Novel & Cerita Dirty Laundry

I wash the blood and dirt off my hands and arms, then I scrub the blood that seeped through my pants and onto my legs. When I’m done, the pail of water is nearly black. I’ll let her make whatever she wants of the filthy water. I find a second pail and pour half of the water into the pail that I was supposedly vomiting in last night. Then I shove the cloak in it, trying to wash out the sickening scent of death. I go into my closet, not feeling nearly clean enough, but not having any other option at the moment, and I pull on a nightgown. Then I crawl into bed and fall into an exhausted sleep.

The familiar old paper scent I knew was the first thing to welcome me. “I'm sorry… I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have left”. Memories of our past together flashed in my eyes. If we don't end up finding him, I couldn't imagine how life without him would be. When Draven arrived, his face went pale at the sight of the hall. He took the nylon bag and crouched to inspect the stains. “This isn’t random,” he muttered. “This looks planned.” “What do you mean?” “I mean whoever did this wanted it to look like a struggle but it’s too clean. Your father would’ve fought back.”

“It’s hard to mind your business when someone’s sneaking around the backyard with a trash bag like a serial killer.” I turned, forcing a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. “It’s just laundry.” He raised a brow. “Laundry that needs to be set on fire?” “There were… stains.” I looked away, feeling a little heat crawl up my neck. Not from embarrassment—from irritation. “Bad ones.” His eyebrows lifted like I’d just told him I found a dead rat in my sock drawer. “Stains?” “Yeah.” “Let me see?” I didn’t want to. Not even a little. But against my better judgment, I handed him one of the shirts from the bag. One of the worst ones. The white one with that dried, crusty blotch near the hem

that's a red flag - he might like kids. LonelyGirl: 😂😂😂 you are bad. LimberJack: very. now back to the original question princess. LonelyGirl: I reread our chat...often. LimberJack: and... LonelyGirl: I had to throw away my panties. LimberJack: why? 😉 LonelyGirl: you're evil. it turned me on so much that I soaked them. 💦 💦 💦 LimberJack: now there's my naughty girl. that's so hot. so you worked camando. 🥵

I couldn't believe I fucking did that! It took about ten minutes under the cold water before I felt calmed down enough to get out. I was shivering, but thankfully, my cock was no longer straining against my sweats. I was a dripping wet mess, though. It took me quite some time to clean up. Tossing my clothes in the laundry, I avoided my daughter's panties for a long time, like they were a poisonous snake. They were still crumpled on the bathroom floor. But I finally grabbed them and then stuffed them in my sock drawer with the others. Maybe I really did need some therapy.

Death fingered my poppy red trench coat as if it were a spoil of war. “Second,” I said, pushing him off me, “I get all the laundry you haven't done in a century and toss it in the washer with pink dye and lavender detergent.” “You wouldn't,” he growled. “Fuchsia death robes, bitch. Wholesome and squeaky clean. You'll smell like a perfumed cadaver.” “Playing dirty, I see.” He wedged his knee between my thighs. I compared our combat boots and decided mine were cuter.

My grocery list, the one I scribbled yesterday, is pinned under the bag, every item checked off. My heart’s racing now, and I back up, bumping into the counter. The washing machine hums softly from the laundry room. I stumble over there, yanking open the door. My clothes... my dirty clothes, are spinning in a fresh cycle, the scent of detergent thick in the air. I didn’t start a load. I didn’t do any of this.

I realized that the person I was talking to was the only woman in the room who didn't participate in Vera's pranks. Knowing that the woman was only a little gruff but with no ill intentions, I replied. "Yes, I'm done here." She was thrashing a shirt still covered with soap bubbles, shaking her head. "These enslaved people are already dirty after wearing less than a minute. You don't need to waste time cleaning; make it look good." My hand hanging the shirt froze slightly; I stroked the faded bodice. Even though I didn't know how to wash clothes before, I still try to clean them today because my brother hates dirt; he loves cleanliness.

There was a narrow linen chute door near the floorboards, meant for the laundry staff to drop dirty sheets down to the basement washing rooms. It was a tight squeeze, but my nineteen-year-old body was lean enough to slide through the steel opening. I grabbed my canvas backpack, squeezed my shoulders tight, and slid backward into the dark metal chute, letting myself drop straight down into the belly of the hospital. The fall was short, landing me on a massive pile of damp white towels inside the sterile, buzzing laundry basement. The air down here smelled of bleach and industrial soap, completely empty of any guards or doctors. I scrambled out of the linen bin, checking the pocket of my black

“Joke’s on you. We’re going to win. And when we do, these boys are taking off their clothes and skinny-dipping with us while you clean our dirty clothes with your tongue.” My brows lifted. “You’ve been watching too much reality TV.” “I have this crazy feeling one thing’s going to lead to another and I’m gonna get that hockey boy money.” “Sure, Molly,” I said, flashing a cold smile. “Keep those dreams alive. Meanwhile, I’ll be living in the real world where your team of girly girls has no shot at beating a professional hockey team.” Something flickered behind her smug mask. A tremor. A flash of what if I’ve messed up.