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19 ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴏʟᴅ

WHENEVER I WAS in high school, and the weight of my father's expectations were too much, I would tell myself it would all be different in college. I would move away from him, and his words wouldn't haunt me.

I was dead wrong.

It's even harder to shake my father's voice when I step onto the soccer field.

My teammates have noticed how much I push myself, and sometimes I think they might pity me. I don't want their sympathy. I don't want anyone to know just how exactly my mind works right now.

But something's off today. The sun beats down relentlessly, the heat rising from the turf, making the air thick and oppressive. The scoreboard flashes a tie: 0-0. We're only halfway through, and it feels like I'm running through molasses.

I push through the fatigue, my body aching in places I didn't know could hurt. My uniform sticks to my skin, the heat draining me faster than I'd like to admit. But I can't stop. I have to keep going.

I take my position and get ready for a breakaway, my body moving on autopilot. But as I lunge to meet the ball, something shifts in my body. A sharp pain shoots through my chest, and suddenly, the world around my blurs. My knees buckle, and before I can process it, I'm on the hot, unforgiving turf, gasping for air, my vision spinning.

The sound of Rease's voice comes like a distant echo, "Halle? Halle, stay with me!"

I try to focus, but everything fades, and I lose consciousness.

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WHEN I FINALLY wake up, my mind is foggy, disoriented. The sterile smell of a hospital room fills my nose, and I realize I'm lying in a bed. My body aches, and I can feel the tension in my chest, like I can't fully breathe.

"...should have seen the signs, Coach. She's been pushing herself to hard. The stress, the eating habits...it's all catching up to her."

That voice... my coach.

I squint, trying to adjust to the light. I can just make out the shapes of two figures standing by the bed, their voices low, but clear enough for me to hear.

"And what do you suggest we do?" my dad's voice cuts in. It's so calm, so collected. Too calm.

"I suggest she takes some time to rest. Gets a break from soccer and all that pressure she's been under. She needs to treat her body better. We're talking about her health here, not just performance on the field."

My dad chuckles, but it's hollow, cold. "I don't have time for this, Coach. The season's important, and she's your biggest asset. She can't afford to take time off."

"She needs to, Mr. Hart. This isn't just about the game anymore, you heard the doctor. She's dangerously close to pushing herself past the limit. If she doesn't start taking care of herself, you might not have a soccer player to worry about."

There's a heavy pause, and then I hear the sound of my father shifting in his chair. I can practically picture the fake smile on his face as he says, "Of course, of course. You're right, Coach. I'll make sure she gets the rest she needs. But don't you worry, she'll be back on that field in no time."

I feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I won't let them fall. I can't.

Coach Quinn's footsteps retreat, and just as I think I'm alone, my father's voice returns-no longer sugarcoated, no longer pretending.

"You're pathetic, Halle," he sneers. "You embarrassed me on that field. You couldn't even handle a simple game. And now, look at you-weak, useless. You make me look bad. You always do. If you can't pull it together and be the player I need you to be, then you're nothing to me."

I'm wide awake now, but I can't bring myself to open my eyes. I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing I heard everything. Instead, I pretend to stir, as if I'm just now waking up, slowly cracking my eyes open.

His eyes narrow, and I know the routine. His voice goes back to that cold, controlled tone as he glances down at me. "I expect better, Halle. You're not here to be a patient. You're here to play. Do not forget that."

I close my eyes again, pretending to drift back to sleep as his words hand in the air. I can feel the anger burning inside me, but I don't let it show. I've learned that the only way to survive is to do what he wants. To be perfect.

And for now, that means pretending. Pretending to be the best daughter, the best soccer player.

Even if it costs me everything.

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so have we established enough that her dad's an asshole? LMAO