Christina
Getting ready for a match had always been a special ritual for me, the only time when I could actually be myself. I put on a black T-shirt with "Navijači Partizana" printed across it and pulled my hair back into a high, tight ponytail. I wanted to be ready for the jumping, the shoving, and all that chaos waiting for me on the South Stand.
The scent of strong, homemade black coffee curled into my nose, but even that didn't manage to wake me up. I barely slept a wink last night. Almost twenty-four hours had passed, and I could still hear that voice of his in my head—that arrogant, raspy tone that made my skin crawl. "Everything about you is perfect, everything is by the book... and you're boring." Those words stung more than I cared to admit, even to myself. Who is he, just some ordinary local lowlife, to say that to me?
And yet, I caught myself in front of the mirror, deliberately loosening that ponytail, tugging at the strands so they wouldn't look so perfectly in place. What if Steven is right? What if I really am just some programmed mannequin in a display window?
"Aren't you going to put on any makeup?" my mother's voice broke the silence behind my back. I was so deeply lost in thoughts about the new guy that I didn't even hear her open the heavy, oak door to my room.
"No. I don't know, I like it better this way," I replied, not taking my eyes off my reflection. I stared at my sleep-deprived face, the dark circles under my eyes, and a newfound defiance in my gaze. I was finding a million flaws in myself, and every single one of them was seriously bothering me.
"You know how I feel about those matches of yours..." she paused, and I just sighed deeply, feeling the anger building up in my temples.
I turned toward her, putting my guard up.
She's not seriously going to start with this again, is she? Always the same story. Before every single match, my mom just has to lecture me about how football and the stands are no place for a girl like me.
"Mom, I know... Stadiums are for hooligans, lowlifes, and thugs. I've heard it a thousand times already. We don't have to start this argument again, please."
"We won't. Just look out for yourself. And keep in touch... constantly. If anyone even comes near you, call me right away," her voice was a mix of that familiar worry and pure anger because she couldn't control me.
My parents hated that side of me, that masculine side, as they called it. To them, my love for Partizan was a disease that needed to be cured and driven out of my head.
It weighed heavily on them every single time I went to a match with Nick. When I was little, they tried everything to ban me from going—locking me in, blackmailing me—but it was for nothing. I'd always find some trick to slip out behind their backs and bolt for Belgrade, to the only place where I actually felt alive.
I wasn't like other girls. I didn't like galas, expensive dresses, and going to get massages every weekend.
Most girls my age would give anything to be in my shoes, to live in this marble fortress and spend their parents' money. I hear that all the time. But that wasn't me. I didn't want to be rich and popular like my dad and mom. I just wanted to be Christina.
They had opened their law firm and overnight clawed their way to the very top. They became the most reputable firm in Pančevo city and the surrounding area. Every time I walk past that building downtown and see our last name written in those fucking silver letters, I feel this disgusting weight in my stomach. That gray marble and the massive glass doors... it wasn't just an office. It was their home, where they spent more time than with me.
Even when we'd sit down to have lunch like a normal family, their phones would be on the table like a fourth and fifth guest, constantly on the line with some judges and clients. Every success of mine in school, every five—to them, it was just a given, a matter of statistics. It was like they had engineered me to be just another one of their successfully closed cases, not a daughter made of flesh and blood.
"I'll call you as soon as the match is over, I promise," I told my mom, grabbing a black hoodie from the bed and leaving her alone in the room.
Nick was already laying on the horn outside the house, and I was running seriously late. Oopsie. I ran outside, stepping across that perfect lawn, and dashed toward his fierce black car.
"Heading to the match, miss?" Dan the gardener asked me. The man was constantly in charge of grooming the greenery in our massive yard.
"Yes, Dan. I can't wait to get to JNA!" I said, and my smile was genuine for the first time that day.
He gave me a warm smile. Dan had watched over me multiple times when I was a little girl, while my parents were out chasing millions. It's sad to even think about, but that man knew more about my fears and desires than my dear parents.
"Good luck, miss. I hope we win!"
He closed the massive black gate behind me. My parents were so paranoid about my safety that they built three-meter walls around the property. The feeling is eerie, like I'm sentenced to life in some luxury prison, not a fucking villa.
The moment I opened the car door, I was hit by the scent of his signature mint gum mixed with the overpriced perfume he always sprayed on himself way past any reasonable limit. Nick was sitting behind the wheel with sunglasses on, playing some tough guy. Michael and Nadia were kicked back in the rearview, with smiles you could see from a mile away.
"There she is, my beautiful girl," Nick tossed out, leaning over the gear shift and giving me a quick kiss.
I turned toward the back seat, flashed that quick, practiced smile of mine that I always use when I need to hide that I'm spaced out, and said hi to Nadia and Michael. Everything had to look normal, even though Steven's words about me being boring were still echoing in my head.
I buckled my seatbelt and sank into the soft leather of the seat, trying to force my body to relax and let go of that pressure.31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjxsLIthn9Y
Nick put the key in the ignition and turned it slowly, without any rush, as if he knew we were all waiting for that sound. The engine roared deeply, and the exhaust fired a short, fierce pop that echoed down the entire street, defying the silence of my neighborhood.
"You're late, miss lawyer," Michael tossed from the back seat, nudging me.
"Shut up, at least I'm not wearing a scarf in March when it's sixteen degrees out," I shot back at him immediately.
Nadia laughed at my diss and played a song from her phone, connecting to the speakers. The first beats of the familiar melody filled the car, and at the exact same moment, we all started singing along to my favorite song.
"That I love the black-and-whites, I proudly tell everyone. I love that glorious name, and they're the only ones I admire. Nothing greater in this world could ever exist, than our love for the black-and-white color!"
If I told my mom right now that this mattered more to me than all of their dinners with judges and executives, she'd probably look at me like I'd lost my mind. To them, this was a lowlife lifestyle, but to me, this was the family I had chosen for myself.
I looked at Nick. He pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead and held the steering wheel tightly with his left hand, trying to keep a straight face. But his smile gave him away. He turned toward me, and right then, our eyes met. He dropped his right hand from the gear shift straight onto my thigh and squeezed it there, firmly. I knew that move of his by heart—he always did it in front of others, as if to remind both me and the whole world that I was his property. Before, maybe I even liked it, it flattered me, but today... today that grip felt strange, suffocating somehow. It reminded me of that thick pen and the line on the desk.
With his wild driving, we quickly merged off our local streets and caught the main road. Time was flying, until the brakes slammed us into the endless traffic jam on the Pančevo-Belgrade Bridge.
Belgrade was the center of the world for all of us, no matter how much we loved Pančevo. Our town felt cramped and small, so my entire generation lived and went out across the river. That twenty-minute drive was all that separated you from the madness. Close enough for Belgrade to become your everyday hangout spot, yet a place big and wild enough to swallow you whole if you weren't careful.
I pressed the button next to the handle and rolled down the window just a few millimeters. Just enough to let some fresh air in. The cold wind from the Danube slapped me across the face instantly. I needed that; I urgently had to clear my head. I stared at the murky water beneath the bridge, trying in vain to relax. Nick tapped his fingers nervously against the leather steering wheel until we finally broke through the traffic and bolted toward Autokomanda, straight to Humska Street—our favorite destination in this city.
"We're finally here, bro!" Michael shouted, practically gluing himself to the window.
Around the corner, through the March darkness, the massive floodlights of our temple emerged. At that exact moment, that old, familiar spark exploded in my stomach. A smile spread across my face all on its own—a real one, not a fake. It's always like that. It's like someone flips my life switch with a single move and turns off all the problems in my head. The three-meter walls, my parents, school... it all vanished.
We parked the car in a packed parking lot near the stadium. Luckily, there was a free spot. Nick was the first to get out of the car and open the trunk, pulling out the black-and-white scarf I had bought him for his birthday a few months ago. Funny how I was the only one in our crew without a scarf now, classic.
"Ready?" Nick asked me, tying the scarf around his neck as he slammed the trunk shut.
"Of course, Nick. I can't wait to get to the South Stand," I almost shouted from the rush of adrenaline, leaving all my troubles behind.
This was one of those rare moments when I was one hundred percent myself. A free bird. There were no fake faces here who would size me up and look at me sideways just because of who my mom and dad were. On the stands, nobody cares whose daughter I am, nor how many millions my parents have. In fact, over there, nobody even asks for your last name. We're all the same.
The JNA Stadium was the only place where I could breathe with full lungs, without a mask. Partizan was my only escape and a getaway from that fancy, rich lifestyle of theirs, from the sterile villa and those three-meter concrete walls. Let's be honest, in the beginning, I came purely out of spite, just to defy my parents and stomp all over their rules. And then, completely unnoticed, I got hooked on the black-and-white colors. I fell in love with that vibe, with the madness, and with everything that story brings with it.
I pulled the ticket out of the back pocket of my jeans and followed Nick toward the entrance. South Stand, Sector J.
We stood in a slow, suffocating line right next to the gendarmerie, who had practically occupied every single meter around the stadium. I noticed them standing in small groups around the corners, ready to intervene. That classic, dark sight of theirs: metal shields, helmets, body armor, batons hanging, and tear gas ready in their hands. A bit further down the street, the mounted police were stationed too. It looked like a civil war was brewing, not just a regular league match.
The funniest part of all is that our opponent today, FK Proleter, doesn't even have any serious fan groups. Only our guys, the Grobari, were circling the stadium. Who would even attack us in front of our own house? But the cops always have their own trips and theories.
The crowd at the security check was slowly thinning out; most people had already passed the gates and entered the stands. A serious turnout was expected today, madness in the making, especially since Crvena Zvezda is only one point ahead of us. We have a real chance to finally knock them off first place, overtake them, and take that title after six long years of waiting. And that's exactly why the air above the stadium was heavy and tense. Not because of the opponent, but because of that single point that decides the title for us.
The solid concrete stairs echoed under our feet as we climbed toward the stands. The closer we got to the tunnel, the louder that deep sound of the drums became. Heavy, rhythmic. It felt like it was beating directly in my chest with every rhythm as the guys were testing out the drums before the start of the match.
I paused for a second right at the exit into the kop.
That well-known scent, mixed with cheap tobacco, spilled beer, and something dangerously flammable, instantly filled my lungs. That smell had become home to me a long time ago. It's a strange feeling, totally messed up, when smoke, flares, and street noise mean your only real safety.
"Are you okay, Christina?" I felt someone's hand drop onto my shoulder. I turned around—Nadia.
I hadn't even noticed that I'd lagged behind. That entire atmosphere, the cigarette smoke, and the heavy thoughts had swallowed me whole in a second. And yet, I felt like I could fly. Like no one and nothing in this world could come near me and ruin this mood in my chest.
"Heck yeah, I'm great!" I smiled genuinely, from the bottom of my soul, the way I could only and exclusively smile in this place.
"Come on. Let's go to our crew then, girl."
We made our way down through the crowd to Nick and Michael. To our old spot. The place where I first stood next to him a long time ago, before he officially became my boyfriend.
"Not bad, bro. There's gonna be at least ten thousand of us," Nick estimated, sizing up the stands that were slowly filling.
"Man, we just need to beat this Proleter. The Delije have a tough match against Novi Pazar tomorrow. This might be our last chance to overtake them," Michael said, more serious than usual.
These days, we were all hoping for them to slip up against Novi Pazar.
"We'll see, bro. I'm gonna go grab the banner. Stay here," Nick tossed out.
He and Michael were involved with the fan groups, so they often got the job of waving those huge banners in our colors. The black-and-white striped canvases began to rise above our heads, creating waves under the gusts of wind.
I looked toward the pitch. The players finally ran out of the tunnel. In the exact same second, the entire South Stand exploded in applause. The stadium announcer was muttering something over the PA system, but none of us were listening.
"Yo, Grobari! Listen up!"
The capo's voice echoed through the megaphone, cutting through the chatter on the stands. He stood in his spot, facing us with his arms wide open, ready to lead the entire South Stand.
"Let's go hard now. There's a lot of us, bro. They have to hear us down on the pitch, damn it! A hooligan's mother..."
And the entire South Stand started. In the same rhythm, in the same breath, like one massive, wild body. I let my voice rip right along with Nadia, not holding back for a single second. My throat was already burning after the very first line, but honestly, I didn't give a damn. At that moment, I wasn't the daughter of successful lawyers. I wasn't that textbook, perfect girl from the villa with the three-meter walls.
I was just one anonymous voice among thousands of wounded, angry, and free people. And that was more than enough to make me happy.
"A hooligan's mother used to say, cursed is Humska Street! Run away from it, leave it behind, or you'll end up just like your friends..."
The drums were beating so hard that the rhythm vibrated directly through my bones. Someone a few rows behind me lit a flare, and thick, white smoke began to rise toward the floodlights. The lights cut through it at an angle, turning the smoke into a heavy fog that made it hard to even see the pitch.
In the fifteenth minute—the first serious chance. Vanja Dragojević sent a long ball forward toward Nemanja Trifunović on the left wing. He controlled it on the run and broke the Proleter defender inside out, like the guy didn't even exist.
He burst onto the edge of the penalty box and whipped the ball toward the center. Total chaos broke out there. Shoving, shirt-pulling, the referee pretending to be blind... the ball somehow deflected and fell right onto Bibras Natcho’s chest.
He brought it down calmly. As if time around him stood still. He swung his leg and shot. For a second, silence. And then, goooal!
The ball ended up in the back of the net, and the South Stand exploded. The roar was such that I felt the concrete shake beneath my feet. I jumped without a second thought and threw my arms around Nick’s neck while the crowd went wild, falling over one another in pure joy.
“Let’s gooo!” I screamed in his ear. He grabbed me, lifted me up, and spun me around, and then we both kept jumping in that collective madness. While I was holding him, for a split second, a thought crossed my mind—this is my world, this is where I belong. But somewhere deep down, in some hidden corner of my mind, that pissed-off gaze from the back row still remained. Steven had triggered an avalanche inside me that not even this goal could completely stop.
After that goal, everything went smoothly. It was like a massive weight had lifted. The players loosened up, and the goals started raining down one after another. By the seventieth minute, the scoreboard already showed a convincing 4-1 for our team.
The South Stand sang without stopping; it was roaring from all sides. My voice had been hoarse for a long time now, but I didn't stop. The players were leaving it all on the pitch, sliding across the grass, entering every duel like their lives depended on it.
Because they did. We all shared the exact same, single desire. To take that damn title. To finally snatch it away from Crvena Zvezda and bring it back where it belongs, after six tough, long years of waiting.31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGMXIRzNtcA
and then Add to home screen.