I was entirely against the idea of going to the laundromat.  It was 2 a.m. and we were in the sketchiest part of the city, six blocks from the car, and I had left my gun in my other purse.   

Chris and I had been studying for hours and he neglected to mention the fact that he needed wash what seemed like six months worth of dirty underwear before the next morning.  An insurmountable task for Chris, because he had never actually washed a single article of clothing in his life.  So I was asked at 1 a.m. if I would be opposed to going to the laundromat for an indefinite amount of time.  Which is ridiculous.  Isnt it?  What if I had plans for 1 a.m.?   And what if they involved sleeping? 
But I walked to the car, handed him the keys, and accepted my fate. 
The laundromat he suggested was dusty and half-lit and looked like it had only been used by gang members.  The rusted door took several tries to open, as if it had recently been painted over, and made a disconcerting rattling noise when it finally gave. 
I really wanted to leave, as soon as I stepped in.  Tell Chris that this was past my responsibilities as his friend, and go home. 
Only a third of the machines were “operational”, the rest were barred shut, with black electrician’s tape, and scribbled construction paper signs.  The cheap linoleum floor was mysteriously sticky and made walking difficult.  The best I could manage was an awkward mog.
We set down the garbage bags that Chris had opted to use for laundry baskets, and I rubbed my hands where the red chords had dug in, and took a deep breath.  It smelled strongly of mold, burnt lint, and fabric softener.
It was completely deserted.  Garbage littered the corners of the room.  I swear a tumbleweed must’ve rolled by.   
Chris had the nerve to turn to me and smile.  I was going to kill him.  Strangle him with his nasty socks, and laugh while I did so.
“Nice place,” he said, unable to contain his snicker.   
I had no response.
“So what exactly are we doing?” Chris was beyond lost, but entirely too enthusiastic, as if late-night laundry was his favorite pastime. 
He walked over to one of the machines, pulled on the lid with a little too much force.  It hit, swung open, and then shut.  Narrowly missing his fingers.  He turned and gave me an embarrassed grin.
“Coffee,” I instructed him and then pointed to the door.  He was definitely not going to be more helpful than caffeine.   
He looked at me and c***ed his head..  He didn’t drink coffee, and certainly did not approve of my drinking it at 2 a.m.
“I really don't think…” he began to reason with me.
I was a big boy and didn’t need his say-so.  I gave him the most formidable glance I could muster, and he stopped. 
He must have realized how serious I was because he took the twenty with great haste and turned towards the door.
“Yes, sir,” was his reply as the door made its clattering noise upon his exit.
And thus, I was left alone with a pile of dirty laundry in a very dangerous part of the city going on 2:30 in the morning. 
I emptied one of the badly stretched, saggy garbage bags and began the slow, tedious process of sorting Chris’s disgusting laundry.  I didn’t even know he had this many clothes, I thought as I put them into large piles.  He only wore the same three hoodies almost every day.  And yet he had managed to dirty every piece of laundry he owned since he left home for college a month earlier.
I caught a glance of myself in the large window.  I looked defeated.  My hair was too long, and dark circles stood out under my eyes.  I looked unhealthy, and sickly.  Tired.
College was putting me through hell.  And work was even worse.  I was clearly on the fast track to a nasty case of mono, but I never really got a break…….
Something moved in the reflection in the glass.  I didn’t exactly jump, but I awkwardly shuddered and spun quickly.  So yeah, I pretty much jumped. 
I looked closer, thinking it was on the other side of the glass.  A serial killer, or an agitated mobster was most likely coming to get me.  I was dead.  But nothing was there.  I looked again in the reflection. 
It was a little girl sitting in a folding chair by the door.  She was next to the vending machines in the midst of a particularly large pile of garbage.  She had her hands folded, and she was swinging her feet that hung several inches from the floor. 
She was staring at me with a curious expression, as if questioning every one of my movements with avid interest. 
She lifted her eyes to mine and I was instantly stunned, she was captivating.  She looked almost like royalty, with the highest cheekbones and the roundest eyes.  
“What are you doing here?” I asked. I tried not to sound too formidable, I didn't want to scare her.  She looked like she would break if I spoke too loud. 
“Well its raining outside…” She looked at me and blinked as if this was a perfect explanation for her being here.   She was completely unphased.  As if the kindest people hung around the laundromat at this hour. 
“Yes, it is,” I tried to make myself seem as kind as possible, but she really had me rattled.  Where did she come from?
“So I came inside.” She was extremely condescending.  This situation would be laughable if it didn’t make me so uneasy. 
“Where is your mother?” I said it with my softest voice.  I didn’t want her to think I was harassing her. 
All the sudden she looked very confused.  A deep crease appeared in her forehead and her mouth fell open. 
A loud, insistent noise came from behind us.  I spun around and scooped up the little girl and ran towards the back, as the battery of the door continued, someone was trying to get in. 
This was it I thought.  I was dead.  An angered serial killer was behind that door, ready to murder me and this little girl.  This little girl who was confused by the idea of a mother.  Who was habituating laundromats in the wee hours of the morning.  We were dead….
The door sprang open and Chris stepped inside, looking perfectly innocent, if not a little wet. 
“Did you know it's pouring outside?” he said, acting extremely surprised for someone who was soaked. 
The little girl let out a giggle, and untangled herself from me. 
“He didn’t actually.” She turned with a smile. “He’s not terribly observant, too busy staring at his own reflection.”
I let out an audible breath.  My heart was still pounding.  However, for the sake of my dignity, I just walked over and grabbed my coffee.
“Took you long enough,” I said with little force as my adrenaline winded away, leaving me more tired than before.
The little girl giggled, and flounced over to Chris.  
“How are you little lady?” Chris had a smile plastered over his face, he obviously liked her.  I couldn’t even begin to understand him.  He didn’t even stop to question the fact that there was a little girl here, completely nonplussed.   
“I’m great, just talking to your friend over here, the twitchy one.”  I swear she just batted her little eyelashes at him.  What a little angel.  I wanted to toss her in the washer with Chris’s, boxers but I contained myself. 
Chris sat in one of the folding chairs against the wall and the little girl sat next to him and resumed her feet swinging.  I didn’t even begin to know how to deal with this situation.
“What's your name, darling?” Chris, obviously wanted to be one a first name basis with the estranged youngster we met at the Bubble and Suds. 
“Lucille.” She beamed up at him, and he grinned right back.
I decided to allow them to amuse each other.  I popped in my headphones and turned back to the laundry. 
I grabbed the detergent and Chris’s “whites” and started for the washers in the back.  He really had better appreciate this, I thought to myself..  He was clearly having a good time.  Although I couldn’t find fault with that, because Chris usually managed to have a good time one way or another.  Hence the endless heap of soiled laundry.
Chris was never fully committed to anything difficult.  His attention span was too short.  So as Chris went through life, he left behind him an endless path of dropped classes, failed relationships, and forgotten hobbies.  If it was too difficult or tedious, it was out of the question.  Of course he wanted to try everything.  Sample.  But as soon as they lost their flavor he spit them out.
I could here Chris laugh over my music.  Lucille was definitely intriguing.  
The first machine I opened had a pair of moldy jeans plastered to one side.  They were obviously long abandoned, and the smell was intense, almost like a corpse.  I wondered who claimed to “maintain” this establishment. 
I tossed in the laundry and what was probably an overdose of bleach and as my song ended listened, puzzled.  Chris and Lucille's banter had ceased.  Which was weird because Chris was always talking, and from what I’d gathered about Lucille, she was a kindred spirit. 
I gathered up the basket and started over toward the door to investigate. 
I stepped around the machine on the corner and I let out what wasn’t quite a scream.  The scream that my body had wanted to let out was choked back by my panic, and what I think was shock.  The noise I made was a wail caught between fear and despair.    
Lucille was in Chris’s lap, with his wrist to her mouth,and there was blood every where.    Chris head was lolled back against the chair.  His eyes were half open, and all the blood had left his face.  I was almost positive he was dead.
Lucille still latched to his arm, doing what can only be described as drinking, Chris’s blood.  She moaned as the blood poured out of his wrist and pooled around her mouth.
I backpedalled away unable to look away.  My eyes felt dry.  My mouth hung open.  I blinked and my vision blurred with the sudden change.     
Oblivious to my existence as she sucked the life out of my best friend.  The sound it made was awful.  A disgusting squelching sound that turned my stomach. 
She seemed feral,animalistic.  Like vultures picking the skin of a carcass. Twitching and jerking, unnatural, harsh and hideous.   
Lucille looked up at me and smiled, blood coated her teeth.  She put me in mind of sharks, and wolves and all things rabid.  I felt nauseous.  I wasn't sure if the coffee was gonna stay down. Her eyes were different.  No longer blue and honest.  They were primitive and vulgar, extremely detached like something was loose in her head.  She had a trail of Chris’s blood down the corner of her mouth.
At that exact moment Chris jerked forward.  His eyelids fluttered and  he made a noise like he was drowning, his head flopped to the other side. 
“Shhh”, Lucy hushed him like he was a finicky baby, and pressed her finger to his lips.
I doubled over and the contents of my stomach were on the floor.
Lucy giggled with her dead-eyed condescending stare.  Somehow that giggled hit me harder than a roar would have in this instance.  I realised just how inhuman this little girl was.  Looking back I suppose, she could be called as a vampire.  But this seemed more animal.  Somehow primal instead of otherworldly, and in no way romantic and gothic. 
  I doubled over and the contents of my stomach were on the floor.     
I was shaking.  I nervously shifted and it felt like my knees were going to give out.  My lungs felt constricted as my breathing became faster and faster.  It heaved out of me almost violently, rank with my vomit.  Sweat dripped down my back and I could hear a deep throbbing in my ears.     
I didn’t run.  My steps were slow and I could feel the blood running up and down my legs.  The door handle was slick with my sweat when I grasped it.   The door stuck, and my heart flew into my throat.  It gave with what sounded like a gunshot and I stumbled over the door jam.  I walked down the road, freezing as my sweat froze on my body.   My pants clung and steamed, where I  had retched.  But I kept walking.  Leaving my best friend.  
She wasn’t coming.  I stopped and looked back at the window, she looked like she was shaking.  She wasn’t mad, she wasn't coming. She was laughing at me.  Sitting still in Chris’s lap, stroking his face with deep genuine laughter.
I didn’t stop……..