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It was two in the morning, and it was dead.
The door groaned and protested as Jaime swung it open, filling the cold air with creaks and squeals loud enough to wake the dead. She reached over to her left and flicked the lightswitch, washing the room in a cold blue. She squinted in the harsh assault of her corneas, blinking away the pain as her eyes, heavy with dark circles, darted around the room. The fluorescent lights cast stark beams that danced across the scuffed linoleum floor like restless spirits. Rows of washing machines stood like sentinels, their metal exteriors worn and dented from years of use, while the walls were lined with posters advertising detergent and dryer sheets, their colours muted and faded from exposure to the harsh light. There were three new ones that Jaime refused to look at.
Her nostrils flared at the smell, the air was thick with the scent of detergent and fabric softener; a bittersweet perfume that mingled with the faint hum of the machines. It was like a melancholic lullaby that added to the heavy weight in her chest.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Dressed in stained and crumpled pyjamas, Jaime appeared as though she had weathered a storm of her own. She clutched a worn laundry basket to her chest. The cracked plastic handle dug into her palm. A lone hoodie, threadbare and yellow, lay nestled among the pile of dirty clothes. It was not to be washed, she wanted the comforting smell to stay.
With each hesitant step, her worn sneakers scuffed against the linoleum floor, the sound muffled by the heavy weight of her exhaustion. The rhythmic pattern of her gait seemed to mimic the steady beat of her heart. With a resigned sigh, she reached out and began to load her laundry into one of the machines.
Jaime’s spine tingled with a chill, as if touched by the icy hand of winter itself.
"Good evening," Cut through the stillness, each word tinged with a subtle hint of longing.
Jaime's movements were hesitant as she turned to face Christopher, her body swivelling slowly on weary feet. Their brown eyes met with apprehension, and Jaime felt as though she was peering into the depths of a memory. Yet, despite the uncertainty that lingered in the air between them, there was a flicker of something indefinable in her expression… A glimmer of affection, perhaps. It did not come through in her words, as she grunted, “I was hoping you wouldn’t be here.” But it was still tangibly there.
“Where else would I be?” He shrugged, his eyes glinting in the fluorescent light. It made them look… almost teal, but they were brown, the colour of hickory wood. Jaime had spent long enough gazing into those deep eyes to remember their true colour. She allowed her gaze to wander down his neck and map out his figure, clad in silk flannel pyjamas that shimmered faintly with every subtle movement. Over which, he wore a long, dark coat that seemed almost too formal for the setting. Even in her tired state, Jaime could still make out the tailored lines within the frayed wool, remembering how she had sewn her name into the inside pocket. Well, it was no longer her name, it was his.
She sighed, turning back to stuff another crumpled shirt into the washing machine. “I don’t know. Somewhere else. Anywhere but here.” She picked up socks, blue cotton with silly purple snails patterned all over them. She almost smiled as she traced the soft yellow swirl in one of their shells. In the machine they went. “Don’t you have friends to hang out with? Family to visit? Hell, even professors to bother over papers?”
“It’s two in the morning.” He replied instantly, he expected that response. “Why would I be there?”
“Why are you here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I’m doing my laundry.” She said, her voice edged with a hint of defiance. Her gaze remained fixed on the task before her, “I don’t like doing it when other people are here.”
Christopher's lips curled into a smug smirk, relishing in the opportunity to jab at her vulnerability. "You're lonely," He murmured, his tone dripping with a vindictive satisfaction, "How is Ambrose?"
Jaime's hands paused mid-motion, her fingers trembling slightly as Christopher's words cut through the air like an axe. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach, a gnawing sense of unease that threatened to consume her from within.
“Shut up.” She hissed, a surge of fiery anguish surged through her body. In went a stained graphic t-shirt.
Christopher chuckled, a slight predatory gleam in his eyes, there was a twisted pleasure in watching her squirm. He shrugged, responding with a simple, “I’m just asking.”
Jaime's voice quivered, “You don’t get to ask.” her words clipped and sharp as she fought to maintain her composure, her jaw stubbornly set in a line as venom pumped through her veins. In went two off-white bras.
“How is Ambrose?” He repeated. Out of the corner of her eye, Jaime could see him slink closer to her, his footsteps completely silent, as though they were made of air. She could feel the weight of his gaze boring into her, his presence looming like a shadow over her shoulder.
“I don’t…” She stammered, her voice cracking like glass. Her eyes darted nervously away from his penetrating gaze, unable to bear the intensity of his scrutiny. She felt exposed, laid bare before him like a wounded animal caught in a trap. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Some relationship you have…” He scoffed, inspecting his dirty nails, “Why don’t you just ask them?”
“ Shut up. ”
The words hung in the air, thick with tension and unspoken pain. The pair stood there, staring at each other like cowboys preparing for a duel, as the fluorescent lights shot harsh shadows across their faces. Jaime's eyes were a storm of anger and hurt, hands clenched into fists at her sides, her chest rising and falling with the effort to keep her composure. Christopher stood motionless, his expression unreadable, eyes locked onto hers in a silent dialogue more profound than any words could convey, each searching the other's face for answers that neither was ready to give.
The silence between them was deafening, the faint, rhythmic drip of a leaking faucet was the only sound that dared to intrude. Christopher's gaze softened into a smugness that Jaime recognised all too well.
“You look like your old self again.” He murmured, allowing his gaze to fall and take in every part of her body, his gaze roaming over her like fingers tracing the delicate lines of a sculpture. “How you were when I still loved you.”
“What, depressed, confused, and wishing I was dead? Gee, thanks a lot.” Jaime retorted, her tone laced with bitter sarcasm as she met Christopher's look head-on.
“Don't twist my words, you know exactly what I meant.” Christopher replied, his voice strained with frustration, his jaw clenched tightly. It was evident that Jaime's words had struck a nerve, stirring up emotions that he had long tried to suppress.
“ Oh , it's always twisting with you, isn't it?” Jaime spat, taking a firm step forward, her eyes blazing with an intensity that seemed to sear through the darkness of the laundry room. Christopher remained still. “I was never perfect, I was always twisting your words, or your patience or… or locks of your hair between my fingers…” Like gas oozing from a tank, Jaime’s hand slinked out fingers curling into claws as if reaching for something just out of reach. “I… I wish I could twist your neck between my fingers now.”
For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though she might follow through with her threat. But, just as quickly as it had appeared, the danger in the air dissipated, leaving behind an eerie stillness. Jaime's hand fell limply to her side, the fire in her eyes dimming to a smouldering ember. Her movements were slow and deliberate as she turned back to her laundry, her hands moving mechanically as she sorted through the pile of clothes before her. In went a cardigan, a dress, several shorts, lingerie, a shawl. She sealed the door shut and pressed the start button, her dull eyes watching as the washer sprung to life, the gentle thrumming filling the air and drowning out the sound of her own thoughts.
The air hung stagnant, threatening to choke them.
“Have you told anyone about me?”
The question shattered the fragile stillness that had settled between them like a mirror, jolting Jaime from her silent reverie. she turned to face Christopher, searching his face for any hint of sincerity. But his expression remained inscrutable, a mask of indifference that offered no clues as to his intentions. It was only then that she noticed the crack in his glasses.
“That… That you’re…?” Her voice wavered, her breath catching in her throat.
“Yes.” He cut her off abruptly, like severing a rope in the middle of a tightrope walk.
She swallowed thickly, her saliva feeling like a thick dollop of butter, sticking to the roof of her mouth and preventing her from speaking. “No, no I haven’t.” She looked away, her eyes fixating on the spinning washing machine as if it held the answers she sought. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, knuckles white from the tension.
Christopher's lips twisted into a sardonic smile, "Colour me surprised," he drawled, his voice laced with a mocking edge. "I thought you would have run your mouth to half the college by now."
Jaime's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and hurt, his words like a dagger twisting in an already open wound. “What good would it do, Christopher?” She groaned, taking a slow, steadying breath. Christopher's gaze remained fixed on her, challenging.
“Selfish, as always.” The man scoffed, tilting his head in a slightly uncanny way. “You’re just trying to protect… him .”
Jaime’s eyes blazed. His arm jerked as he pointed at her, but it went deeper than that, like he wasn’t aiming for her, but rather, inside her. She swore she could feel the bone of his finger piercing through the firm flesh of her breast and pressing against her heart, causing the blood to erupt and float through her oesophagus. It was cold.
“That’s not fair, ” She spat, swearing that she could taste the iron, “and you know it.”
Christopher's smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. He shrugged nonchalantly, as if her pain was just another inconvenience. "Fair? When was anything about us ever fair?" He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, almost conspiratorial whisper. "I was never enough for you."
“And I was too much for you!” Jaime's voice rang out, the words reverberated between them, hanging like a storm cloud; she was the thunder. Her voice became a weapon, each syllable a dagger plunging into the unhealed wounds of their past.
He flinched, as though he had actually been stabbed.
“Maybe,” He sighed quietly. “But you never gave me a chance to prove otherwise.”
“Because you couldn’t accept me for who I am,” She finished for him, looking down into those hickory eyes, her gaze unwavering despite the tears threatening to spill over, “You looked at me like I was a stranger. Like everything we’d shared, every moment, every laugh, every tear, suddenly meant nothing. ” Her hands busied themselves with the hoodie, fingers gripping the fabric of a stained shirt as if anchoring herself to something solid while she drowned in her own sorrow. “You… You recoiled , Christopher. You couldn’t even look at me, let alone touch me. You made me feel like a freak, like I was something broken, something to be discarded!”
Christopher's eyes flickered with a mixture of guilt and defiance as Jaime's words pierced through him. "I couldn't accept you?" He snorted, his voice edged with bitterness. "How could you expect me to… embrace something that goes against everything I've been taught?” In a jagged, unnatural movement, one of his arms raised to his chest, where his crucifix always hung from his neck. It was not there. “You know how I was raised, Jaime. You know what my faith means to me.”
“I needed you, more than ever,” She felt ill, like she was about to vomit. She took a step closer to Christopher, a finger raised, ready to jab into him. “But you couldn’t. You chose your discomfort over my truth. You chose to walk away instead of facing it with me.” The tears she had been holding back finally spilled over, streaking down her cheeks as her voice shook with the force of her raw despair, “You left me alone in the darkest moment of my life.”
Christopher’s gaze flickered, his voice strained, “I… I wanted to be there for you, Jaime, I really did. But... but I didn't know how. I was scared.”
“Scared?” she laughed bitterly. “You think I wasn’t scared? You think I didn’t lie awake at night, terrified of losing everyone I loved, of being rejected by the world?”
She paused, her breath hitching as she fought to maintain her composure.
“But I faced it. I faced it every single day.” Her voice trembled, the words raw and jagged, like they were being torn from the depths of her soul. She wrapped her arms around herself, forcing the hoodie around her slim figure, as if trying to hold herself together. “And you , the one person I thought I could count on, turned your back on me.” Her voice broke, the betrayal evident in every syllable. She looked up at him, eyes glistening, “You chose fear over love. I loved you with everything I had.”
“But your love came with conditions, with limits.” The room seemed to shrink around her as she spoke, boxing her in as though she was trapped in a closet. The words seemed to pain her as she was forced to claw them out, they scratched at her throat as she croaked, “I deserved someone who would love me unconditionally, who would see me and still choose me.” A tear slipped down her neck, unnoticed, as she stood there, stripped bare of all pretence. The silence that followed was filled with the unspoken ache of a love that could have been but never was. She swallowed hard, forcing through the heavy lump in her throat as she pulled the hoodie closer to her face, taking a deep sniff of it, allowing the aroma to run through her system, soothing her spirit like a soft melody. Jaime took a shaky breath, her eyes never leaving his, as if daring him to refute, “But you couldn’t give me that. And that’s why we ended. Not because of who I am, but because of who you couldn’t be.”
The beep of the washing machine pierced the air like a shrill whistle, neither of them reacted as its rumble died out. Christopher seemed to take his first breath of the night, staring at the poster-covered wall as though he could see right through it into the beyond as the stars danced with each other in a vast, inky expanse. It was said that stars were the remnants of old loves, burning bright long after the hearts that kindled them had turned to ash.
Hickory remained fixed on that unseen sky, as if searching for an answer among the constellations. "Do you remember," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "how we used to watch the stars together? You always said they were like tiny punctures in the fabric of the universe, letting in light from the other side."
Jaime’s gaze softened slightly, the memory pulling her back to simpler times. "I remember," she replied quietly, her voice tinged with a sense of nostalgia, as though she had just stepped into an old toyshop, "And… And those who are wise shall shine like the brightness of the sky above; and those who turn many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever." Christopher turned back to face her, face akin to a deer in headlights. “Daniel, chapter twelve… Verse three.”
“You remembered?”
“I remembered.” Jaime confirmed with a slightly solemn nod, “It was what you said the night you kissed me for the first time.” She ran a hand through her pink hair, the roots beginning to show. It was slick with sweat, she felt disgusting. "I used to think that each star was a love story, shining bright even after it had ended. A testament to something beautiful that once was.”
"But we... we weren't like those stars, were we?" Christopher’s tone was laced with regret. He tilted his neck just slightly too far, "Our love didn't leave behind a light. It just... went out."
“No, Christopher.” Jaime shook her head slowly, her eyes glistening as they reflected the harsh fluorescent lights of the laundromat. She almost wanted to laugh. “We did leave a light. It’s just not the kind that guides or warms. It’s the kind that burns.”
The faucet continued to drip into the sink, each droplet reverberated around the room like a cymbal, yet no-one blinked or moved to stop it. The fragile peace was over before it really had a chance to plant its roots. He looked as though she had crucified him, hammered the nails through his bones and placed the crown of thorns on his head herself. A tear fell from his face like that of the blood his Messiah shed, they were indistinguishable.
“So, you really love Ambrose?” He asked, wiping the red from his eye, smearing it across his face.
The washing machine gurgled to life once more, it banged in the same manner as Jaime’s heart as she nodded, squeezing the aglet of the hoodie between her soft fingers.
“And you’d do anything for them… Anything to protect them?” Christopher took a step towards her, leaving a streak of atonement across the floor. His voice increased in volume, ringing in her ears like a bell tolling. It was as though there were several of him, everywhere she looked she could see his face, “ Anything to be there at their time of need? ”
She pressed her elbows into her bosom and cupped her hands around her ears, as if each finger were a stone in a crumbling wall, struggling to hold back an inevitable flood. She was a wounded bird, feathers ruffled and broken, seeking refuge in the underbrush, where shadows could provide a scant illusion of safety. “Leave me alone , Christopher,” slipped through her trembling lips like a ghostly whisper.
“ But I loved him! ” Christopher howled, torn and ragged, and rattling the bones of Jaime’s ribcage, as though trying to break free her heart. She did not bother to respond, she knew he wouldn’t be able to hear her over the echoes of his own torment. He chilled the entire room, causing her to shiver and almost buckle to her knees under the sheer intensity. “ He hurt me! He hurt me! HE HURT ME! ”
She felt his pallid fingers dig into her flesh, tearing at the fragile threads that held her together, threatening to unravel her completely. His touch felt like shards of shattered glass, tearing through the tender flesh of her heart, as though he was trying to turn her inside out. It was a visceral agony. She gasped, the air catching in her throat.
“They’ll find you, Christopher, I promise!” She wailed, forcing herself more upright. She knew she was taller than him yet his power was pulling her under and threatening to drown her. The air around them seemed to crackle with the thunder of her words. She heard everything, a prayer, a bang, a gurgle, a scream, a thud. Silence.
It was as if the universe held its breath, leaving behind only the eerie echo of Jaime’s own ragged breaths. The very ground beneath their feet grew unsteady. She swore she could taste the iron that spilled from every hole in his body as though they had kissed again. His presence flickered with an intensity fueled by a sorrow that time had not dulled.
“You promised me that you’d love me forever… Do you expect me to believe you?”
His eyes bore into hers, demanding an answer that she could scarcely give. She was forced to close her eyes.
His voice, though filled with anger, trembled with echoes. "Do you?" He demanded again, his voice softer but no less intense.
“Just rest, Christopher,” She pleaded, her voice quivering. “ Please .”
Jaime cracked her swollen eyelids open, like a clam revealing its precious pearls. She blinked, her vision blurry, and for a moment, she still saw him. The air around her was still, the oppressive presence now dissipated like mist in the morning sun. The room felt achingly different without him there and his blood on the floor, yet she could still see him. She was looking, for the first time, at the three new posters on the wall. They were all identical, save for the figures captured in a static, lifeless photograph. The edges were still crisp and white, they were only put up the prior week. The words "Missing" emblazoned across the top of each one seemed to shout into the silence of the room.
Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the words and turning his familiar features into a hazy, ghostly visage. She reached out, her chipped nails brushing against the paper, feeling the smooth surface beneath her fingertips. “Just… Just rest , Christopher… I’ll do what I can.”
She permitted her gaze to fall to the poster on the left, swallowing thickly as she met the doe-eyed stare of the photograph; their smile frozen in time, forever preserved in a moment of fleeting happiness. She traced the outline of their face as though trying to reassure herself of their existence as a sense of longing battered her heart. The paper felt cold and lifeless beneath her touch. She whispered their name, a fragile prayer into the echochamber, hoping against hope that somewhere, somehow, they were safe. She hoped to see that smile again.
The growl of the washer died out. As Jaime turned to gather her belongings, her eyes fell upon the discarded hoodie lying on the floor, abandoned in the frenzy of emotions that had overtaken her. Without a second thought, she dove for it, her movements frantic and desperate as she reached out for the fabric. Her knees scraped against the rough linoleum floor, sending a jolt of pain through her body, but she hardly noticed as she pulled the hoodie into her grasp and pressed it against her face. The scent of fabric softener and detergent that permeated the room filled her nostrils, but beneath it all, there was a void, a gaping emptiness where Ambrose’s scent should have been. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how deeply she breathed, the scent remained elusive, slipping through her fingers like grains of sand.
Jaime's grip tightened around the hoodie, her knuckles turning white from the intensity of her grasp. She brought it closer to her chest, pressing it against her heart as if trying to merge with the fabric, to become one with the memory of her lost love. But the emptiness within her only seemed to grow, expanding like a black hole that threatened to swallow her whole. A guttural sob tore from her throat, raw and primal, echoing through the empty laundromat like a wounded animal's cry. It was a sound born of agony so profound that it felt as though it might consume her from the inside out.
Jaime felt the sting of tears against her cheeks, Ambrose would always kiss them away whenever she was sad. Their mouths would meet with such tenderness and passion, igniting a flame within her that burned brighter than any star in the night sky. Now, alone, all she had was the bitter taste of sorrow on her lips.