How Do I Get Bleach Smell Off My Hands Novels & Stories

I skip back to Grey and he magically brings out some wet wipes and clean my hands gently and then he brought out an alcohol spray to disinfect my hands. "We can go now." I told him in which he nodded. Once we entered his shiny car and I am securely buckled he bring out a small tube ang squeeze out a white substance. "What's that? It smells like flower." I said in wonder. He hold my hand and starts to massage my hand with it. "This is a hand lotion that is also use by my mother. It was highly recommended by my dad. My dad always apply this to my mom's hands everyday. The scent is called sweet pea."

Every second that ticks by is another chance for someone to walk in, to see this nightmare. I stumble toward the kitchen, my legs unsteady, the pain in my head a constant drumbeat. The linoleum is cold under my bare feet, and I brace myself against the counter, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. I need to clean this up little by little before they arrive, at least enough to buy time until he and his crew arrive. I yank open the cabinet under the sink, pulling out a bottle of bleach, a sponge, and a pair of rubber gloves. My hands tremble as I slip the gloves on, the rubber snapping against my wrists. The smell of bleach stings my nose as I pour it onto the sponge, the liquid sloshing ov

The gloves didn't help at all. I sighed while looking at my uneven nails and the need to trim them in the salon carved in my head. But because I smell like sweat. I decided to take a cold shower. I spent over an hour in the bathtub soaking in lavender and vanilla to get rid of the dust and stench from the construction site. When I was satisfied and felt that my body was clean again, I went out of the bathroom with only my towel on. Nicholas isn't there either, so even if I get naked. It's fine.

But the lemon smell is overpowered by the horrible scent permeating the room. “What’s that awful smell?” I say, waving my hand in front of my nose. “It sucks to have a sensitive wolf nose right about now,” Callan says. “This is bleach. It’s the only thing I could think of to get the bloodstains off the floor.” “Is Ethan okay?” I ask, sitting my backside on one of the chairs. “Other than a bad hangover, he’ll be fine by tomorrow.” Callan grabs a pink-stained towel and wipes the water and bleach from the floor.

When the heat finally settles in, I step under it and let out a slow breath I did not realize I was holding. The water hits my shoulders first. I sigh. It takes time to scrub everything away. Blood stains my skin darker in some places, especially around my hands, arms and face. Dirt clings stubbornly under my nails. I work methodically, soap foaming thick as I clean myself inch by inch.

With every touch she seems to relax more and more until I’m afraid she might fall down. But I’m not done. I reach for the ledge and take a lavender-scented body soap and pour a generous amount into one palm, then rub my hands together before beginning to rub her down.

And in the deafening silence that followed, he knew deep down that he had no answers to the tormenting questions that plagued his soul. As he stood in front of the washroom mirror, his reflection stared back at him with steely determination. With a slow, deliberate motion, he turned on the faucet, letting the cool water cascade over his blood-stained hands. The crimson swirls dissolved into pink tendrils, spiraling down the drain. From the first aid kit, he retrieved a bottle of lotion and applied it to his skin with a casual flick of his wrist. The scent of aloe mixed with the metallic tang of blood, creating an odd but oddly comforting aroma.

The room now had some light, dim light. But it was better than using the light from my phone. I retrieved my medical bag and opened it. I removed this disinfectant solution and scrubbed my hands up to my elbows. I use this medical cloth in my kit to wipe and dry my hands before putting on a new pair of medical gloves.

Heaving one last time, l washed my whole face with water and antibacterial soap that was provided by the airport stuff. The hand soap was really harsh but I had to wash my face to get off the semen and urine. People still entered in the bathroom but I ignored them , l just went on with washing my neck and hands with the hand soap. After a moment of thinking, l thought about of washing myself together with the clothes. Though people few people were now entering inside, l didn't shower quickly. The scent in the bathroom was becoming nauseating. It smelled vicious and l needed to leave to give them space.

The sanitary smell of cleaning disinfectant and lemon bleach – the air is pungent with it. Wherever I am, it’s silent, only the sound is the beep, beep, beep that’s already slowly driving me insane. And the sound of my own breathing. I listen closely for any other sounds and smell the air around me. There’s a lingering scent of jasmine and lemon grass that makes my heart rate pick up. My mate has been here. The beep, beep, beep sound increases to the same rhythm of my heart. It’s a heart rate monitor, which means I’m in a Hospital.