Between two kops

Chapter four

Christina

Getting ready for a match had always been a special ritual for me. The only time I was truly myself. I threw 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 the chaos waiting for me in the South Stand.

The aroma of strong, dark Turkish coffee curled into my nostrils, but even that couldn't wake me up. I barely slept a wink last night. It had been almost twenty four hours, and I could still hear his voice ringing in my head, that cocky, raspy tone that made my skin crawl. "Everything with you is perfect, everything by the book... and you're boring." Those words stung more than I dared admit, even to myself. Who was he, just some bum from some sketchy neighborhood to tell me that?

And yet, I caught myself in front of the mirror intentionally loosening that ponytail, plucking out strands so it wouldn't look so pin neat. What if Steven was right? What if I really was just some programmed mannequin in a display window?

"Aren't you going to put on any makeup?" my mother's voice cut through the silence behind me. I was so lost in thoughts about the new guy that I hadn't even heard her open the heavy oak door to my room.

"No. I don't know, I like it like this," I replied, without taking my eyes off my reflection. I stared at my sleep deprived face, the dark circles under my eyes, and a new kind of defiance in my gaze. I was finding a million flaws in myself, and every single one was irritatingly bothering me.

"You know how I feel about those matches of yours..." she trailed off, and I just took a deep breath, feeling the rage building in my temples.

I turned to face her and put my guard up.

She's not really gonna start with this again, is she? Always the same story. Before every match, my mom 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, bums, and deadbeats. I've heard it a thousand times already. Please, let's not start this argument again."

"We won't. Just be careful. And text me... constantly. If anyone so much as approaches you, call me right away," her voice was a mix of that familiar worry and sheer anger that she couldn't control me.

My parents hated that side of me. The "masculine" side, as they called it. To them, my love for Partizan was a disease that needed to be cured and wiped from my head.

It weighed heavily on them every time I'd head to a match with Nick. When I was younger, they tried every possible way to forbid me from going, locking me in, blackmailing me... but it was no use. I'd always find a way to slip out behind their backs and bolt to Belgrade, to the only place where I actually felt alive.

I wasn't like other girls. I didn't care for fancy balls, expensive dresses, or weekend trips to the spa.

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 it all the time. But that wasn't me. I didn't want to be rich and popular like my mom and dad. I just wanted to be Christina, a normal girl.

They opened their own law firm and shot straight to the top overnight, becoming the most prestigious firm in Pančevo city and the surrounding area. Every time I pass by that building downtown and see our last name spelled out in those f*****g silver letters, I get this disgusting, heavy feeling in my stomach. That gray marble and those massive glass doors... that wasn't just a regular office. That was their home, where they spent more time than they ever did with me.

Even when we sat down for lunch like some normal family, their phones were on the table like fourth and fifth guests, constantly connected to some judges or clients. Every success I had at school, every A to them, it was just a given, a matter of statistics. It was like I was engineered 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 my black hoodie off the bed and leaving her alone in the room.

Nick was already leaning on the horn outside like crazy, and I was running dangerously late. Oopsie. I sprinted outside, stepping across that picture perfect lawn, and ran toward his loud, blacked out car.

"Heading to the match, Ms?" Daniel, the gardener, asked me. The guy was constantly tasked with manicuring the greenery in our huge yard.

"Yeah, Daniel. I can't wait to get to Jna!" I said, and for the first time that day, my smile was genuine.

He smiled warmly. Daniel had babysat me so many times when I was a little girl, back when my parents were out chasing millions. It's sad to even think about, but that man knew more about my fears and dreams than my dear parents ever did.

"Good luck, Ms. I hope we get the win!"

He closed the massive black gate behind me. My parents were so paranoid about my safety that they had built three meter high walls around the entire estate. It's a creepy feeling, like I'm sentenced to life in some luxury prison rather than a f*****g mansion.

The second I opened the car door, I was hit by the scent of his signature mint chewing gum mixed with that overly expensive cologne he always drowned himself in. Nick sat behind the wheel wearing sunglasses, playing the tough guy. Michael and Nadia were kicked back in the rear seats, with smirks you could see from a mile away.

"There she is, beautiful," Nick threw out, leaning over the gear shift to give me a quick kiss.

I turned toward the back seat, put on my quick, practiced smile. The one I always use when I need to hide that I'm totally lost, and said hi to Nadia and Michael. Everything had to look normal, even though Stevens's words about me being boring were still echoing in my head.

I buckled my seatbelt and sank into the soft leather, trying to force my body to relax and shake that pressure out of my head.

Nick slotted the key into the ignition and turned it slowly, taking his time, like he knew we were all waiting for that sound. The engine roared deep, and the exhaust popped a short, angry rumble that echoed down the entire street, defying the quiet of my neighborhood.

"You're late, Ms. Attorney," Michael threw 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 right back at him.

Nadia laughed at my jab and played a song from her phone, connecting to the car speakers. The first beats of the familiar melody filled the car, and all of us instantly started singing my favorite song together.

"To love the Black and Whites, I proudly tell everyone. I love that glorious name and admire only them. In this world, nothing bigger could ever exist than our love for the black and white colors!"

If I told my mom right now that this meant more to me than all their dinners with judges and directors, she'd probably look at me like I'd lost my mind. To them, this was a bum's life, but to me, this was the family I chose for myself.

I looked over at Nick. He had pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead and was holding the steering wheel tightly with his left hand, trying to stay serious. But his smile gave him away. He turned toward me, and our eyes met. He dropped his right hand from the gear shift straight onto my thigh and squeezed it tight. I knew that move of his by heart. He always did it in front of others, as if reminding both me and the whole world that I was his property. Before, I might have actually liked it. It flattered me, but today... today that grip felt oddly suffocating. It reminded me of that thick pencil and the line drawn on the desk.

With his wild driving, we quickly cut off our Pančevo streets and hit the main road. Time flew until the brakes slammed us into the endless traffic jam on the Pančevo Bridge.

To all of us, Belgrade was the center of the universe, no matter how much we loved Pančevo. Our town felt tight and small, so my entire generation breathed and went out across the river. That twenty minute drive was all that separated you from pure madness, close enough for Belgrade to become your everyday hang, yet 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 couple of millimeters. Just enough to let a little fresh air in. The cold wind off the Danube whipped across my face instantly. I needed that. I urgently needed to clear my head. I stared at the murky water under the bridge, trying in vain to relax. Nick tapped his fingers impatiently on the leather wheel until we finally broke through the jam and gunned it toward Autokomanda, straight to Humska Street, our favorite destination in this massive city.

"Finally here, bro!" Michael yelled, practically glued to the window.

Around the corner, through the March darkness, the massive floodlights of our temple emerged. In that second, that old, familiar electric spark exploded in my stomach. A smile stretched across my face, a real one, not fake. It's always like that. As if someone flips a switch on for my life with a single move, wiping away every problem in my head. The three meter walls, my parents, school... all gone.

We parked the car in a packed lot near the stadium. Luckily, there was a free spot. Nick got out first and opened the trunk, pulling out the black and white scarf I bought him for his birthday a few months ago. Funny how I was now the only one in our crew without a scarf, classic.

Spring already smelled strongly of summer, and the humidity was peaking even though the sun had set long ago. As I wiped tiny beads of sweat from my forehead, I looked around at the people. Every other guy in the small, scattered groups around the stadium had a scarf wrapped around his neck. I wondered what kind of willpower or sheer madness drove them. I was hot in short sleeves, yet they were wearing scarves. I'll never understand the code in those crazy heads of theirs.

"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 inside 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 a hundred percent myself. A free bird. There were no fake faces here to measure me up or look at me sideways just because of who my mom and dad were. On the stands, nobody cares whose daughter I am or how many millions my parents have. In fact, nobody even asks for your last name there. We're all equal.

Jna Stadium was the only place where I could breathe with full lungs, no mask required. Partizan was my only escape and refuge from that fancy, rich life of theirs, from that sterile mansion 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 crush their rules. But 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 culture brought 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 riot police, who had practically occupied every meter around the stadium. I noticed them standing in small groups on the corners, ready to intervene. Their classic, grim look. Riot shields, helmets, body armor, with batons and tear gas ready at hand. A bit further down the street stood the mounted unit. It looked as if a civil war was brewing, not just a regular Serbian league match.

The funniest part of it all was that our opponent today, Fc Proleter, doesn't even have any serious supporter groups of their own. Around the stadium, it was just our crowd, Grobari and Grobarke. Who would even attack us in front of our own house? But the cops always have their own paranoid theories.

The bottleneck at the pat down was slowly clearing. Most people had already passed the turnstiles and entered the stands. A serious turnout was expected today, pure madness in the making especially because Fc Crvena Zvezda is only leading us by a single point. We have a real shot at finally knocking them off first place, overtaking them, and taking that title after six long years of waiting. And that was precisely 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.

The solid concrete steps echoed under our feet as we climbed up toward the terrace. The closer we got to the tunnel exit, the stronger that deep sound of drums became. Heavy, rhythmic. Like it was pounding directly into my chest with every beat as the guys tested the drums before kickoff.

I paused for a second right at the exit into the core of the stand.

That all too familiar smell mixed with tobacco, spilled beer, and something dangerously flammable filled my lungs instantly. That scent had long ago become home to me. It's a strange feeling, totally twisted, when smoke, flares, and street clamor represent your only true safety.

"Are you okay?" I felt someone's hand rest on my shoulder. I turned around. Nadia.

I hadn't even noticed I'd lagged behind. That entire atmosphere, the cigarette smoke, and heavy thoughts had swallowed me whole in a second. And yet, I felt like I could fly. Like nothing and no one in this world could come close to ruining the mood in my chest.

"You bet, I'm great!" I smiled genuinely, straight from the bottom of my soul, the way I could only and exclusively do in this place.

"Come on. Let me get us down to our crew, Christina."

We made our way down through the crowd to Nick and Michael. To our old spot. The place where I'd first stood beside him long ago, before he officially became my boyfriend.

"Not bad, bro. There'll be at least ten thousand of us," Nick estimated, sizing up the stands that were slowly filling up.

"Man, as long as we beat Fc Proleter. Gypsy have a tough match tomorrow against Fc Novi Pazar. This might be our last chance to overtake them," Michael said, more serious than usual.

These days, all of us were hoping for them to slip up against Fc Novi Pazar.

"We'll see, bro. I'm gonna go grab the flag. Stay here," Nick threw out.

He and Michael were involved with the supporter groups, so they were often tasked with waving those massive flags in our colors. The black and white striped canvases started rising above our heads, creating waves under the light breeze.

I looked toward the pitch. The players finally jogged out of the tunnel. In that exact second, the entire South Stand exploded into applause. The PA announcer was muttering something over the loudspeakers, but none of us were listening to him.

"Hey, Grobari! Listen up!"

The caporegime's voice echoed through the megaphone, cutting through the hum in the stand. He stood in his spot, facing us with open arms, ready to lead the whole South.

"Let me hear you loud now! There's plenty of us, bro. They have to hear us down on the pitch! A hooligan's mother used to say..."

And the whole South launched into it. In the same rhythm, in the same breath, like one massive, wild body. I threw my voice out alongside Nadia, not holding back for a second. My throat was already burning after the first stanza, but honestly, I couldn't give a damn. In that moment, I wasn't the daughter of successful lawyers. I wasn't that polite, perfect girl from a mansion with three meter walls.

I was just an 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, stay away! Run far from it, leave it behind, Or the same fate as your friends you'll find..."

The drums were beating so hard the rhythm rattled straight through my bones. Someone a few rows behind me lit a flare, and thick white smoke began rising toward the floodlights. The lights cut through it at an angle, turning the smoke into a heavy mist through which the pitch was barely visible.

In the fifteenth minute, our first serious chance came. Vanja Dragojević sent a long ball forward toward Nemanja Trifunović on the left wing. He took it on the run, cutting inside the Fc Proleter defender as if the guy didn't even exist.

He burst into the edge of the penalty box and whipped the ball into the center. Complete chaos broke out there. Shoving, shirt pulling, the referee turning a blind eye... the ball somehow bounced off and fell right onto Bibras Natcho's chest.

He brought it down calmly. As if time around him had stood still. He wound up his leg and struck it. A second of silence. And then... goooal!

The ball hit the back of the net, and the South exploded. The roar was so intense I felt the concrete shake under my feet. I jumped without thinking and wrapped my arms around Nick's neck as the crowd went wild, piling over one another in sheer joy.

"Let's goo!" I screamed into his ear. He grabbed me, lifted me up, and spun me around, and then we both kept jumping in that collective madness. While holding him, a thought crossed my mind for a split second. This is my world. This is where I belong. But somewhere deep down, in a hidden corner of my consciousness, that pissed off gaze from the back row was still there. Steven had set off an avalanche inside me that not even this goal could fully stop.

After that goal, everything went smoothly. As if a massive weight had been lifted. The players relaxed, and goals started pouring in one after another. By the seventieth minute, the scoreboard already read a convincing 4–1 for our squad.

The South sang without stopping. Thunder roared from all sides. My voice had gone hoarse long ago, but I didn't stop. The players were laying it all on the line on the pitch, sliding across the grass, going into every challenge as if their lives depended on it.

Because they did. We all shared the same single desire, to take that damn title. To rip it away from Crvena Zvezda once and for all and bring it back to where it belongs, after six long, painful years of waiting.