BITE BACK

Bells clanged above the front door. Heavy footsteps pounded against linoleum, pink hair darting between washers. Mona skidded around the end of the row, shoes squeaking, and crouched down. The chill of the washer’s metal side bit through her shirt. Adrenaline and giddiness coiled around each other until her lungs felt too big for her chest.

The sudden burst of noise had a short woman flinging open the office door and quickly rounding the corner. One sleeve was pushed up, the other stuck halfway. She leaned through the service window, headphones swinging from her neck as her head whipped around. Dark eyes locked on to Mona. “Can I help you?”

Mona ignored her clipped tone with a grin. “Yeah, I need to hide here for a bit.”

“…Hide.”

Mona hummed, peeking over the washer behind her. “I ran into my ex. You know how it is.” As she sat down, her eyes caught on the sharp angle of the worker’s bob. Uneven bangs hung in her eyes. “My friends are trying to distract him until he leaves.”

The woman looked Mona over, then took in the empty laundromat. None of the machines were running, leaving the building quiet enough for Mona to notice her ears ringing. Quiet enough for yelling to creep in through the windows, near-clear even from several storefronts down.

With a sigh, the woman closed her eyes, rubbing a fingertip between her eyebrows. She jerked her head towards the office. “If he comes in, he’ll see you there.”

Mona scrambled to her feet. The woman barely had time to jump aside before Mona was vaulting over the narrow counter and tumbling into the office. Cold fingers dug into her arm to hold her steady. An adrenalized giggle bubbled up; Mona patted the worker’s hand before holding her own hands out in front of herself, wrists up like she was handcuffed. “Stow me away, captain!”

The woman let her hand drop. For a moment, she simply searched Mona’s face and amber eyes, exasperated, like she was looking for a break in the illusion. The corner of her mouth twitched. A quiet snort broke through her nonchalance, and she gave Mona a toothy grin. She grabbed one of Mona’s upturned wrists and tugged her through the office door.

Tucked behind the office was a cramped storage space. “Here,” the worker nudged Mona towards a dysfunctional dryer, “sit and I’ll grab our first aid kit.”

Mona watched her disappear through another door before heaving herself on top of the dryer. Her feet swung through the space of a missing front load door. The short minute it took the worker to return was enough for the adrenaline in Mona’s veins to dissipate. Her knuckles throbbed. A relieved smile at the woman stung and pulled at her cheek.

The worker flipped a light switch and turned with her mouth open, halfway to speaking. The first aid kit slipped in her grasp, hands batting it and clutching it to her chest. “Jesus, the lighting in the main room sucks. Was the guy wearing knuckledusters or something?” She took a step forward; Mona ducked her chin with an amused huff. A hesitant finger nudged at her jaw and she moved with it, tilting her head to give the woman a better look.

“You should see the other guy, or whatever.” In Mona’s periphery, the woman rolled her eyes with a slight shake of her head. When the hand left her face, Mona cleared her throat. Her right hand flexed in her lap. “I’m Mona, by the way.”

The woman hummed, already digging through the supplies. “Jackal.” She pulled out a couple items, lining them up by Mona’s hip.

Mona snorted, and grinned when Jackal slid her a look, eyebrow raised. “What are you, mafia?” Jackal rolled her eyes again, smiling as she turned back to the supplies. Up close, rows of piercings glinted along the curve of her ear every time her hair shifted. Mona hooked her ankles together and stretched her legs out. “Oh, I know! Yakuza transplant!”

That earned her a full-bodied, punched out laugh. Jackal’s shoulders curled as she tried to pour rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball. “Wow,” she said, dragging out the vowel. Then she nodded to the bruising hand in Mona’s lap. “Says the one running into my store to hide from someone you provoked.”

Jackal braced a hand on Mona’s chin, and the latter sucked in a breath. “Okay, okay. Fair enough.” Her nose scrunched as the sting of alcohol caught the edges of the cut on her cheek. When Jackal pulled back to reach for something else, Mona let her eyes fall on her hands, following her careful movements.

The fingers returned to her chin. Mona closed her eyes. “It felt so good.”

The slide of cold ointment paused.

Arms wrapped tight around Mona. Breath hit her left ear, opposite of the cut. “I know.”

Jackal methodically cleaned her cuts. Ointment eased into her skin, soothing apologies at every hissed breath. A bandage wrapped snug around her hand, woven between each knuckle.

Soft conversation eventually cut off at the buzzing of Mona’s phone against the dryer. One glance at the screen, and she gave Jackal a tight smile. “Coast’s clear!”

Jackal guided them to the front of the laundromat. She leaned against the counter. Two men paced outside the windows, stopping at the movement in the store. One of them waved. Jackal couldn’t hold back a snort at Mona’s emphatic wave in response.

Mona threw a look over her shoulder. “Thanks for the cover.” She hesitated, before pulling Jackal into an embrace. “And the stitch up.” When they stepped apart, Mona wore a bright grin, cheeks flushed. She punched Jackal’s shoulder and flew out the door, tackling one of the men before walking out of sight.

Jackal sighed. She looked back at the storage door through the office. In the bottom of her vision, a scrawl of pink handwriting tugged at her attention. A string of numbers, written directly on the counter.