Lovely obsession

Chapter 6

Melissa
"White swan. Nah. Black swan as always."

11 months ago...
1 day before Mel ran away...

The echo of gunshots reverberated through the walls of the shooting range, sharp and clear. The air was thick with the smell of metal and gunpowder, a stark contrast to the silence and open space outside. Calm and composed, I stood at one of the firing positions, adjusting the sights. Misha, always ready to support but a bit overly insistent, stood behind me, offering advice that felt more like instructions. And I couldn't understand why he still hadn't figured it out—I was better than him.

But I liked the feeling and his company. The shooting range was always quiet, almost painfully so. Only the sound of the shots, as though an invisible wave of vibration rippled through the air, interrupted the silence. Standing on the line, my hands trembled slightly with tension, but I couldn't afford to doubt. My gaze had to stay focused, and my face expressed not so much concentration, but a battle with myself.

Everything around me was familiar. Always. But not at this moment. Flashbacks, feelings of anxiety and fear, those moments before the shots—they mixed with something new. I could feel the cold metal of the weapon in my hands, as though it were not a part of me, but an alien object to be tamed. Fear had always been with me, but now it took on a new form. It didn't paralyze me; instead, it became something sharper, chilling the mind. The realization that every shot could be the last left an unpleasant sense of hopelessness, but that too was part of the game.

I remembered playing with other kids when I was younger, pretending to be shooters. It seemed easy then, even fun. But now, with real weapons in my hands, the feelings had changed. And though fear was present, with each shot, it receded, giving way to calm determination. I couldn't afford to be afraid. Each shot proved that I could control my destiny, even if sometimes that control felt like an illusion.

A strange feeling rose in my soul—a mix of excitement and detachment. This was not just physical training; it was an internal battle. I focused on my breathing, listening to every shift, every gust of wind from the ventilation that could affect my shot's accuracy. In those moments, the world seemed to narrow down to the target, and everything around disappeared.

Often, I had to fight not just external threats but myself. Every shot was not only a test of accuracy but a test of resilience. I understood that not everything in life could be controlled, but here, at the range, I had some chance to win, to not give up.

When I raised the gun again, I felt empty, as if I were resetting myself in that moment. I wasn't thinking about the past or looking at the future. It was pure, momentary concentration. But after each shot, when the hole appeared on Milena's target, a weight settled in my soul. It wasn't a triumph of victory but some invisible heaviness that was becoming more familiar. 
Because... I no longer want this life.

"Remember, don't rush." Misha said, his voice calm but firm. "The target isn't going anywhere. Steadily hold the weapon, focus on your breathing."
"Misha, look at your target."
"What?"
"Look."
"Okay."

I nodded, gripping the pistol tightly. My stance was confident, but I couldn't ignore the anxiety growing in my chest. I'd been to the shooting range many times, but today something felt off. Maybe it was because of Leah, who stood in the corner, hugging herself, her eyes wide with fear. Though no—she always acted like that.

I was sure I pulled the trigger three times. The gunpowder hung in the air, but I placed the weapon on the stand and smiled when all three shots hit dead center.
"Compare that," I turned to him and rolled my eyes. "I'm better."
"I know."
"Then why the hell do you keep teaching me?"
"You always do better what you want to prove." He smirked.
I clicked my tongue but looked at Leah.
"Look at her..." I removed my plastic glasses. "She sits with headphones and glasses but trembles with fear every time."