POV: Lena
"Ouch, Lena, can you stop hitting me so hard? You're bruising me!" The yellow-haired girl's voice was whiny, like a lost puppy begging for attention. Her face scrunched up in that annoying way, and all I could do was stare at her, trying to keep my rage in check.
"My bad. Really sorry. I got carried away, you know me." I gave her the kind sweet smile that everyone expected from me. The kind I hated, the one that kept the mask in place. The one that reminded me of that part of me that had been forcibly killed.
"Hahaha, Jay, we should invite Trevon to this club!" The blue-haired girl piped up, laughing like everything was fine, like she wasn't one of the people who'd helped shove me to the side. Her laugh was sharp, irritating. I hated it. I hated her. I hated the way she smiled like she knew everything, like she was untouchable.
"He's already in a club. It's a technology club." Jay answered, his voice as casual as ever, like he hadn't completely abandoned me for these people. Like nothing had changed.
I clenched my fists at my sides. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair.
"Huh, Lena, why are you staring at me?" The Queen's voice cut through the tension, her sharp gaze narrowing as she noticed me. Her face was unreadable, but there was something in her eyes that said she wasn't expecting what I was about to say.
"Fight me." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, and the moment they left my lips, I felt a rush of adrenaline and anger flood my veins.
She blinked, shocked for the briefest second, before her face slipped back into that composed, almost bored expression.
"Sure. Little easy spar, I guess." She shrugged, but there was a challenge in her eyes now. A dangerous gleam.
And just like that, everything I'd been holding back, everything that had been building inside me for weeks, surged forward. I was done pretending. Done being the perfect little girl they all wanted.
I wanted to make her feel every ounce of the anger, frustration, and rage I had buried so deep.
The moment the Queen said, "A little easy spar," I could feel the sneer in her voice. She didn't think this was serious. She didn't think I was serious.
We stepped into position, the yellow-haired girl giggling on the sidelines, and Jay leaning casually against the wall, watching. Watching me lose, probably.
The Queen raised her hands, her stance loose and confident. She wasn't even trying to hide how much she underestimated me.
"Come on, Lena," she said, smirking. "Show me what you got."
I didn't wait. I rushed forward, leading with a jab, aiming for her smug face. But she sidestepped effortlessly, her movements fluid, and I swung at nothing but air.
"Too slow," she said, her voice dripping with mockery.
I clenched my teeth and swung again, putting more power behind it. She ducked under my arm, slipping behind me, and before I could react, her fist slammed into my side. The air shot out of my lungs, and I stumbled forward, clutching my ribs.
"You're too predictable," she said, circling me like a predator toying with its prey.
The anger flared hotter in my chest. I rushed her again, throwing a wild punch, but she caught my wrist and twisted. Pain shot up my arm as she yanked me forward, using my momentum to throw me off balance.
I hit the ground hard, the mat slamming against my back. My head spun, and for a second, I couldn't move.
"That's it?" the Queen scoffed, standing over me with her arms crossed. "I expected more, Lena."
Laughter bubbled from the sidelines. I could hear the yellow-haired girl's giggles, the sound cutting into me like glass. Even Jay chuckled softly, the sound low but unmistakable.
Something inside me snapped.
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, and I forced myself up just enough to twist my body. My fist swung upward, wild and desperate, but I felt it connect.
The Queen's head snapped to the side, her composure shattered as she stumbled back. The room went dead silent.
She didn't even have time to recover before I lunged at her, fueled by anger, humiliation, and every suppressed feeling I'd buried for years. My fist slammed into her face again, then her chest, then her stomach.
"Lena, stop!" someone shouted, but I didn't listen. I couldn't. I straddled her, punching down with every ounce of malice I had in me.
The Queen tried to block, her arms coming up, but I hit harder, faster. She wasn't untouchable now she was just another girl beneath me, just as vulnerable as I'd always been.
Two pairs of hands grabbed me, yanking me off her. I thrashed, trying to break free, but they held tight. My chest heaved, my vision blurred with tears of rage.
"Lena, stop it!" one of the girls holding me yelled.
I looked down at the Queen. Her perfect face was bruised, her eyes wide with shock. And then I saw him. Jay.
He ran to her, kneeling beside her, his hands hovering over her like he didn't know where to start. His face was full of worry for her.
Not me. Never me.
The tears spilled over, hot and bitter, as the two girls dragged me toward the door. My legs felt like jelly, but they didn't care. I didn't resist.
As I was hauled away, the last thing I saw was Jay leaning closer to the Queen, whispering something to her, his hand brushing against her shoulder.
And that's when I knew.
I'd lost. Not just the fight, but him. I'd lost everything.
The nurse's office felt suffocating, the smell of antiseptic clinging to my skin as I sat in silence. The nurse barely said a word to me after checking my bruises, just handed me an ice pack and told me to wait. When they finally let me leave, the principal was waiting for me with a stern glare and pursed lips, her disappointment heavy in the air.
"You're suspended for three days," she said flatly, her tone leaving no room for argument.
I didn't argue. I didn't feel anything.
When I got home, my father was already waiting for me. His face was twisted in anger, veins bulging at his temple.
"Yelena," he bellowed, his voice echoing through the house, "DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE?! THAT WILL BE ON YOUR RECORD FOREVER!"
I stared past him, my expression blank. His words were just noise, meaningless sounds bouncing off me. He kept yelling, his face growing redder with every sentence, but I couldn't care less.
I turned and walked toward the basement, my feet moving on instinct. It was routine now. By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, I was already pulling off my shirt, the fabric catching on my bruises and making me wince.
He followed me down, slamming the door shut behind him. The sound of the lock clicking sent a familiar chill down my spine, but I didn't flinch. His weapon materialized in his hand a sleek, menacing whip that glinted in the dim light of the basement.
"You think you can embarrass this family and get away with it?" he snarled.
I didn't answer. I just stood there, staring at the floor.
The first lash tore through the air and bit into my skin, sharp and stinging. But I didn't cry. The second one landed, and the third, and I still didn't scream.
I was numb.
I didn't even feel the pain anymore. My body swayed with each strike, my knees threatening to buckle, but I stayed standing. This was normal. This was what happened when you weren't perfect.
He didn't stop. The lashes came harder, faster, until my vision blurred and my legs gave out. I collapsed onto the cold basement floor, barely conscious, the taste of blood in my mouth.
Then I felt his hands on me.
He was yanking at my bra, his fingers clumsily fumbling at the clasp. My stomach twisted, bile rising in my throat as he moved to my pants, tugging at the waistband.
No.
"NO!" The word tore from my throat, raw and desperate.
I couldn't let him do this to me. I wouldn't.
Something inside me snapped, a fire igniting in the hollow space where I'd buried all my pain, my anger, my humiliation. I wasn't going to let this pig win. I wasn't going to let him ruin me.
If nobody was going to save me, then I'd save myself.
The room blurred, the air around me thick with rage and desperation. My fingers clawed at the ground, and before I even realized what was happening, I felt the power coursing through me, wild and uncontrollable.
When my vision cleared, my father was slumped on the ground, arrows piercing his body in a grotesque display. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and sticky, and an arrow jutted from his head, his eyes wide and lifeless.
I blinked, my chest heaving, and turned toward the soft gasps coming from the corner. My mother was there, clutching her throat, blood pouring from a wound in her neck. She was choking on her own words, trying to say something, her lips trembling.
But I didn't care.
She could tell her last words to Satan.
I stood there, drenched in blood, I didn't feel regret. I didn't feel fear.
For the first time in my life, I felt free.