Bleach Burn On Fingers Novels & Stories

Large iron pots boil on open flames; the water bubbles vigorously. The strong, bitter scent of bleach and harsh soap fills my lungs, making my head spin. My hands, already peeling from the lye soap I used earlier, burn the moment I plunge them into the scalding water. My ribs throb with a dull, radiating pain every time I lift a heavy, waterlogged sheet to twist it against the wooden scrubbing board. Sweat drips down my face, mixing with my tears. I'm alone, trapped in this harsh reality.

He crouched down to clear the glass pieces scattered around the floor. "Shit!" He cursed when one shard pierced his finger. He lifted himself up slowly and plodded towards the bathroom, careful not to step on the splinters of glass. Neal put his wounded finger under the flowing water. It stings. He hissed in pain and searched the cupboards for the first aid, but it was nowhere to be found. He sighed and looked at the wound. His throat also felt dry. Maybe if he could find the kitchen he can get some water and a bandage or something? Neal nodded to himself and exit the bathroom. He hesitated for a moment before opening the door, the hallway was empty.

The festival would be beginning in just a few hours and I still had to get ready. Once Elijah returned to his work outside, I headed upstairs to take a bath. It was a bit of a challenge to undress with my injured hands, but I managed, sinking into the warm water with a sigh of relief. Alone in the bath, I examined my bandaged hands. The gauze was already spotted with pink where the burn cream had mixed with fluid from the blisters. I’d have to be careful today, avoid shaking too many hands or doing anything strenuous, but it would be fine.

"I’ll take care of her." --- Back in the cramped servants' quarters, I examined my hand under the faint glow of the single overhead bulb. The burns from the tea spill were worse than I’d realized. Angry red welts covered my palm, the skin blistered and raw. Emily whimpered as I tried to move my fingers. The pain was sharp and unrelenting. Wolfsbane-laced silver didn’t just leave marks—it left memories.

Blue stiffens instantly, letting out a sharp hiss. I yank my hand back immediately. "I'm sorry—did I—did I hurt you?" My voice cracks. "I didn't mean—" She's already looking down at her palm. A perfect red welt blooms across the center, the shape of my fingers, angry and blistered. My heart shrinks. Before I can speak, the burn fades, the skin knitting together in seconds, looking smooth and unmarked again. Blue flexes her hand, then she flashes me that easy grin.

I’m standing in the bathroom, the harsh fluorescent light reflecting off the mirror as I examine my wounds. Angry red burns mark the places where the metal rods touched my skin, leaving painful blisters and scorched flesh. There is still the strong smell of rubbing alcohol from the so-called medic who was called in to tend to my wounds. I wince as I gently probe one of the wounds with my fingertips, feeling the raw, tender skin beneath. I don’t want to think of how I got myself into this unfortunate situation where I just made a deal with the devil who had his friends almost electrocute the skin off my bones.

I thrust my hands directly beneath the scalding, punishing stream. The heat bit into my skin instantly. It burned, but I didn't care. I wanted it to I grabbed the soap dispenser. I pumped it three times, four times, five times. I aggressively rubbed my palms together, friction heat mixing with the boiling water. I scrubbed between my fingers, under my nails, up around my wrists, until the lather turned a dull, heavy grey with the soot from the hospital room. The ash from the fire that had almost killed her.

“Clean it again.” My mouth opened slightly, words bubbling at the edge of my throat, but I bit them back. I knelt with the mop, dragging it carefully over the tea-stained spot, my fingers close to the heat. Then—another splash. This time not on the floor. A searing burn screamed across my skin. I cried out—an involuntary, sharp gasp of pain as the hot liquid struck the back of my right hand. The mop fell from her grip. I jerked back, cradling her hand. The skin pulsed red and raw.

SEVEN The slippery liquid burned my lips as soon as it made contact. It was as if I had lit a match and brought it to my lips. Quickly, I moved the bottle away and wiped my lips with the back of my hand. My tongue accidentally brushed my lips. The bleach tasted awful. I retched and spat on the floor. The awful taste lingered on the tip of my tongue, but I had another problem. There was a burning sensation in my eyes. Tears swiftly flooded into them, causing my vision to be blurry. I pinched my hospital gown and then wiped my eyes with it.

She took another sip of the water through a straw, the cold drink feeling good against her rough throat. “Yes, honey. You’ve got some pretty bad burns on your fingers, and they think they may need to do a skin graft. I’ll let him explain it to you, though.” Bree raised both eyebrows. She had no idea it had been that bad. She vaguely remembered sticking her hand out as they went through the doorway, and that it had hurt something awful, but she didn’t realize it was so bad. “Can I get you anything else? How’s your pain?” “I’m fine, thank you,” Bree said. She felt a little nauseated, but she didn’t know if that was because of the injury or the news she’d just gotten.