Melting the Ice

2; quaintrelle

"quaintrelle"

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(noun) quaintrelle is defined as a woman fully committed to surrendering herself to the passions of art, style, leisurely pastime and cultivating her innermost pleasures and desires. She's a free spirit, with an innate desire to preserve her elegance.

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"Fuck!" I scream in rage, hitting the ice with my palm when I fall down after another unsuccessful double axel. I lay there for a moment, breathing hard and just resting my palms down on the cold ice with my knees bent and my head hanging low.

It's currently late at night and I'm the only one here in the ice hall I always train. I think I've been here for hours now and although I'm tired, I don't want to leave until I succeed.

I pick myself up. Every single fibre of my body screams in protest, but I'm determined. I skate, jump, twirl ... and fall on the ice again with a grunt, sliding on the ice.

I get up. And do it again. And again. And again.

And I do it. I land on my foot, skating backwards successfully, my leg stable. I grin to myself and breathe out a sigh of relief.

"Look who I see here again today."

I swiftly turn my head and notice Zach Crawford standing on the side with his arms crossed. I notice he's dressed casually, in sweatpants and a sweater. Like me, although I don't look half as good as he does.

I'm surprised to see him here, but I know that I shouldn't be. The best ice hockey player lives to be the best in the world and in order to do so, he must train a lot, no matter the time of the day.

"No worries, you can have the hall all for yourself now," I tell him, skating to the exit.

Zach puts his hands in his pockets, skating backwards while watching me. "You finally succeeded in double axel. Impressive." I can't tell if he's making fun of me or if he's being sarcastic.

I don't dwell on it. "Yeah. Sorry if you had to wait too long," I say dryly and then go out on the bench, sitting down. My legs and the rest of my body appreciate a bit of the rest after today. It's been brutal, one of the hardest days, but I need to get used to it.

I see Zach skating from one end to another in a fast pace, warming himself up. Even like that, his moves are elegant and perfectly in sync. He always knows what his next move will be, he always predicts what will happen and that puts him ahead of others. He's not called the best without a reason.

I put on my old shoes and push myself off the bench. My legs are shaking a bit as I walk.

I catch the last bus tonight and finally go home to take my much-needed rest.