Cheerleader Down

Cheerleading boot camp, first week of freshman year. I was fighting through period cramps and heatstroke when I collapsed on the ground. My boyfriend—the assistant coach—didn't so much as help me up. Instead, he handed the only rest pass to his childhood friend, Chloe. "Chloe has asthma. She can't handle this heat. You don't have any underlying conditions, so get up and get back in line." Chloe was clutching my water bottle. "Ethan, I just saw her in the group chat making a bet with someone." "She said she was definitely going to fake passing out today to skip the five-kilometer run." Disappointment flashed in Ethan's eyes. He grabbed me by the arm, yanked me to my feet, and dragged me toward the old storage shed baking in the sun nearby. "Since you've got so much free time, you can go in there and do a full inventory of the equipment." "I've been too soft on you. That's why you think you can treat boot camp like a joke." The storage shed was sweltering—close to a hundred and twenty degrees inside. I crumpled to the floor, desperately pounding on the locked iron door. "Ethan, I'm not faking it… please help me…" "Dry out all that water in your brain and then you can come out!" He walked away without looking back. But he'd forgotten—just last night, I'd shown him my diagnosis report. It clearly stated: severe coagulation disorder. He'd laughed it off at the time. Thought I was making it up for attention. Blood kept pouring out of me. Between the extreme dehydration and the blood loss, my consciousness began to slip away. When I opened my eyes again, I was curled weakly in a corner. Only the faintest sensation remained in my fingertips. Not far away, Ethan was holding an umbrella over Chloe. "Let her starve for half a day. See if she dares fake being sick again." "Coach, it's really too hot in there." Team captain Liam Park held up a bottle of water, approaching Ethan nervously. "Maybe we could at least pass this in to her?" Ethan turned around and looked at Liam. "Boot camp isn't a game. Rules are rules." "She had the nerve to bet in the group chat that she'd fake passing out. She should face the consequences." "Anyone here who feels sorry for her is welcome to go in and take her place." The whole area went silent. The few teammates who'd been about to speak up immediately dropped their heads. They didn't dare breathe. Chloe let out a little shriek from behind Ethan. She pressed a hand to her chest, brows furrowed slightly, gasping for air. "Ethan, don't get so angry—you scared me…" She leaned against his arm. "Sophie's being ridiculous. There's absolutely nothing wrong with her, and she has to make this huge scene." "She's probably in there right now, enjoying a cross-breeze and taking a nap." "You all spoil her way too much. She's not worth the sympathy." Ethan glanced down at Chloe. He reached out and patted her back soothingly. "Don't worry. I know what I'm doing." He turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the shut iron door. He found a heavier U-lock. Then he picked up a rusted iron bar lying nearby. He threaded the bar through the handle loop on the outside of the door, jamming the panel shut. Next, he ran the U-lock through the door handle and the exterior iron ring. He looped the chain twice. My body was curled in the corner behind the door. My skin had gone a deathly white from severe dehydration. Consciousness slipping further and further away. My lips had cracked and bled. My vision flickered between light and dark. Ethan finished locking up and dusted off his hands. He pulled his phone from his pocket. The screen showed our chat history. The last message was a photo I'd sent him the night before—a lab report from the hospital. Printed clearly across it: severe coagulation disorder. Ethan stared at the photo for two seconds. He let out a cold, contemptuous laugh. Then he long-pressed the image and deleted it without hesitation. "Bad luck," he muttered under his breath. He slid the phone back into his pocket. He turned around to face the entire squad. "Until boot camp ends today, no one goes near the storage shed." "She needs to have that water baked out of her brain." "When her attitude shows she's ready to apologize properly, that's when she comes out." He was certain I was just throwing a tantrum. He was certain that a little punishment would make me grovel and apologize, same as always. But Ethan—I might not make it that long.

Time crawled by. The midday sun hammered down on the training field. Two hours had passed. "Coach…" A girl in the front row suddenly raised her hand. She pointed at the gap beneath the iron door, her face pale as paper. "There's… a red liquid coming out from under there…" A ripple of commotion passed through the squad. A few of the bolder guys craned their necks to look. Teammates crowded in. The murmuring grew louder. Chloe pinched her nose in disgust and took two steps back. She shouted loudly. "Oh my God, Sophie is so childish!" "She squeezed a red ink bottle to force the coach to back down?" "Does she think this is a movie? That's disgusting." Chloe's words made the surrounding teammates pause. The tension eased slightly. Some began muttering that I'd gone too far. Ethan's face darkened. He didn't explode—just strode to the storage shed. He looked at the dark red puddle on the ground, brow furrowed. "Sophie, are you done with this?" "Stop pulling this cheap, revolting sympathy stunt." "You think this is going to make me feel sorry for you?" No response came from behind the door. Ethan let out a cold laugh. He lifted his foot and kicked the iron door. BANG. The massive force transmitted through the door. My limp body slammed against the panel. A dull thud. Ethan heard it. Not only did he not sense something was wrong—he actually laughed. "Listen to that. Still got the energy to throw things and pitch a fit." "Guess it's not hot enough in there. Her princess syndrome isn't cured yet." He pointed at a few guys from the logistics crew. "Go grab those old insulation tarps from the warehouse." The guys froze in place, exchanging uneasy glances. No one moved. "Did you not hear me?" Ethan's voice dropped a few degrees colder. His gaze swept over them with authority. They didn't dare refuse. They forced themselves to jog toward the warehouse. Before long, they came back carrying several heavy, worn-out tarps. "Cover the ventilation louvers on top." Ethan pointed at the storage shed's only ventilation opening—a narrow slat near the roof. The guys gritted their teeth. They climbed onto a stone block nearby and draped the heavy tarps over the louvers. Then tied them down tight with rope. The last bit of circulating air was completely cut off. The temperature inside the storage shed continued to climb. The smell of blood grew thicker and more pungent in the sealed space. My consciousness drifted in the dark. I could no longer tell if I was still breathing. Only the faintest sensation lingered in my fingertips. Like a drowning person clutching the last straw. Outside, Ethan surveyed the completely sealed ventilation opening. He dusted off his hands with satisfaction. "Doesn't she love hiding away from the work?" "Then let her sit there nice and quiet." "Grind that spoiled princess attitude right out of her bones."

"What is going on here! Don't you have training to do?" A stern voice carried across from the other end of the field. Professor Patterson came striding through the blazing sun, roster in hand. He took one look at the scattered formation. Then the tarp-sealed ventilation opening. Then the dark red puddle on the ground. His brow knotted into a deep furrow. "Coach Caldwell, what is the meaning of this?" "Where is Sophie Harper?" Professor Patterson's gaze fell on the iron door. Ethan didn't move from where he stood. His tone remained flat. "Inside. Reflecting on her behavior." Professor Patterson's expression changed instantly. He marched forward. "In this heat, you locked a student in a storage room with no air conditioning?" "Someone could die in there!" He spun around and glared at Ethan. "Hand over the key immediately and open that door!" Ethan looked at this professor who stood half a head shorter than him. "Professor Patterson, I'm the externally hired assistant coach." "And the on-site supervisor for this boot camp." "My job is to enforce discipline." "This is my training method. Outsiders should stay out of it." Professor Patterson was livid. "This is corporal punishment! This is abuse!" "Can you take responsibility if something happens?" "Open it. Now!" Ethan let out a cold smirk. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the U-lock key. As everyone watched in stunned silence, his fingers loosened. The key dropped through the grate of the nearby drainage grill. Down into the pitch-black sewer. Professor Patterson stood frozen. "You… what are you doing?!" Ethan spread his palms open. "Oh, Professor. So sorry. Butterfingers." "Key's gone." "Since that's the case, we'll just have to wait until boot camp's over to get someone to saw through the lock." "She'd rather stay in there than apologize anyway." "Might as well let her reflect a little longer." Chloe immediately chimed in. "Professor, don't blame Ethan." "The key really did slip by accident." "Sophie's always had a terrible temper back in the dorm." "The tiniest thing sets her off—slamming doors, throwing things." "She definitely heard everything just now, and she didn't make a sound." "She's absolutely just being a princess right now." "She wants to make everyone look bad on purpose." Professor Patterson was white with fury. He slammed his palm against the door panel twice and shouted through the iron. "Sophie! If you can hear me, say something!" "I'm going right now to get security with tools to open this door!" "If you refuse to cooperate, I'll report this directly to the administration!" "You'll get a major demerit!" Dead silence from inside. Only a stifling wave of air, tinged with the smell of blood, seeped slowly through the gap. The teammates who'd been standing in the sun for two hours finally snapped. "Sophie, just come out already! Stop dragging us into this!" "Seriously, because of you, we're all out here roasting!" Wave after wave of accusations crashed against the storage shed. Surrounding it. My consciousness had gone completely dark. Blood was still slowly seeping out, drying into blackened crusts. My lips had split open. My breathing was growing shallower and shallower. I could barely tell if I was still alive. I don't know how much time passed—maybe ten minutes, maybe half an hour. An old man pushing a cleaning cart ambled over. He was about to empty the garbage bin beside the storage shed. But his steps halted abruptly. Old Jim sniffed the air. His eyes followed the ground to the dried, blackened puddle beneath the door gap. "Something ain't right…" Old Jim muttered to himself and dropped his broom. He crouched by the door gap and sniffed hard. The next second, his face changed completely. "Good God! That smell ain't right!" Old Jim shouted in his raspy voice. Ethan was sitting under a shade umbrella drinking water. Hearing the noise, he frowned with irritation. He stood and walked over. "Old man, this doesn't concern you." "Go sweep somewhere else." "It's just a girl in there throwing a tantrum and playing dead." "Nothing's wrong." Old Jim was stamping his feet in agitation. "You don't know shit! I spent my whole life in a slaughterhouse—you think I can't tell?" "That ain't red ink!" "That's the smell of blood—heavy blood!" "Something's happened in there!" Just then, the campus doctor happened to be crossing the field on his way to swap shifts at the infirmary. He heard the commotion and immediately pushed through the crowd. Dr. Rosen didn't bother with Chloe's excuses. He crouched down directly. With a gloved finger, he touched the liquid on the ground and raised it to his nose. One second. That was all it took. Dr. Rosen's face went sheet-white. He shot to his feet and grabbed the walkie-talkie from his belt. His trembling finger pressed the call button. "Security office! Security office! Bring breaching tools to the south field storage room immediately!" Ethan's face went completely dark. He lunged forward and snatched the walkie-talkie from Dr. Rosen's hand. Crack. He smashed it against the concrete. It shattered on impact. "Who gave you permission to destroy school property?" Ethan jabbed a finger at Dr. Rosen's face, his voice ice-cold. "I'm the one who locked her in there. Anything that happens is on me!" "I don't need you people spreading hysteria!" Dr. Rosen stared at the smashed walkie-talkie on the ground, his eyes bloodshot. He shoved Ethan aside. Like a cornered animal, he threw himself at the iron door. He gripped the sun-scorched U-lock with both hands and pulled with everything he had. His palms blistered red from the burning metal—he didn't even notice. Ethan stumbled back two steps, about to lash out. But Dr. Rosen whipped around. He held up his gloves—smeared thick with dark, sticky blood. And screamed at the top of his lungs to the entire field. "This isn't menstrual blood!" "Someone is dying in there! Break down this door NOW!"

Dr. Rosen's scream shattered the silence over the field. Professor Patterson arrived with campus security, charging onto the grounds. "What are you doing! I said no one opens it!" Ethan strode forward, trying to rip the bolt cutters from a security officer's hands. "Back off!" The head of security saw red. He grabbed Ethan in a takedown and pinned his thrashing body against the scorching concrete. CLANK. The U-lock was wrenched apart by the bolt cutters and clattered to the ground. The security chief yanked the rusted iron bar from the door handle. Then drove his boot into the door panel. The iron door flew open. A wave of stifling heat rushed out—thick with the reek of blood and the sour-sweet stench of decay. The harsh midday sun poured into the dark storage room. I was curled in the corner. Drenched in blood. Like a discarded ragdoll. Total silence. No screaming. No whispers. Just the sound of people sucking in their breath. Dr. Rosen swallowed his horror and half-crawled, half-stumbled inside. His trembling fingers reached for my neck. Through his gloves, his fingertips found a pulse—barely there. One beat. Two. Three. Like a kite with a fraying string, about to snap completely. "She's alive!" Dr. Rosen screamed. "She's still alive! Call an ambulance! Right now!" Pinned to the ground, Ethan suddenly went still. He stared at the lifeless body crumpled in the corner. Shock written across every inch of his face. "That's impossible… that's not possible…" He screamed it like a man breaking apart, wrenching free of the officers' hold. He scrambled toward me on all fours. "Sophie! Stop pretending! I give up, okay? You win!" He frantically scrubbed at the blood on my face with his sleeve. "Get up! Right now! I'll never lock you in again, I swear!" Dr. Rosen shoved him away. "Don't touch her! She has a severe coagulation disorder—she's lost too much blood!" "One touch could worsen the internal bleeding!" Chloe, standing nearby, stumbled backward, her face white as death. She grabbed a teammate's arm, shaking her head wildly. "It wasn't me! Ethan's the one who locked her in!" "I didn't do anything! I didn't know!" Dr. Rosen slowly rose to his feet and looked at Chloe's wretched face. His stomach lurched. He snatched up the blood-stained mop handle at his feet. And slammed it into the ground at Chloe's feet. "You didn't do anything?" "When there was blood all over the floor, why did you lie and say it was red ink?" "The two of you—you animals—you nearly killed her in there!"