Everything.

Mr. Unise told me I wasn't supposed to wash out the washers.

Imagine that... Three washers in, and you find out you were indeed, mislead...

"No no no, not for another two weeks, Rebecca. I understand your enthusiasm towards it, but..."

"Janet told me you wanted me to!" I protested and something changed behind his eyes. "Janet? Well..."

"It's fine." I put my hands up in defeat, "It's fine, hey, do you need me to work late tonight? "

"Yeah, sure... Just... Please, don't trash another washer." He faked a frown and laughed, I narrowed my eyes at him and forced out a sarcastic laugh. "I'll try not to..."

~~~

Like any other night, I listened to the radio, flipped through drama magazines and waited for the next customer, so by eleven, the store was vacant. I was waiting... Well, some part of my mind was still hoping Mark would appear.

And he did.

It was almost eleven, the sky ashy and foggy outside, fog sweeping the streets of Atlanta, when the little bell above the door chimed. In came a hooded figure, his movements were tired, he wore a dirty pair of jeans, which I noticed had patches of crimson splattered on them. And his hands, as they tossed in what looked like a t-shirt, were speckled the same.

I recognized the man, or I hoped I did. I trusted I did enough that I called out. "Mark?"

He looked up at me, "Oh... Hey, Rebecca."

He was hurrying through his work unlike he had in his previous visits. Concern creased my brow and encouraged me to approach him.

"Jesus!" I exclaim, grabbing his hand to examine it, "You've got blood all over you, what did you do?!"

"Relax..." He replied calmly, withdrawing his hand slowly to continue washing the one shirt, so casually, as though the mass amount of blood on his clothing, hands and exposed face had no effect on him. "Remember when I told you I was an actor? This was part of my job."

It sunk in... And I started to feel foolish, but suspicious nevertheless. "What job were you doing?" I was still fighting the hysteria in my voice as I looked at him carefully. "And why didn't you wash it off before coming here?! You almost gave me a heartattack!" I accused him, trying to keep my voice low in case Mr. Unise was camping out at the top of the steps since my outburst.

He flashed a brilliant, crooked smile. "Sorry, love... Sorry." He ducked his head and hurried to check his laundry.

"Why have you been avoiding me?" I blurted out bravely, ignoring what he had called me, no matter how it sent my heart stuttering, I looked at his face closesly for a sign.

"What?"

"I saw you last night... At that coffee shop, you looked right at me, and said nothing." I explained, feeling more and more pathetic as I went on.

"I had to get back to work." He replied with a shrug. "I worked later last night than most nights, we were shooting a scene in the woods, and... Doesn't matter, I'm sorry." He apologized sincerely, the glasses making it hard to really take it in.

"How come you never take off those glasses?" I demanded, my questions for the ever-mysterious Mark flowing freely, now. "It's really hard to get to know someone when they're... Always..."

"Always what?" Curiosity colored his tone as he leaned up against his washer and faced me.

"Always hiding!" I snapped as the word came to mind. "You can't imagine how much your eyes can hide."

He chuckled. "I keep 'em on around you, because I don't think you could handle the truth." He says, shrugging again. His vaugeness annoying me on another level.

"What's that supposed to mean? I don't care if you're an axe murderer, just stop being so vauge. How could I not handle the truth? I had never seen you before in my life until that night you came in here!" I threw my arms up in agitation.

He chuckled, his expression amused as he watched me figure this out. "Not yet, anyways. You have no idea when our paths crossed? When for a few moments, we talked to each other like normal people?"

"You said you only did minor jobs." I muttered in reply, unsure what else he had lied about. "Next, you'll tell me your name isn't really Mark." I crossed my arms and half glared at him with uncertainty. There was something familiar about him, I was just scared to place it.

"Well..." He scratched the back of his neck nervously.

"No!" I exclaimed, waving my finger at him, "No, none of that! No more mysteries to keep me awake at night."

That really amused him... "I keep you awake at night?" He asked, tilting his head, a cocky smile sliding across his face. He was really enjoying himself, now...

I glared at him, running out of frosty things to say. Mark wasn't Mark, some other man I had encountered once in my life. An actor?... Someone I'd spoke to like a normal person. Well, that's difficult, because I talk to everyone like a normal person.

"That's not the point!" I exclaim, "I've given you answers to every question you've ever asked me, and you won't even tell me your name!" I shout in exasperation, clapping my palms against my legs.

"Please understand..." He says slowly, grabbing my hands without permission, "Rebecca, I'm doing it for your own good." he wore a smartass smirk, and was treating me like a child.

I snorted at that. "You don't even know me." I muttered, withdrawing my hands and dropping them to my sides. "You don't know how I'd react, stop making decisions for me."

"I've only made this one." He tacked on matter-of-factly. "And don't worry, I won't need to make anymore decisions for you, you seem to be perfectly good making them on your own." The smug smile on his face hinted at something.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" I demanded in annoyance, flashing my eyes at him angrilly.

"I think you're in a 'mood'."

I widened my eyes at him in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

He chuckled and turned back to the washer. I couldn't put together a cuss or name bad enough to make him upset or even annoy him. Not nearly on the level he had annoyed me. I watched him carefully, his hands fidling with the dials, not a trace of tension or dis-ease in his presence. Finally, I shot him a cutting glare, because no acidic words I could throw at him would do much damage.

"I'm just simply implying girls get snippy when they're having a mood, that's all." He said with a shrug as the washer booted up with a rumble. I looked down at the bubbles building against the glass window as I waited for him to decode some of that.

I snorted. "You're just wrong. I'm always having a mood, you've just never noticed." I say, shaking my head. I want to be right, and I want him to be wrong just because he's annoying me.

"Oh, don't worry, I'd know." He replied like a smartass, flashing another bright smile for my disgust.

"Quit with the runarounds, what are you so afraid of? That I'll want to be your friend because your famous? Because I'll use you for money and fame? I never wanted to be famous, Mark, or whoever you are. My Dad raised me to work for myself, not to ride tailcoats to the top. If I ever wanted to be famous, I'd do it my way, not from hanging on you." I sighed at last, crossing my arms loosely across my chest as I stared into the dark lenses of his glasses, reflecting back at me my own look of defeat.

He didn't look like he knew what to say in that moment, he only studied my face very carefully. I walked past him, and dropped into one of the torn, sagging couches in the waiting area next to the dryers, and crossed my knees, looking back up at him.

"I came to Atlanta a couple months ago to be a photographer. It was something I really enjoyed, and something I bonded with my Dad over, I wanted to make him proud... Even after he was gone." I shrugged limply, only breaking eye contact for a moment to look down and gather myself before I continued.

"It worked, for a while... Then I ended up here, just so I didn't have to go home. I didn't want to go home. To that broken house, where I could hear my mother's sobs echoing throughout the house, even years after his death. I had to get away, and Atlanta was my only ticket. I didn't get famous doing photography because I couldn't, I didn't because it wasn't meant to be." I finished matter-of-factly. Feeling like I'd just put it in perspective for my own understanding.

"And what?... You were destined to work here?" He asked quietly, his smugness gone as he slowly crossed the room to sit down across from me in a metal folding chair, leaning forward, hie elbows pressed on his knees as he waited for an answer.

I shook my head slowly. "I don't know why I'm telling you all of this..." I sighed, and looked away. "You shouldn't have to listen to this sob story, you should be livin' it up with your pals."

"You'd like them, too." He pointed out, "They're not as bad as you think."

"Why does it matter? I'll never know who they are, because I'll never know who you are."

I seriously thought I had him cornered with that one, because his expression changed and he looked ready to tell me. Then it changed, and twisted up into a wicked grin. "Nice try. Hey, I'll give you my number, and we can keep in contact, but that's it. Alright?"

I narrowed my eyes at him a bit as another plan formed in my mind. "Fine." I agreed, getting up and going to the counter, bringing back a piece of stationary and a ball point pen. As he began scribbling down the digits, and moved forward quickly and reached for his sunglasses and hoodie, really expecting myself to succeed, all it took was for him to knock my hands aside like a doll, his other hand not drifting an inch from the paper as he continued to look down and write.

"Nice try." He repeated with an amused tone, ripping off the paper and handing it up to me with a crooked smile. I half glared back at him with curious eyes. "I try." I replied sarcastically.

The washer dinged and he rose, shrugging past me in the small aisleway and headed back to move his things to the washer, while I stared down at the simple paper, with two phone numbers written on it, one said 'home', the other 'mobile.' I tucked it safely away in my pocket and followed him.

"Will I see you around again?" I asked while pearching on the dryer as he moved a bundle of shirts over.

He shot me a grin. "As you wish... Probably a few more times before I head home." He replied, a frown forming.

"Home?" I echoed in surprise, assuming he lived in Atlanta, or somewhere nearby.

"Yeah, I only come to Georgia a few times a year to film, rest of the time, I'm in New York or California."

I nodded, and watched him adjust the dryer settings, slightly jealous of how free his lifestyle was, he had the means to go anywhere he wanted, any time he wanted and for however long he wanted without consequence. I... I was just grounded here, at this stupid Laundromat.

I was quiet for the rest of his visit, processing everything he'd said, looking for a connection, still rooting for an answer even though he wanted more than anything for me to drop it. He snapped me from my daze when his stuff was done and he needed it rung up. As he was shoving his stuff into a plastic bag, another customer walked in.

"I'll see you around." He waved to me from the door, "Goodnight, Rebecca." I waved back, but he was gone. Mark was no longer Mark, and I was more confused than I thought possible.