𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 , 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐨

Sage Anderson froze, a silence she abhorred. The winger's impact was undeniable, and infuriating. Sage wanted to hate her, but the fire in her heart betrayed her. The bleach-blonde's stare made her feel powerless, a prisoner of her own confusing emotions.

I think you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. The words echoed in Sage's mind, a sudden, sharp clarity. Her breath caught, a silent gasp trapped in her throat. She parted her lips, a response hovering on the edge, but the sound died before it could escape.

A visceral loathing for Natalie churned within her. Yet, the moment those piercing blue eyes met hers, her throat constricted, and a disorienting heat spread across her skin, unraveling her carefully constructed thoughts into a tangled, raw mess.

"I think... I think you're, like, ridiculously beautiful. Like, unreal."

Words, sharp as shattered glass, swirled in her mind, their jagged edges both painful and irresistible. She attempted to silence them, but they clung, a relentless echo to the frantic beat of her pulse. Sage's eyelids fluttered, her lips parting, poised to unleash a retort—a cruel dismissal, anything but the raw truth threatening to spill out.

"The moment stretched, fraught with unspoken words, until a deliberate clearing of a throat shattered the fragile quiet. “Are you guys ready?” Shauna's voice, a sudden intrusion, snapped them back to reality.

The silence shattered when Natalie moved. A curt nod, unseen by Sage, and she was gone, a ghost brushing past to join Van at the car. The absence was a raw wound, a sudden, gaping space that screamed of rejection. Sage's gaze followed Natalie's retreating figure for a beat, then snapped back to Shauna, who cleared her throat, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes.

Sage pivoted toward Shauna, carefully arranging her features into a mask of indifference. "What?

A sigh escaped Shauna, a blend of exasperation and a quieter, almost vulnerable emotion. "I... I just wanted to say," she began, her voice barely a whisper, "I'm sorry. About earlier.”

Sage waved a dismissive hand, but the tightness in her jaw betrayed the lie. The echo of their argument still vibrated beneath her skin. "It's fine."

"No, it's not," Shauna insisted. "I...I get so mad sometimes. I don't think, and I end up saying stuff I don't mean."

Sage offered Shauna a small, strained smile, her eyes conveying a deeper weariness. "It's fine, Shauna. Really," she repeated, as if to convince herself as much as Shauna.

Shauna hesitated, her gaze tracing patterns in the dust. "You... you're a better person than I am," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. "You understand people, truly understand them. You'd make an incredible therapist."

Sage blinked, a surprised laugh escaping her. She playfully nudged Shauna's arm. “Wow, thanks,” she said, a genuine warmth in her voice. “And for what it's worth, I think you're one of the smartest people I know. Like, you could talk your way out of anything."

A relieved grin spread across Shauna's face. "Guess that makes us a good team, then," she said, the tension finally melting away.

Her eyes softened, and Sage replied, “Yeah,” a small smile playing on her lips.

​​Lottie's impatient car horn ripped through the stillness. She leaned out the driver's side window, her voice sharp, demanding she hurry.

The drive home with Lottie was a welcome exhale. Tension dissolved with each passing mile, replaced by a torrent of laughter. Their conversation, a chaotic mix of inside jokes and whispered secrets, spiraled into the delightfully absurd. The weight of Nationals and the relentless pressure of high school evaporated, leaving only the buoyant lightness of their friendship.

The conversation lulled, and then, like a sudden storm, Lottie's question broke the calm. "So," she began, her voice deceptively light, "what was going on with you and Natalie?"

Sage's laughter evaporated, leaving a sudden, chilling silence. "What?" she breathed, her voice a bare whisper.

"Don't 'what' me," Lottie said, a playful smirk twisting her lips. "You were clearly having a full-blown moment.”

"I—no, we weren't." Sage stammered, her voice fracturing. She pressed her palms against her burning cheeks, desperate to conceal the blush that betrayed her.

"Oh my God," Lottie said, a slow dawning spreading across her face. "You totally were.”

"I wasn't!"

"You were! Sage, just admit it. You have the hots for Nat."

"I don't!" Sage stated, her voice icily precise, her gaze a frozen shard. “If anything, it’s pure hatred.”

A burst of laughter, laced with a hint of playful exasperation, escaped Lottie as she steered into the Hawthorn driveway. "Right, Sage," she said, her voice still brimming with amusement, "if that's what you need to tell yourself."

A sharp, “Shut up,” escaped Sage's lips as she yanked at her seatbelt, the click of the buckle echoing her frustration.

Lottie leaned through the window, her grin unwavering. "Just don't let your mom find out," she whispered, a hint of wicked glee in her voice. "She'll absolutely lose it.

Sage's parting glare, punctuated by a final, sharp flip of her middle finger, echoed the slam of the door.

The hardwood floor groaned softly under Sage's weight as she closed the door, the click echoing in the unnerving silence. Only the faint, rhythmic tick of a living room clock punctuated the stillness. Before she could shed her shoes, the heavy, deliberate thumps of her stepfather's descent began, each step a tightening knot in her chest.

"SAGE!"

Her stepfather's voice, a raw, explosive sound, filled the house, and with it, a wave of dread washed over her. Her stomach clenched, twisting into a knot of fear.

A cold paralysis seized her. The heavy thump-thump of footsteps echoed, each one a hammer blow to her resolve. He materialized in the kitchen doorway, shirt disheveled, a glass of amber liquid sloshing in his grip. His tie, a silken noose, hung undone, and his face, contorted, wore a mask of dark, unsettling rage.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing, stumbling in at this hour?" he snapped, his voice a raw, sharp edge that seemed to vibrate the very air, making the vacant picture frames on the walls tremble.

"I...I'm so sorry," Sage whispered, her voice trembling. "I didn't mean to—" Her words trailed off, choked by a wave of remorse.

"Sorry?" His scoff was a low growl as he advanced, his shadow looming, consuming her. "Do you have any concept of time? Or do you think this is some kind of transient lodging you can waltz in and out of at will?"

A faint tremor ran through her. "I... I didn't realise how late it was." She edged back, but he mirrored her movement, the air between them thick with unspoken intent.

"Lost track of time?" The words, barely a whisper, carried a chilling calm. The whiskey glass hit the hall table with a sharp, resonant crack, spilling amber across the polished surface. "You don't give a damn about anyone but yourself, do you?"

"That's not true—"

"Shut up!" The word ripped through the air, and Sage's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the rising panic. He's right, a treacherous voice whispered in her mind. "You think you're grown? Think you can make your own rules? Let me tell you something, little girl, you're nothing without me. You hear me? Nothing!”

The words, sharp and deliberate, chipped away at her resolve, leaving her exposed. A wave of tears threatened to spill, but she held them captive, unwilling to reveal her vulnerability.

"Do you hear me?" he demanded, his voice a low growl. His hand, quick and forceful, closed around her upper arm, the pressure instantly searing. The sharp intake of her breath was the only sound in the tense silence.

"Eddie, stop it!" she pleaded, her voice trembling with rising panic. "You're hurting me!"

"So, now you feel pain?" His fingers dug deeper into her arm, his breath, thick with whiskey, a suffocating cloud against her skin. The reek made her stomach churn. "You've never cared about my pain, about what I sacrificed for this family. I pulled you and your mother from the gutter, and this is how you repay me?”

"Eddie, please!" she begged, her voice fracturing with a sob, tears blurring her vision.

​​His reaction was immediate, a surge of raw fury. His grip shifted, no longer restraining but violent, propelling her back against the wall. The impact was sickening, the dull thud of her skull against plaster followed by a sharp, involuntary whimper. A wave of pain pulsed through her head, blurring her vision.

The violence wasn't a sudden eruption; it was a slow, agonizing burn. Eddie Morgan's aggression had been a constant, a relentless storm since her mother brought him home. Bruises, like dark flowers, bloomed on her skin—arms, ribs, legs—each hidden with practiced lies. A concussion, a dizzying, disorienting fog, had once stretched into days. She was left with a single, unanswered question: why did he hate her so much.

Aching, she yearned for a different reality, one where he filled the void of a father, not the hollowness of a man who'd stripped her of her worth.

She glimpsed her mother, a fragile figure curled in the corner. A surge of conflicting emotions roiled within her: a sharp, stinging anger at her mother's passivity, and a deep, aching pity. Her mother, ensnared in a web of abuse, with no apparent escape. A woman who had risen from nothing, only to find herself tethered to Eddie's wealth, a cruel irony.

Eddie's eyes narrowed to slits, his chest a rapid bellows as he fixed his gaze on his wife. A chilling stillness hung in the air, and for a heart-stopping moment, Sage feared he'd strike Willa. Instead, he recoiled, a venomous sneer twisting his features.

He shoved a hand towards them, palm out, as if pushing them away. "She's your problem now. Both of you."

Fueled by a sudden rage, he yanked his glass from the table, the kitchen door echoing his fury as it slammed shut.

A deafening silence, thick with unspoken dread, filled the space.

Sage's descent was abrupt, a slide down the wall ending in a gasping heap. Willa watched, paralysed, her hands hovering as if afraid to touch the raw distress radiating from her daughter.

"Sage," she murmured, a rare caress. The warmth in her voice, a stark contrast to her usual reserve. "Darling, are you alright?"

A shaky nod, her face a canvas of tear tracks, barely masked the pain. Her arm throbbed, the imprint of her stepfather's fingers a dark bruise blooming beneath her skin.

“You don't have to lie,” her mother said quietly, her eyes filled with understanding.

A silent shake of her head was her only response, her hands pressing against her eyes, as if to extinguish the vivid burn of pain, fear, and shame. "I'm fine, Mom," she breathed, but the words were a hollow whisper, devoid of life.

A long silence stretched, her mother's jaw clenching. Finally, her voice, strained, broke the quiet. "He's wrong," she insisted, each word deliberate. "You are not nothing. You are not."

Sage remained silent, words trapped in her throat. Her legs trembled, and without a word, she brushed past her mother, ascending the stairs as if pulled by an invisible force.

The silence in her room pressed in, a cold, unfamiliar weight. What had once been a sanctuary now felt like a desolate space. She collapsed onto the bed, the covers a thin veil against the chill. A dull throb pulsed in her arm, mirroring the ache in her head, and the sharp, jagged fragments of her heart felt irrevocably lost.

Yet, despite the chaos, a single, unwavering thought clung to her: Natalie's voice, resonant and immediate, echoing as if she stood beside her.

“I think you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.”

Even with the bruises blossoming across her skin and the constant throb in her chest, Sage, against all logic, allowed herself a fragile moment of belief.