Be Careful of the Bets You Make

The hot water of the shower streamed down the side of the glass cubicle. It made a constant hiss, splattering off the tiled floor below. Steam soon joined it, wafting across the air from the open door of the shower, and hanging in thick, rolling clouds.

Michelle Harris took a deep breath; her heart was beating with a frantic tempo. The door behind her was closed and locked. None of her dorm mates were around right now, but she was still paranoid. Every sound made her twitch and jump. The steam curled across her body, but she already felt hot without it. As if she were boiling inside of her own skin. Her hands opened and closed, a nervous tic which she was not currently paying attention to. She turned, checking the door for one final time.

It was locked.

What did that matter, though? Whether it was locked or not, everyone was going to see soon enough. She swallowed; nervousness knifing through her body like a sudden blade. Her face was red, and she looked at herself in the mirror, brushing a stand of blond hair away from her eyes.

There were people who would argue that golf wasn't a real sport because it didn't involve a lot of running and screaming, but Michelle would have been quite happy to introduce those people to her club and see what they thought about that afterwards.

She looked _good. _She stayed in shape. She worked on her body, constantly pushing herself to be better than she was. Michelle had a pretty face. Her hair was blond and short, with a nose-ring that she'd had put in as soon as she escaped from her old home. Right now, she was clad in her sleeping clothes. An over-large shirt and a pair of loose but soft trousers. Under those, she wore nothing at all. Sleeping in a bra was always uncomfortable, and what was the point of wearing panties to bed when you were already wearing trousers?

Of course last night she'd slept pretty uncomfortably anyway. Mostly because she knew she had to do this in the morning., She'd timed it as well as she could. She knew she wouldn't be disturbed. But that didn't help at all. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, noting the lines of worry and anxiety as well as something deeper glinting in the eye.

"You always knew this day might come," she told herself. "Don't make a bet that you're not prepared to lose."

But that was the thing, wasn't it? She'd never thought she would lose. Not her. Not Michelle Harris, the golfer with a golden future. Always the winner, always the one who came out on top. No matter how bad it looked, she knew she'd always find a way to win.

"Idiot," she told herself, but she knew in her heart that it was simply part of who she was. She also knew that she didn't have to follow through. Who would report her? The bet-police? It wasn't like anyone would really blame her for not holding up her end.

But the thing was, that just wasn't in her nature. As much as she churned and twisted like a worm on a hook, Michelle knew that she had to keep to her word. if she didn't, what was she? She was arrogant, she'd be the first to admit she could be a brat. She loved to be in charge and dominant. But beyond all of that, she was also reliable.

_Don't play a game you can't afford to lose. _Now she'd lost, did she really have the right to complain?

She sighed, but the truth was that it had already been decided. Michelle looked to the side of the door where she'd put down her rucksack. It was lying half opened. Within, there were the objects that she had promised to use on herself if she were defeated. But there was one final thing that was missing.

Proof.

She took out her phone, keying it to record mode. Her skin crawled, part of her couldn't believe that she was doing this. She could stop at any time, no one was forcing her or making her. She didn't have to go through with it.

But she would. Even if the thought made her burn up with humiliation and embarrassment.

Michelle started recording and placed the phone on the ground, camera out so that it could see the entire bathroom. She was standing in front of it, looking down. Her face was bright red.

"My name is Michele Harris," she spoke to the camera. She tried to sound mundane, ordinary. As if this was just the kind of thing she did every day. But she knew that some of the tension she was feeling leaked through in her voice. "Yesterday, I lost a game of darts. I talked a lot of shit, and made some bets that I probably shouldn't. I was a cocky brat, and the guy who beat me - David Alexander - made sure to let me know that I was going to pay for it if I lost."

She gave a little chuckle, raising her arms in a helpless shrug.

"Well, I lost. David, this one is for you I guess."