Will You Catch Me If I Fall?

It was as I stared at the daunting pile of dirty clothes in my room that I realised that sooner or later, I was going to have to get off my ass and do the laundry sooner or later…as it seemed that if it got any higher, it would fall over in the middle of the night and the fabrics would kill me with the intoxicating smell of drugs, sweat and alcohol.
And I would soon be walking around naked, having no clothes to wear…

I’m sure people would love that…actually, I can think of a few that would…

I grabbed as much of the pile that I possibly could in my arms, and ran down the stairs, jumping the last two steps, as always, and raced to the basement which held the useful inventions.

I tossed the clothes into the machine and then the adequate amount of powder. I pressed the buttons needed for functioning and waited for the usual clanking sound and then the whirring noise that indicated your clothes were being washed.

But I was received with silence.
Nothing.

I frowned and repeated my actions.
Nothing.

I kicked the machine.
Fucking nothing.

I grumbled to myself and went in search of her I call my mother.

I found her drinking a cup of tea and staring at our “buttercup yellow” kitchen wall. What an interesting wall…not.

I sighed loudly and my mother jumped and looked around wildly, then spotted me

“I need to wash my clothes”

….

“And the washing machine isn’t working…”

She looked at me quietly, and I looked back…not feeling the need to roll my eyes at her sweet ass time with answering or sneer back at her. I felt as if she were studying me and I felt self consciousand ashamed of the tiny black shorts I was wearing, and the white tank top. Why? I have no idea.

“Mom?”
“The machines broken. A mechanic’s coming on Thursday”

It was Monday. Great. Now I was going to have to haul it all the way down to that launderette a million blocks away.

I sighed again and turned away, knowing this was the most conversation I would be exchanging with my mother for the next week.

“Addison”

I looked around, surprised she had actually said my name…decided to talk with me, to start a conversation.

“Yes?”

She just stared at me again. There was something in her eyes. Pain? Disappointment? I don’t know. I don’t think I want to know…

“Nothing” she whispered and went back to staring at the wall.

I felt myself disappointed and hurt she hadn’t talked to me. I hadn’t talked…really talked with my own mother for three years. It hurt. It hurt bad.
What was she looking for? Traces of Stephanie perhaps? Or maybe the girl I used to be, before the accident, before Stephanie’s’ death. Well that girl was gone. She died along with her sister and she wasn’t going back. Ever.

I managed to stuff all my clothes in need of a scrub in a red rucksack I owned from my camping days with dad and Steph and I made it to the launderette via several buses within the hour.

Luckily, I did know how to do my own laundry. After the car crash, I more or less had to fend for myself. On the rare occasion, I’ll find a cooked meal left out for me. I rarely eat but if I find it, I will eat it. The gesture means a lot to me…it shows I’m not totally forgotten. Not yet anyway.

I quickly sorted through my clothes and made the necessary arrangements (whites, delicates, colour and so on). I had remembered to bring a book with me and sitting near the back of the business, I opened it up and quickly immersed myself in the fictional world.

I didn’t bother to look up when I heard the ding of the bell, signalling someone else had joined me in the washing of clothes, I just turned a page of my book.

I did look up when I heard nothing from the person, not the rustling of a bag or the opening of a machine.

There was a tall, dark haired man with his back turned to me…but I could see he was staring at a box of washing soda in his hand and fabric softener in the other.

I couldn’t help but laugh and he turned at the sound and I chuckled again at the confused and “Help Me!” look written across his face.

“Would you like some help?”

His sigh of relief was audible from the other end of the room where I sat
“Thank you!”

I rose from my chair, putting away my book and took the stuff from him and we both looked at each other as our hands brushed. I had to contain my gasp of shock and excitement as I recognised his face, those dark blue eyes, the snake bites, that soft black hair. It was him. My beautiful stranger.

We looked away at the same time and I cleared my throat awkwardly. Did he recognise me? I didn’t think so…

I turned and smiled “I’m Addison”

He smiled back and I almost fainted. It was beautiful. Just like him.
“Trace”

“Nice to meet you Trace” I said, trying to remain calm.

He turned to his washing, which was lying in a black bin bag.
“So…what do I do now?”

I laughed
“Well we need to separate them”

He moaned “Separate them! If I knew it was this much effort I would have gone to my parents place”

I gasped “Asshole!”

He laughed “Chill, I’m joking…c’mon, lets get started”

I shook my head in mock disgust but then sorted his clothes with him.

It didn’t take long and I had a good time making him blush at his Superman boxers which he quickly grabbed from me and tossed into the colours pile.

It struck me halfway through that it had been a long time that I had truly had this much fun, just talking and laughing. It was different with Annie. I was just using her. I didn’t expect her to hang around for long.

But I wanted to know him. To know Trace. Who he was, what did he do? What did he love? What did he hate…?

It disturbed me. I had spent the last years trying not to care, deliberately going out of my way to not care, to control my feelings of anything but utter disinterest. He had to come and ruin everything.

I had to get away from him.

I vaguely heard Trace ask a question

“Sorry?”

“I said do you go to Vibe often?”

Vibe was the club. The Club. Where he had seen me, where he had danced, gelded together on the floor and where we had kissed, connected…

I found myself wanting to close my eyes and play it before me. The way the light had danced in his eyes. The way he had licked his lips when he had first seen me alone in the crowd, beckoning him over, not knowing hat he would do to me. The way his piercings had felt deliciously cold against my hot skin.
Better, I wanted to relive it. I wanted to grab him, press my lips against his own and move with him, feel him with me again.

I had to get away. I couldn’t feel like this. Not me.

Not me.

“I have to go…” I grabbed my bag and my finished laundry. I had been waiting wit him for his. Again, I didn’t wait with guys…what was happening to me?

“Are you okay?”

“Yes…I have to go” I was already halfway out the door

“But your book?” He had it in his hand…

“Keep it” I called , my words lost as the door closed and I sprinted up the street in a frenzy to get away from him, not bothering to look back to see him staring at the door, a confused and sad look in his eyes.

I got home and collapsed in my room…my hands were shaking, my breath was short.

I rocked back and forth…trying to control the tremor in my body.

I reached out for the bottle of vodka under my mattress and with shaking hands, unscrewed the lid and swallowed quickly, letting it fill my empty stomach.

He had run away from me last time. Left me alone.

This time, I had run.

He couldn’t be with me. I was bad news. Troubles

He was messing up my sync. My composure. My attitude of complete recklessness.

He couldn’t be with me.

How could anyone?
When I could hardly stand myself.