[ WP ] A woman who works in a dry-cleaner fantasizes about the customers lives through the stains on their clothes

Everyday I wake up at 4am to fix our meals for the day. It's just me and Pete now. Life has come to a standstill ever since Jay left us. My days are packed, still they feel so empty. We run just to remain in place nowadays, a neverending list of chores to do. I'm exhausted by evening, but the bed holds no comfort for me. No drifting off to a dreamless sleep here, once the sun sets, all my fears fan themselves out and smother me. 
 
 
 I work at Wendy's Quickie. Yeah. Dan, the owner's a smug douche, if the name was n't enough of a giveaway. I operate the second-hand machine 10 hours straight everyday, it's hard back breaking work. This too has settled into mind numbing routine. Check pockets, separate the light coloured clothes, and always tag, tag, tag the suckers, load the machine and get started with the next batch. Today was different though, one of our regulars dropped in her laundry. Normal college aged girl, wavy brown hair, pretty slightly nervous smile. A good kid. Her clothes were normally plain and purely functional, thick cotton shirts and jeans. Today, however, there tangled in plaid and denim, was an impossibly airy white lace dress. There was a few spots of red speckling the back. Huh. That was weird. I applied a mild spot cleaner, tagged it and threw it into the batch for the lights. Fresh out of the laundry, the lacy little thing looked perfect, virginal and pure. I ran my hands over the fabric, the delicate lace snagging on my many calluses. If only... 
 
 
 She came by three days later to collect her clothes with another (! ) batch. There were more dresses than normal. A new boyfriend maybe? All of them were curiously virginal, pale and delicate and slightly juvenile. Completely different from what she normally wore. She was distracted too, nervously fiddling with her cellphone. I remember when I met Jay the first time, this was n't what a girl with love on the horizon looked like. All her clothes were smeared with the tiny red spots. Blood splatter. 
 
 
 I did n't know what to do. 
 
 
 It took her a week and half to return for her clothes. She'd lost weight. The skin on her wrists, the little that peeked out her black sleeves, was rubbed raw, a brilliant crimson against the pale skin. I could n't help myself, I was worried sick,'Anna, is everything alright? Are you alright?' Her eyes widened,'What? How do you..? Well, yeah.. everything's fine. Wait.. how do you know my name? Are you one of Christian's...?' 
 
 
'You are always talking to yourself, Anna.. be like this.. or Anna, do n't do that. It was n't that hard to figure out.' Her relief was palpable. She laughed nervously,'It's so nice of you to ask. I'm good, better than ever' I could n't keep my big mouth shut though,'Who's Christian and why do you sound so scared of him?''O.. He's uhh... I'm sort of seeing him. He's wonderful. I'm just a silly nervous wreck, that's all.''Well, you take care of yourself, you hear?' She was n't listening though, her attention was on her cell. She smiled at me, a strange little smile, full of what seemed to me, misplaced hope.'It's him. I need to get going!' and she ran off, her bill forgotten. 
 
 
 I wish I could say that she returned the next week, or even the week after, her eyes shining with happiness for hopes realized. But she never did. I do n't know what happened to her. The cops came by and collected her clothes. But they'd already been washed and were once again pure and virginal.
