Dirty Laundry Mga Nobela at Kwento

Day 19. "All Jenna wants is dick. You should have seen how she was all over Chad that night," Kizzy hissed, pouting in front of the tall mirror as she toyed with the belt holes leather pants she was trying on. "It was just disgusting to see her hoe around like that." Amanda looked up from her phone which was currently glued to her ears, it had been that way since we entered this store. From the quiet laughter and gentle flushes on her cheeks, we didn't need a soothsayer to inform us who she was on the phone with.

She looked down at the scarf stained with coffee and took it off to walk into the bathroom to clean it. As soon as I entered, I caught sight of a red mark on the button area of a men's shirt in the dirty laundry basket. Leanna's hopeful heart instantly plummeted into despair. I was washing up and taking a shower in the bathroom earlier, so I didn't notice this. Now that I see it, it seems particularly glaring. She stepped forward, picked up the shirt, and looked at the red dye printed on it. It was obvious that it was made from lipstick. Leanna tightly gripped the shirt, her fingertips turning pale.

My hands pressed into the wood, my knuckles white, as I whispered a frantic prayer. “Lord, cleanse me. Wash this filth out of my mind. I am Yours. I am not this woman. I am not.” But my body… my body wouldn’t stop trembling. Because the truth? For one wild, reckless second… I liked what I saw. I grabbed the phone again and my thumbs flew across the screen. Gloria: Don’t you ever send me something like that again. This is disgusting, sinful. You need repentance, not this filth.

His skin glowed with a bronze hue, a striking contrast to the shadowy corners of the room, and despite the chaos that had unfolded, he looked almost ethereal. I turned away, feeling an urgent rush as I tore off the blood-stained scrubs. The fabric clung to me, a grim reminder of what had transpired. As I poured laundry soap into the washer, I could hear my mother’s voice echoing in my mind, her insistence on using cold water and stain remover ringing true. “No trace of this moment should linger,” she would say.

Why did they have to cause more problems for me and how in the hell am I going to clean this large Shaggy rug? By the time I had cleaned all the water away, I had carried the rug outside just at the back of the maids’ region. I had asked Miss Dorota for the washer but she refused saying it was my fault that I had dirtied the rug, of course, she gave a few insults but as usual, I ignored them. The fabric was so hard to clean that I scraped my hands a few times leaving my skin a little bruised and red. My hands were burning, making a few tears leave my eyes and just then, I began thinking about my life.

No way to clean this up in time. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK."

That is, until I went to his room to gather the dirty clothes from the night before. Even in dark colors, the bloodstains were glaringly obvious. The soft, smooth fabric felt incredibly luxurious, which made me nervous about cleaning it. “If this were a regular t-shirt, I’d just toss it out and be done,” I sighed, feeling the weight of the task ahead. I carried everything down the corridors to the laundry room, where two maids seemed to be just killing time. They were talking loudly, laughing, and making comments until I felt them approach. I tried to ignore them. I already had enough problems—I didn’t want to be treated like the scum among the house staff. That would only make my life there

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.”

“Shit. Move.” Jake smirked, pulling up his waistband like we weren’t seconds from being caught. I scrambled for the washer, grabbing the forgotten detergent bottle just as Ryan’s footsteps hit the hallway. Jake leaned against the dryer, looking as calm as ever. I hissed at him, whispering, “Say something! He can’t see me like this—” Ryan’s head popped in. “There you are.” I turned fast, clutching the detergent like it was life-saving. “Oh—hey. I was just…” I lifted the bottle, forced a smile. “Laundry.”