand in his and asked, “Marco, baby, I know whatever you’re dealing with is very hard, but you can’t just block the entire world out because of that! It won’t get you to heal any faster, instead going out with friends and I is going to make you feel better,” Isabela told him, with concerned eyes. He rolled his eyes and answered, “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” Isabela replied.
“I am,” Marco insisted.
“Marco, please, listen to me,” Isabela said, as she clutched Marco’s hand with both her hands. “Distancing away from everyone will not make you feel better, or neither will it get to heal you faster. Come on, Marco! Today’s the 18th, just 20 more days, and you’ll be all good! And then you just have to wait 22 or 23 days and then you’ll be back on the pitch!”
“Right. Are you done? I wanna go take a nap,” Marco asked, the careless attitude still all over him.
“I’m not done. And this isn’t the time to sleep! Baby, please! You’ve been so distant, everyone misses you. Thomas and Manuela miss their son, Yvone and Melanie miss their brother, Nico misses his Uncle! And Mario? Mario’s in Dortmund to attend that party of Matsi’s, I know you too got invited but decided to not go. Marco, you never would miss the chance of partying with Mario and Mats! What has gotten into you? And you know who misses you the most? I do. Even though I spend the most time with you, I miss you the most. Where’s the Marco who would always be cheerful? The one who’d be most excited about going out for a meal, who’d be the one planning parties instead of running away from them?” Isabela charged him, her grip on his hand got tighter.
Marco didn’t respond, he simply looked away. Isabela let out a sigh and added, “Marco, look at me. You’ll end up healing slowler if you keep up with this anti-social mentality. You’re trapping yourself into this terrible state and I’m just… I’m just afraid that you’ll soon drown in your own thoughts. I need you to let me in. I can’t save you if you won’t let me, please.”
What happened next, was something Isabela had not, at all, expected. Marco shook strongly and released his hand from Isabela’s clutch. He stood up, and looked straight at Isabela – she could see the anger burning in his eyes. “SAVE me? I don’t fucking need YOU to save me. I DON’T NEED ANYONE TO SAVE ME. I’M FINE THE WAY I AM,” he said, darkly. Isabela was taken aback, she stood up, too, and held both of Marco’s arms and said, “Marco, why are you reacting like this? I know all this is really hard but-“
Before she could finished her sentence, Marco burst out again, saying, “YOU know if this is hard or not? It’s my bloody career that’s been halting for the sixth time this year, and you think YOU know how it feels? For fuck’s sake, why do you even care so much? Why are you so involved in my life? This is my life, not yours! Why do you have to barge into my house and “try” to make me feel better? WHY THE HELL WON’T YOU JUST LET ME BE?”
“Marco,” Isabela replied, as her eyes widened, and she shot him a look. “You’re really asking that? I’m your girlfriend, okay? It’s my duty to try and make you feel better when you’re not feeling well. I pause all my work sometimes just to make sure that you’re okay, and you’re asking me why? Really?”
Marco shook his hands once again, and moved a step back; out of Isabela’s reach. “Why do you have to? None of my exes even cared whether we met for weeks, all they’d care about was that I’d constantly buy them presents, and maybe it was better that way. Why can’t you be more like them? I don’t need you to save me, I don’t need you getting so involved with my life. You know what I might need, though? Maybe I need some time away from you, so I don’t have anyone around to constantly nag me, yeah?”
Isabela’s face turned faint, but she knew Marco was only saying all that out of frustration. “You don’t mean that. You’re just frustrated right now, I know. You don’t mean that,” she lightly replied.
“No, I DO mean it. I am sick and I am tired of having you around. Why are you constantly nagging me to go out shopping or partying? Oh wait! Wait, wait, wait. I think I get it now. You’re pissed because you’re not getting any publicity, right?” Marco asked, his face now wore a tight lipped smile.
“What the hell? What are you even saying?” Isabela asked back, as she crinkled her eyes.
“I’m not going out, so no one’s keeping up on you. Of course, if Marco Reus now goes anywhere with his girlfriend, it’ll be all over the websites and Twitter and shit, and there’ll be pictures of you everywhere; and now that I’m not going anywhere, you’re not getting that publicity. That’s what all this is about, isn’t it?” Marco answered, there wasn’t a single bit of regret in his eyes; regret of whatever he had just said.
Isabela’s mouth hung open – Yeah, it was her duty to make sure Marco was okay, but what he just said  went beyond the line of “he’s just frustrated.” This wasn’t just his frustration anymore, this was something that had hurt Isabela more than anything in her entire life. Getting angry on her was one thing, but questioning her character like that, was completely another. Isabela was never like any of Marco’s ex girlfriends, she wasn’t with him for the publicity – that would be the last thing she’d be with him for! – She was with him because she loved him more than she had ever, ever loved anything else. And now he was the very same one saying something like that.
“Marco. Take that back. Take. That. Back. Right now,” she said. Her voice no longer had the softness in it; instead, her voice was somewhat shaky, like she was holding back the urge to cry.
Marco shook his head in a “no” and added, “No. That makes sense. So, no. I’m tired of having you around so goddamn much, and I can’t deal with this anymore. So please, do me a huge favour, and leave me alone. Please.”
Isabela stared at Marco for a while before walking into the guest bedroom. She walked out a few seconds later with her bag, Marco was now sitting on the sofa in the living room. He watched as the tears that streamed down from her eyes left black trails on her cheeks because of the mascara. She opened the main door and just when she was about to leave, she turned back; like she was giving Marco one last chance to take his words back. But instead, Marco’s eyes, which were following her right until she had turned back, had shifted to the magazine lying on the centre table.
“You’re welcome,” Isabela said, as she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.