Bone Hurting Juice Memes Novels & Stories

On the day my dad, the Don of the Capone family, comes to the orphanage to take me home, I show up in a tactical helmet and a bulletproof vest. "I'm not going home with you. You're definitely doing this to trick me into getting married to a perverted old geezer in a marriage alliance. I bet my adopted sister has made preparations to start fake-crying anytime by loading up on her eyedrops." My dad is amused, to say the least. "Why would any of that happen? Silvia is nothing but welcoming you to our home! Also, our family isn't a lowly organization that deals with human trafficking." But I refuse to believe my dad at all. On the way home, I keep typing something on my phone. My mom, the Donna, leans over curiously. "Are you writing a diary entry?" "Nope. I'm writing tips on 'How to Survive the Mafia.'" 1) My food will definitely be poisoned. 2) If I get close to a staircase, I'll definitely get pushed down the stairs. 3) I'll get framed for something that I've never done before. My parents swear to me that none of the things I've written will ever happen. They tell me that my adopted sister, Silvia Capone, has a great personality, and things are amicable in the family. However, everything changes when Silvia brings me a glass of juice before lunchtime and insists on watching me drink it. Instead, I dump the juice into a nearby vase of flowers. Just as my parents are about to scold me for wasting the juice, smoke begins drifting from the flowers inside the vase. Then, they start wilting rapidly. I calmly leave a bright red checkmark behind the "poison" tip. As my parents stare at the dead flowers, they can feel color draining from their faces. "You should send the juice to a chem lab for analysis."

On the day I was supposed to donate my bone marrow, my mother called me. “You’re pretending to be sick again? We’re just asking you to donate some bone marrow. Why are you acting like we want you to die?” My brother agreed. “How could you be so horrible? You owe her this one! Even if she’s asking you to die, it’s because you deserve it!” Even my boyfriend could not hide his anger. “It’s just a bone marrow donation. We’re not asking you to die. How could you be so selfish?” They did not know that I would indeed die if I donated my bone marrow. Since they wanted me to die so much, so be it.

My sister ate the half plate of mango I had left on the table and broke out in hives from her allergy. My brother stormed over, pried my mouth open, and poured the mango juice straight down my throat. "You love mangoes so much, don't you? Today you'll get your fill." The juice flooded my lungs. I choked, fighting for air as my throat swelled in agony, begging him to save me. Instead, he turned and locked me in the basement. "Betty suffered because of you, so don't expect any comfort. Stay down here and reflect on what you've done. Growing up without any real guidance. No wonder you're so vicious." Two days later, my mom remembered me. "Ralph, that's enough. Let Catherine out. If she stays there much longer, she might start resenting Betty." My dad chimed in casually, "What's the big deal? Just buy her something nice to make up for it." My spirit clung to his back, floating along with them toward the basement. I'd like to see how they were going to compensate a dead girl.

When I was seven, my father brought home a beautiful lady who gave me a mango. That day, my mother watched me happily eating the mango while she signed her name on the divorce papers. After that, she jumped off the roof of our building. From then on, mangoes became the nightmare of my life. So on my wedding day, I told my husband, Alan Holt, "If you ever want a divorce, just give me a mango." Alan pulled me into his arms, quiet. From then on, mangoes became off-limits for him, too. On Christmas Eve of our fifth year of marriage, Alan's childhood sweetheart, Larissa Fennimore, left a mango on his desk at the office. The very same day, Alan announced he was cutting ties with Larissa and fired her from the company. That day, I truly believed he was the man I was meant to be with. Half a year later, I flew back from overseas, having just closed a partnership deal worth about 200 million dollars. At the celebration dinner, Alan handed me a drink. After I had finished half the glass, his so-called childhood sweetheart, the woman who had been kicked out of the company, stood behind me with a big grin and asked, "Does the mango juice taste good?" I stared at Alan in disbelief, and he was trying hard not to laugh. "Don't be mad. Larissa insisted I played a little joke on you. I didn't actually give you a mango; I just gave you a bottle of mango juice. But I think she's right. The fact that you don't eat mangoes is a real problem. You were really enjoying that juice just now." My face went cold. I lifted my hand and threw the rest of the mango juice in his face, then turned around and walked away. Some things are never a joke. I wouldn't kid around with mangoes or divorce.

My sister is diagnosed with leukemia after a medical checkup at the hospital where I work. My bone marrow is a match for her. Out of curiosity, I tell my family I'm the one who's sick. They vehemently oppose to her donating her bone marrow to me. "A bone marrow donation is risky! We can't let your sister put herself in danger." "Don't drag your sister into this just because you're sick. Everyone's life and death is fated—you have to accept your destiny." My sister also refuses to help me, brushing me off with the excuse that she's preparing to conceive. My relationship with my family is strained, so their behavior thoroughly destroys it. When I realize this, I leave the diagnosis report behind and walk out on them.

My mother-in-law, Claire Rogers, had taken a turn for the worse with her leukemia and slipped into a coma. The doctors said she needed a bone marrow transplant urgently. I called my husband, Martin Hughes, the hospital director who had access to the bone marrow registry. All he had to do was sign off on the match, and she would be saved. Martin answered right away and drove straight to the hospital without a second thought. However, halfway there, he got a mysterious call and vanished without a trace. I watched Claire Roger's heart monitor grow weaker and weaker, frantically dialing Martin's number 99 times. On the 100th call, he finally picked up. My voice was shaking, panic bleeding through every word. "Martin, Mom needs the bone marrow transplant. You're the only one who can authorize the match. Please, come back!" All I heard was his quiet breathing on the other end. Before he could say anything, Waverly Tucker's voice cut through the silence."Darling, thank you so much for doing my bone marrow transplant surgery! How about I repay you with my body?" My phone slipped from my hands and crashed to the floor. So, that was where he had been all this time, performing surgery on Waverly. While I desperately needed him, he had abandoned his family to be with another woman.

On the tenth day after I perished in the avalanche, my husband finally remembered me. His first love was suffering from aplastic anemia and urgently needed a bone marrow transplant—one that only I could provide. He came home holding a donation consent form, ready for me to sign, only to find the house empty. Kelly leaned weakly against him. "Vanessa must really hate me. She doesn't want to donate her bone marrow, so she ran away on purpose, didn't she?" "Maybe we should just forget it," she sighed. "I can hold on a little longer." Caden gently comforted her, his heart aching. "I won't let anything happen to you." "It's just a bone marrow donation. It's not like she'll die from it." Then he pulled out his phone and sent me a message: [No matter where you are, come back immediately and sign the donation consent form.] [Don't be so selfish! Kelly is seriously ill. If she doesn't get a transplant soon, she'll die. It's just bone marrow—I'm not asking for your life!] [If you keep refusing, I'll stop paying for your mother's medical bills!] Caden… I died the moment you walked away from the ski resort with Kelly. The avalanche buried me and our unborn child beneath the snow. My mother, in her desperate attempt to save me, was torn apart by wild wolves. How could you not know?

Amelia Prescott needs a paycheck, not a death wish. But when a desperate nanny agency drops her into a snowbound mansion with a brooding Russian mobster and his unnervingly silent daughter, she discovers that danger wears expensive suits—and keeps juice boxes in the pantry. Dmitri Volkov doesn’t trust strangers. Especially not ones who talk too much, smile too easily, and make his daughter laugh for the first time in a year. But the storm outside isn’t the only threat coming, and protecting what’s his might mean letting someone in—for the first time since he lost everything. A glitter bomb romance where chaos meets control—and hearts learn how to speak again.

*Story on hold* Sarah attended a ball, her parents had forced to go to the yearly pack’s masked gala. She got drunk and hooked up with the pack’s Alpha. She got pregnant and her father sent her out of his house because she wasn’t going to say who impregnated her. She had her reasons for keeping it from her dad. On getting to the Alpha’s house, she met him pounding hard into Valerie, the pack’s bully. He sensed her presence, and rejected her as his mate on the spot…

“Are you the Alpha’s wife? The one he refused to make the luna of our pack?” “Stop that Ava, you are being mean to my sister-in-law.” She said to her friend but she wasn’t truly scolding her, they were all mocking me. She then faced me, “I will ask my brother to let you come to more of these events instead of being cooped up in his office with paperwork so the pack members know what you look like so they don’t treat you this way in the future,” She chuckled. ******* Bella's life changed from being the only daughter of a merchant to the wife of an Alpha who refuse to mark or coronate her as his Luna because she was a full blooded omega. One day he took in a mistress with the excuse that he wanted to have full-blooded Alpha pups, setting her as an object of ridicule in their pack.