Page 3 of Blades of Obsession

Amelia

“You’reactuallywearing your hair to practice like that?” Catalina’s voice drips with venom as she eyes my reflection in the locker room mirror.

My body tenses, fingers tightening around the tote bag strap in my hand. I know what she’s doing. Her words sound innocent enough, but the connotation behind them makes me want to punch her in the face.

Catalina’s the cheer captain, and she’s practically a real-life Barbie doll—blonde, flawless skin, and I’m pretty sure she gets designer clothes before they even hit the rack. For the past month, she’s been on a mission to turn cheer practice into hell for me, as if she has some personal vendetta.

College is supposed to be my escape, the place where I can finally breathe, where I can spread my wings without my dad’s constant voice telling me I’m not good enough.

You know what? Screw this.

I’ve dealt with a bully at home for the last six years, Irefuseto have one at college too. I’m not letting anyone back me into a corner ever again. And I’m sure as hell not letting her talk about my hair, a topic that hits a little too close to home.

I’ve always had a complicated relationship with my hair. It’s naturally wavy, with tighter curls at the roots. I could styleit until I’m blue in the face, but somehow, the frizz always wins. Growing up, my dad had no idea how to handle it, and without a mom to teach me, I gave up on it at one point. But after years of messy buns and baseball caps, I’m finally figuring it out, finally learning to love my curls.

“Yes,actually,” I shoot back, locking eyes with her in the mirror. “Because I don’t have to have my hair all done-up to feel good about myself. You know what, maybe I should go find your ex boyfriend—I’m sure he’dlovethe view of my hair while I’m down on my knees for him.”

Catalina’s eyes widen, her lips parting in shock as a small gasp escapes her lips. She struggles to find the words to respond, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. But then, her face twists with rage, and before I can react, she’s lunging at me.

Her hands are in my hair, yanking and pulling, nails scraping at my scalp. But I don’t back down. I grab her wrist with one hand and shove her back with the other, my heart pounding in my chest. All the pent-up frustration from years of being tormented by my dad bubbles to the surface, and I fight back, harder than I ever have.

I didn’t claw my way out of one hell at home just to be shoved into another at college.

Back home things were… not the best. My dad is a force of nature—overbearing, strict, and if you catch him on a bad day, just plain mean. His rules were suffocating, and his angry outbursts even more so.

If I wanted to wear a cute, albeit short, outfit like every other teenage girl, suddenly I had a two hourlecturecoming my way. And by lecture, I mean him towering over me, voice raised to a roar, tearing me down inch by inch. He made me feel small, weak, powerless.

That’s why heading off to college two months ago felt like one of the best moments of my life.

The summer before I got here, I sat in my room, nervous about how things would go, and made a vow to myself—this year, I would finally break out of my shell and stop being so dangsmall.

Small, as in dimming my shine to make others comfortable. As in putting everyone else’s needs before my own. As in letting outside voices overshadow my own, when I should speak up for myself.

I’m slowly making progress towards the new me, and that’s fine. The turtle did win the race.

“Stop it! Both of you, stop!” Coach Dawn’s voice slices through the chaos like a knife, and in a heartbeat, she pulls us apart. Catalina stumbles back, breathing heavily, and I can see the red marks on her face from where I must’ve scratched her.

Coach Dawn glares down at us like a mother scolding her kids, her eyes narrowed and arms crossed. Probably because she’s been the closest thing I’ve had to a motherly figure—always there when I mess up or need help, or just a hug. My mom passed in a tragic car accident about six years ago, and I know no one could ever replace her, but Coach Dawn gives me that motherly guidance I’ve been missing.

My dad moved on too quickly after my mom died. One day, she was here, and then months later, he had someone new by his side. A woman half his age more interested in competing with me than being any sort of parent.

Sometimes, I wonder if he ever really loved my mom at all. How can someone move on so quickly if they truly loved someone? But then again, he must have, because after she passed, he was never the same. He was always insufferable in one way or another, but after we got back from her funeral, he just turned… evil.

“What the hell were you two thinking?” Coach Dawn’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. “This is a team. We don’t fight and tear each other down. Get out to the field. You two are late now.”

“Sorry, Coach.” I nod, and with one last secret glare at Catalina, I grab my pom-poms and head out to the field. My scalp still stings from where she yanked my hair, but I can’t help the small, satisfied smile that tugs at my lips.

I won this round, and that sets the tone for how the rest of the year will go.

I’m free from the shackles of my dad now, and that means I can start standing up for myself. It feels liberating to shed the weight of trying to please him, and I’m ready to grow into the confident person I know I can be.

This year will be all aboutme. And after all the nights crying, scratching off the days left until college, it feels a hell of a lot better than I imagined it would.

We move through our usual routine: stretches, jumps, cheers. Thankfully, Catalina keeps her distance after our earlier confrontation. As I make my way back to the locker room, towel draped over my shoulder for a quick water break, I stop in my tracks. Something is… off.

An overwhelming feeling of being watched washes over me. I glance around, scanning the sidelines, and my breath catches in my throat when I seehim. Catalina’s ex, leaning against the fence. I really jinxed myself by bringing him up, didn’t I?

God, if this is some kind of joke you’re playing, I swear that comment about being on my knees for him was just me messing around. He never usually comes to cheer practice, and yet here he is, watching us. Watching… me. His eyes are trained right on me.

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