***

Olive wakes up from a dreamless slumber. A soft alarm twinkles next to her head and the morning sun peaks through sheer drapes. She stretches and breathes in the peaceful silence. The brush of dawn casts its peachy rays and she feels a sense of somber content. Her phone calendar beeps an alert. It’s Monday, which means it’s submission day. The article she never started has to be submitted by 5pm. 

She routinely makes her way downstairs, greeting Elma and placing her regular order before getting to work. As the day progresses, she finds the ability to squeeze out a decent story, finishing before 5pm. Like every other time, she finds her inspiration in the rent that’s due and pile of unpaid bills on her kitchen counter. 

As soon as she sends in her story, another miserable assignment follows. 

The rest of the week goes by in a blur of coffee stains, takeout, nail biting, and cat litter. A thick cloud of normalcy rests over Olive’s days where her comfort should be. But, it’s Friday and nothing out of the ordinary enters her life and she can’t help but feel disappointed. She catches herself glancing at the door chimes more than once, waiting for them to jingle the way they did before. Sure people come in and out of the coffee shop but the chimes don’t sing for them the way they did for…Her. 

Before she knows it, it's Sunday. Saturday went by in a haze of cleaning the apartment and sorting through bills. She successfully makes it through the week without leaving the building save for her trips to the bodega across the street. She doesn't particularly feel proud of this accomplishment but she allows herself grace given the early week’s events. Events which plague her mind still. 

She continues to override her terror with a poetic focus on the sharp angles of the knightess.

My knightess? 

Anyway… her clothes—the way they fit her body—were so elegant yet striking. Her burly frame was soft yet dominating in her phthalo soaked attire. The various textures of fabric complemented the epicene quality of her features in a way that made it impossible not to stare. Her coat tails swayed like a cape against wind, enhancing her apparent heroism. The dichotomy of her existence was baffling. Her transcendent presence stood out against the grey of the world yet somehow, she maintained an air of stealth. No one seemed halted by her attack.

But still, anyone would lose their breath at the sight of her. 

It's not just me. 

The way she moved with fluidity and ease meant that this was not a chance encounter. This wasn’t her first rodeo. She was trained, she was precise, she was confident, She was—

By anyone’s means, she's stunning. I can't deny that.

Still.

From her nimbus of curls to her sharp stiletto boots, she was a perfect combination of obscure and imperial.

The way my knightess stood against the setting sun, her stance wide and her shaded stare set. She was yards away but the encounter felt so intimate.

What would I have done if it wasn’t for the car horn’s interruption? Would I have gone to her?

But then, she was inches away for just a second as she ripped that monster off of me and into the darkness一a darkness that, with her in it, felt safe; warm.

Why…? 

From the day we met I’ve felt this undeniable pull. 

In the cafe, when I grabbed her hand,  it felt smooth and also rough in places where calluses and scars etched her skin before an explosion of literal electricity overcame my body. 

I-I still can't wrap my head around it. So much has happened that I cannot begin to understand what any of it means.

Olive’s phone dings with a text alert:

Hey there! It’s Suds and Shine! 😊 Don't forget it's our Second Sunday Special! 30% off on all services between 10am-3pm on the Second Sunday of each month! 🫧

Olive looks over at her laundry, overflowing with clothes, and audibly sighs before checking the time. It’s already 12pm. 

She peers through the open bathroom door, catching her reflection in the sink mirror. Wearing a beige hoodie and sweats and her hair tied back in a low bun, she deems herself presentable enough for a trip to Suds. 

She grabs a bucket hat, some shades, and slips on her slides. After bundling up as many clothes as she could, she makes sure to fill Riley's bowl before heading out the door.

***

With one arm awkwardly holding the basket, she tugs her bucket hat lower and pushes her shades up. She wants so badly to become invisible.

What better place than a rundown laundromat in New York City right? 

It’s a short walk to the corner station where she takes the A train 3 stops over to Sud’s. The ride is bearable despite Olive’s rising panic. The train cars are full, but not so crowded that she can't stand without touching someone.

As her stop approaches, she widens her stance in preparation for the inertia. She steps off the train and her stomach tightens under the leering stares of 2 guys leaning against the exit stairwell. 

She quickens her pace trying to avoid eye contact and angles her body to get through but the exit is narrow and they clearly don't care to accommodate her and her basket.

It’s okay. It’s okay. This is just a regular subway obstacle. Same as always. 

Inhale.

Guys like these are intimidating but most of the time, they are not dangerous….just assholes.

Exhale.

Olive is forced to brush past them as one takes a long drag on his cigarette and blows it in her face.

Disgusting pieces of shit.

Olive tilts her head away to avoid the offensive odor before the sunlight touches her face. 

Not even 5 steps away from the station, a large and faded “Suds and Shine” sign hangs above. She shifts the weight of the basket to reach for a glass door that's too heavy to be convenient but Sean, the owner’s 7 year old grandson, is playing doorman today. 

When he sees Olive, he paints a big smile on his face and pulls the door open with all his might. 

"Afthah yoou, ma-ladyyy," he gestures dramatically. A lisp from his missing front teeth, does little to help his attempt at a British accent. 

Olive responds with an exaggerated, "Whyy, thank you, kind sah!" and offers as much of a curtsy as she can manage with an armful of laundry.

He jumps up and down bashfully and Naruto runs away. This earns him a verbal lashing from his grandfather and establishment owner, Mr. Owens. Seeing a familiar face, he gives Olive a nod and waddles back to his chair.

So much for “invisible”. 

Olive walks towards the first available machine, pulls out her laundry card, and loads in her clothes. She doesn’t own enough of any color to separate them or care enough to.

While the clothes wash, she decides to test her adventurous side by taking a walk to find a bagel and magazine for Riley.

Seeing her intention, Sean races by and pulls the door open for her again. 

“Quite the gentleman you are!” Olive boasts loud enough hoping to help Sean win some points back with his grandfather. She sees the old man chuckle and roll his eyes.

One thing about New York City  is, if you need something, it's around the corner or across the street. It doesn't take Olive long to locate a Deli that will have just what she's craving. 

Their postered door gives a “ding dong” sound as she enters and the cashier nods his head in greeting.

“Can I get a bacon-egg and cream cheese on an everything bagel? Toasted?” Olive adds.

The guy furrows his brow. “Cream Cheese??” His voice booms making sure to exchange a look with the chef. “Yadoyoumean?” he garbles.

“Bacon. Egg. And cream cheese on a bagel please.” Olive forces.

Did I stutter? 

“What? No salt? No peppa? Kaatchup?” His accent seems to get thicker with every word.

Olive signs with weakening composure. 

“Yes, salt and pepper. Thank you” She remarks dryly. 

“Ya hear that Rickie?” The arrogant cashier leans over the counter to yell at the cook. “The young lady here wants a bacon, egg and cream cheese on an everything bagel, toasted, salt and peppa-haha!” His last word bleeds into mocking laughter. 

Olive’s jawline clenches, imprisoning words that will get her bagel spat on. 

MOTHERFUCKING CONDESCENDING ASS SONS OF BITCHES!!

Olive’s tight smile earns her a wink from the cook. 

Ew

It doesn't take long for her to grab her order. The robotic doorbell sounds again as she leaves the chuckling bastards to their misery. 

I bet I am the most hilariously exciting thing to happen to them today. I doubt that no one else in the world has ever thought to order a bacon egg and…cream cheese. 

Argh!

I forgot Riley’s cat litter!

Refusing to go back in, Olive spots a newsstand back across the street and a little past the laundromat. She jogs past the slow moving traffic. 

The newsvendor is a short man who looks to be in his 90s wearing a fedora, thick frame glasses, and reading the paper. He doesn't notice Olive as she approaches. She uses the spare time to take a breath and gather herself before she blows up on someone that doesn't deserve it.

While doing so, she sees a shadow dancing on the rims of her vision. She jerks her head to the right but of course, she sees nothing.

“Oh!” The vendor does a little hop of recognition; pulling Olive back to her reality. “I am sorry dear, are you ready to check out?”

“No worries sir! I was still looking.” Olive skims the magazine covers before capturing her target. “Ah! Here we go!” she announces in a forced, cheery tone. 

The time-tested vendor assists her in glacial silence but Olive doesn't mind. She has time to kill.

“Thank you!” she nods before heading back to Suds. 

This time, Sean doesn't beat her to the door. She walks in to see the place has gotten more crowded and Sean is hovering over an ipad in the corner. 

Already exasperated by the day, she swiftly switches the load and sits against the wall while her clothes dry. She takes the time to eat her bagel, ruffle through CelebSecrets Weekly, and check her emails. It feels like another week is rapidly approaching before she's had a chance to recover from the last. 

Her machine buzzes and she knows it's time to go home. She skips folding and leaves as she came, with a pile of clean clothes in her basket. Luckily it's only 3pm and still bright out. She has to remind herself that although not impossible, the odds of anything happening to her in broad daylight is slight. 

Her journey home is brief and free of interruption. She decides to pop through Elma’s to say hi before going upstairs. When Olive opens the door, Elma is behind the counter, her back turned as she brews some coffee. 

“Hey Livey, how’s it going?” she greets without looking back.

“How do you do that?” Olive teases. Elma always seems to know when Olive is coming through the door, usually without even having to look up. Olive relaxes as she takes in the familiar scent of what she considers an extension of her home.

“Mother’s intuition.” Elma retorts matter-of-factly. “It's garbage night. Can一”

"I got you, Lola. I'll settle in for a bit, then bring mine down with yours. Don’t wait for me, I’ll take care of it." Olive says warmly, using the Filipino term of endearment to show her respect.

With that, she adjusts the basket on her hip and heads toward the stairs of her apartment.