In Cold Water

Story by Senshi

She’d never taken a shower with the other girls. And it wasn’t because she feared the intimacy and or lacked the courage it took to bathe with her teammates. The hard water that blasted from the showerheads was always ice cold. Most girls often described it—saying that it felt like shards of glass were raining down on them. Of course, Marion knew they were exaggerating—or at least she hoped they were.

It wasn’t because the water was cold that Marion didn’t shower with the girls. She would never let a thing like that stop her from washing herself. Marion was bold, confident, stubborn, and headstrong. She always rose to a challenge without fear. Some would call her arrogant, and they often did.

It was easy to see how her personality when on the court—or on the ‘Job’ as she called it could be mistaken for arrogance. Marion seldom hid the fact that she was confident in her abilities as a ball player. She didn’t hesitate to let the rival team—or her teammates known just how confident in her talent she was.

She had expressed her faithfulness in her unrivaled talent for basketball when her team—the Irvine Angels played against their local rivals, Irvine Devils. The High School game was close and Marion had scored the bulk of the points for her team to add stats to her already impressive record.

Her brazen personality had caused her a few technical fouls and she constantly jawed to the ref and the other players, including her teammates on how they were jealous of her ability. She celebrated and congratulated herself when she scored a basket, or assisted one of her teammates on scoring a point for the team, or when she helped to make a successful defensive play to give her team the advantage and keep them in the lead.

Marion was indeed talented at the game of basketball. But she lacked the vocal restraint necessary to keep her team on the path to victory. They’d lost the game to their long time rivals when Marion fouled out of the game. She had started a shoving match with the referee over a defensive foul called in favor of the other team. She made sure to assault the official with every curse in her arsenal before being forcibly removed from the court by players on her team.

Marion would be detained for the rest of the game in the coach’s office before later being scolded on her performance on the court by the coach herself and other players from the team. Marion’s teammates openly expressed that she be cut from the team or suspended for the rest of the season. But her bold personality and gift of tongue allowed her amnesty from her actions.

Her gift even worked on the coach when it came to showering with her teammates. Marion’s excuses afforded her the option of bathing after the other girls had finished and went home.

After the unsuccessful game with Irvine Devils, Marion was left alone in the locker room. A few of Marion’s teammates had jeered at her on the way out to express their displeasure of having her as their teammate—but she ignored them and chalked it up again to their jealousy of her talent.

They were either ‘Jealous Bitches’, ‘Sluts’, or ‘Whores’. Marion had often given these names to those who hated on her athletic ability. They didn’t understand her—they never could and never would. Most of all—they didn’t understand why she was so afraid to shower with them.

Marion peeked from behind a faded gray collection of lockers to see if everyone had left the locker room. She attentively swept the area for strays—but found only the discarded silver jerseys and knee length shorts a few of her teammates had left behind. Some had even forgotten to secure their lockers and had left them open. Marion could see a girl had left a pair of panties behind—stuffed into the compact space of her locker.

She started to move a hand toward the undergarments with sinful intent, but quickly jerked her hand back. Marion cursed herself in her moment of weakness and replaced the sudden impulse with the appropriate desire to bathe herself.

Marion slammed the locker shut and a loud bang followed. The sound ripped through the silence and Marion turned her head when she thought she heard what sounded like a surprised gasp. She looked left to right sporadically to examine the section she occupied. She drifted slowly from the lockers to sweep the white room with her hazel irises. Marion crept toward the image of a golden haired angel near the end of the locker room and set her eyes upon a lone black locker at the seraph’s feet.

“Who is that?” Marion said. She spoke firmly to hide the fact that she was scared—but made no attempt to conceal her accent forged by Ebonics—replacing ‘that’ with ‘dat’.

When th

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