𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 , 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐨

For weeks, Sage had marked each passing day, the growing strain at home tightening like a coiled spring. Now, as the day arrived, a turbulent mix of exhilaration and stark relief warred within her. Escape, however brief, was finally at hand.

Her bag, a chaotic jumble of worn clothes and cherished relics—her battered Walkman, always a constant—bulged at the seams. Within, nestled amongst the fabric, lay her sonic sanctuary: well-loved tapes of Fleetwood Mac's Rumours, Jeff Buckley's Grace, Nirvana's Nevermind, Mazzy Star's So Tonight That I Might See, and Elliott Smith's Either/Or. As the familiar melodies flooded her ears, the music became a tangible escape, a rhythmic anchor against the swirling thoughts that found solace in the lyrics' raw honesty.

Sage's room, a pocket of stark silence in the house's clamorous sprawl, felt less like a sanctuary and more like a temporary holding cell. Her bed, shoved into a corner, seemed almost apologetic, and the barren walls, punctuated by a few faded band posters and scattered photos, whispered of a life lived elsewhere. Only the occasional groan of the floorboards and the distant, monotonous drone of the refrigerator broke the oppressive quiet.

A sense of finality, light and heavy at once, filled her as she stood ready to depart. This escape, a whispered hope for months, now loomed, tangible and terrifying. It felt too real, too fragile, like a captured frog she dared not release.

The familiar, angry cadence of her stepfather's voice drifted up from the kitchen, a cold wave washing over Sage. She barely registered the words, her hands trembling as she shrugged into her jacket, a fragile barrier against the biting air.

Today, however, she was beyond caring. Escape was her sole focus. She wouldn't endure another moment of her stepfather's oppressive presence and volatile temper.

Sage snatched the Walkman from her desk, the plastic cool against her fingertips, and slid it into her pocket. The lure of escape pulled her toward the door.

Each step was a silent rebellion. Outside, the biting air stole her breath, a sharp, exhilarating sting. She didn't dare glance back, not out of resentment, but a desperate need for solitude, a space where the weight of family love wouldn't suffocate her.

The driveway's silence broke only with the soft click of her footsteps as she neared the car. Lottie, already settled inside, turned, and her smile ignited a spark in Sage. It was a familiar comfort, a reminder that even in the midst of her own darkness, Lottie shone brightly.

"Ready?" Lottie's voice danced with teasing anticipation, mirroring the wide, expectant grin spreading across Sage's face.

A resolute nod, and Sage's eyes shimmered with long-held anticipation. "I've been ready," she stated, the words laced with a quiet intensity.

The hum of the tires against the asphalt was a soft counterpoint to Lottie's bright laughter, which filled the car like warm sunlight. Sage, acutely aware of the fleeting nature of their shared joy, savoured each note of the melody playing from the radio. As the plane's engines whined to life, she settled into her seat, the promise of the journey a welcome, if temporary, balm for her anticipation.

A wave of exhilaration washed over Sage as she entered the airport terminal. Familiar faces sparked a rush of recognition, her eyes tracing the contours of each smile. Lottie's radiant grin anchored her, while Van's kinetic energy, a palpable buzz, vibrated through the air.

"Can you believe your dad paid for a private plane?" Van's voice crackled with disbelief.

Lottie shrugged, a flicker of reluctant pride softening her features. "It's pretty much his only form of parenting," she remarked, a dry laugh escaping her. "I guess I'll take it."

All eyes shifted to Coach Ben, who, alongside Coach Martinez, had set the stage. A wide, shared grin stretched across the faces of Travis and Javi Martinez, positioned directly behind their coaches, hinting at the mischief to come.

A chorus of 'Thank you, Mr. Matthews!' filled the air, the girls' voices a bright blend of gratitude and barely contained excitement.

Her mind screamed a countdown, each second pulling her closer to release. Almost. But not yet.

Through the roughest patches, the Walkman was her lifeline. Its music, the only steady element in her chaotic world, quieted the storm of anxieties that constantly swirled within her mind.

The engines roared, and as the plane surged down the runway, Sage closed her eyes. The soft, melancholic chords of Mazzy Star's 'Five String Serenade' filled her headphones, a fragile balm against the rising tension, offering a fleeting moment of solace.

Sage's eyelids drifted closed, the plane's gentle hum weaving a soothing lullaby that quickly drew her into sleep.

Then, an inexplicable shift. A subtle prickle of intuition, a whisper of wrongness, quickly blossomed into a chilling certainty. The plane shuddered, a violent tremor that shattered the illusion of calm. The steady drone of the engines dissolved into a chaotic, unsettling symphony, igniting a wildfire of panic within Sage.

Blinking against the sudden light, Sage's hands gripped the armrests, the cabin’s violent lurch sending a jolt through her. Lottie’s calm presence, usually a steadying force, felt distant and muffled. The plane rattled, a chaotic symphony of screams and metallic groans, leaving Sage disoriented and paralyzed by fear.

Lottie's hand clenched Sage's, a desperate squeeze, her face stark white with dread. Sage's mind seized, the world dissolving into a nightmarish unreality. Death, a suffocating presence, pressed in close.

Darkness swallowed the world as the plane collided with the trees. The seatbelt failed, and Sage was slammed forward, a brutal, bone-jarring impact. Pain, a raw, screaming thing, ripped through her, but beneath it, a primal fear took hold, choking her with its icy grip. This is it, a voice whispered in her mind. Blood, thick and warm, streamed down her face, and when she tried to brush it away, the agony was a paralysing wave.

"Sage, shit!" Lottie's voice, thin and distant, barely registered. Sage's world dissolved into a haze, dominated by the raw, agonizing fire in her shoulder. Each pulse of pain threatened to shatter her, a brutal, internal tearing.

The cabin air transformed into a dense, choking haze. Sage's world narrowed, each inhale a painful rasp. Her limbs grew heavy, unresponsive. A creeping darkness blurred her vision, and Taissa's voice, a distant, distorted echo, seemed to drift from a dream.

From the swirling chaos, a faint voice pierced through, a fragile thread in the storm. It held a whisper of familiarity, yet remained frustratingly elusive. "Help, God," it pleaded, a raw cry. Sage strained to respond, to offer some solace, but the crushing pain held her captive.

Darkness encroached upon her sight, and Sage succumbed to the crushing certainty of her imminent demise.

Sage had learned the rhythm of the silence that hung heavy over the house. Her mother, lost in her own world, had departed for her grandmother's, leaving Sage alone with her stepfather. Though physically present, she had never truly experienced solitude; his presence remained, an inescapable weight.

More than just quiet, the house pulsed with an oppressive tension. It wasn't the absence of sound that made it feel vacant, but the heavy, unspoken weight that seemed to press down on every surface and stretch the distance between them into an unbearably dark hole.

The air hung thick and heavy, saturated with his rage – a palpable anger that tainted every corner of their existence, turning even mundane tasks into potential flashpoints. His absence offered not peace, but a precarious lull in the tempest. And when he was home, when the walls closed in around them, the world seemed to shrink, suffocating them both.

The air grew heavy, a suffocating stillness that whispered of an approaching storm. Then, the inexorable rhythm of his footsteps began on the stairs, each slow, deliberate thud echoing the dread that was already churning in Sage's gut. He was coming, she thought, the realisation, a cold knot formed in her chest.

The flickering light of the television offered a futile distraction, failing to penetrate the suffocating dread that filled the house with his approaching footsteps. His presence was a palpable weight, pressing in on every corner and stealing the very air, making thought and breath impossible. She had long since learned that stillness within these walls was not an option; to simply be was a breaking point, a shattering of the fragile peace she desperately clung to.

"Still here, huh?" The words, though spoken softly, sliced through the air between them like a blade. A low, dangerous growl rumbled beneath the surface of his voice. But it was the quiet resignation in his tone that chilled her most, the sense that he'd anticipated this, that her presence was merely confirming a pre-existing disappointment, an invitation for his anger to ignite.

Sage didn't answer. Experience had taught her the danger of speaking in this place where her very existence felt like an intrusion. She was meant to be unseen, unheard, a mere absence. Silence was her only refuge. Still, his presence pressed in, refusing to be ignored

"I don't know why I even bother with you," he spat, his voice laced with a venom that chilled her to the bone. Each word felt like a physical blow, landing heavily on her chest. "Just like your mother. Always a burden, always in the way."

A lump formed in Sage's throat, choking back the words that clawed to be released. But she bit her tongue, the bitter truth that speaking would only ignite a fire holding her captive.

Before she could react, he was upon her, his hands clamping onto the collar of her shirt and hauling her upright. The sudden force shot a sharp agony through her neck, and for a terrifying moment, her vision swam. She was yanked along, her body responding against her will, utterly vulnerable to his aggression.

"You think you're too good for this?" The words, thick with whiskey and resentment, burned against her skin with his breath. She felt the raw heat of his fury, a suffocating presence that made her want to disappear.

Sage's words caught, a silent plea trapped in her throat. The familiar battle raged within her: the desperate urge to speak, to intercede, to somehow halt the inevitable. Yet, as always, the carefully constructed phrases crumbled before reaching her lips, leaving her mute. It was futile anyway; his ears were deaf to her, as they always had been.

The slap landed without warning, a brutal shock that detonated across Sage's cheek. The sting was immediate and blinding, searing her skin. Her head snapped violently to the side, her body recoiling as if struck. Pain erupted, a chaotic firework behind her eyes, sending her staggering. Her hands flew up, desperate to cradle the throbbing heat, to anchor herself in a world suddenly tilting off its axis. But the disorientation persisted.

Then, the sickening thud of a fist against her stomach. The air rushed from her lungs, leaving her gasping and vulnerable. Her body betrayed her, folding inwards as her knees buckled, a desperate fight to stay conscious and draw in another breath.

Blood coated her tongue, a taste she recognised instantly from the split in her lip. The metallic tang, disturbingly familiar, offered a perverse sort of reassurance. She had lived with pain for so long that its absence was now a strange and almost forgotten sensation.

"You're pathetic," he spat, his voice now laced with pure derision. The sheer cruelty in his tone sent a chilling wave through her veins, freezing her blood. "Nothing but a waste. A waste of air, a waste of space. You'll never be good enough for anyone."

His voice barely penetrated the insistent ringing that hammered in Sage's ears, a physical manifestation of her distress. Her vision started to waver, threatening to pull her under. A primal instinct urged her to retreat, to shrink away from the overwhelming pain and find some semblance of safety. Yet, a bleak understanding settled within her: escape was a phantom, a cruel illusion in her current reality.

She scrambled to push herself up, her palms raw against the rough floorboards. But the instant she shifted, his boot slammed down on her side, a sharp, sickening crack ripping through the silence and her ribs.

The sound was more terrifying than the pain itself, a sickening crunch that seemed to solidify the fear gripping her body. Every muscle seized, locking her in place beneath the crushing weight of his foot. She gasped, the air driven from her lungs with brutal force, leaving her breathless and helpless.

The edges of her vision blurred into an encroaching darkness, and her limbs felt impossibly heavy, refusing to respond. Beneath the weight of his anger, she felt utterly shattered, every part of her aching. But even through the overwhelming pain, she could still hear his voice, each word a sharp, piercing blow.

"You think you're better than me?" His voice was a snarl, laced with bitter disbelief. "You think you don't deserve this?" Each word felt like a blow. "I've bled myself dry keeping you alive, and this is my reward? Acting like you're some kind of saint?" He punctuated his rage with a brutal kick, landing squarely on her chest. The air rushed from her lungs, and her body locked in a spasm of agony.

Just when she felt she'd reached her breaking point, when the agony threatened to consume her entirely, he struck again. The impact of the blow against her face resonated with the sickening crack of shattering glass, a sound both sharp and definitive. Her cheekbone fractured under the brutal force, the resulting pain so intense it stole her voice.

The structure of her body gave way, collapsing in on itself like a paper doll carelessly crushed. Each part seemed to surrender to gravity, folding into the next.

The world dissolved into a chaotic blur, and with it, her capacity to feel anything beyond a desperate longing for stillness.

The sickening thud of her head against the floor punctuated the silence, her limbs finally giving way, unable to support her weight any longer.

Her arms shook uncontrollably, useless weights dragging at her shoulders, while the blood seeped into the floor, a growing stain mirroring the darkness within her. So tired, she thought, the word a soft sigh against the harsh reality. Tired of the relentless agony, the constant dread, the soul-crushing feeling of being nothing more than a ghost haunting this house of anger.

A chilling numbness crept through Sage, a strange reprieve from the raw agony that had just wracked her body. For the first time, exhaustion had leached away not just her strength, but her very capacity to feel. The beating had left her disconnected, a phantom limb of her former self. A silent scream clawed at her throat, a desperate plea for help that would never arrive. There never was.

A heavy darkness crept in, and the world slipped away.