La's Totally Awesome Cleaner With Bleach นิยาย & เรื่องราว

I nod slowly as I'm giving my approval. "Maybe we should shower, then bleach the sofa. Will bleach damage the leather? Do you have leather cleaner? I can give it a good scrubbing. If not, I can go to the shops and get some. It won't be very hygienic with your ass sweat on it and…Er other fluids." What the fuck? Isabella shut the fuck up. I finally look back up at him to see if he noticed I just lost the plot. Maybe I'm the one on crack and I don't even know it.

Peter Ambrose was a ghost who left an impeccably structured wake. I shuffled into the kitchen, the oversized gray slippers clacking a rhythmic, lonely beat against the pristine stone floors. The mess from my late-night sugar raid had completely vanished. The spilled Lucky Charms, the melting pints of ice cream, the black char from my burnt toast—all of it had been erased, likely by some silent, specialized cleaning crew that operated within the precise parameters of Peter’s empire. The white quartz island was so clean it practically mirrored the overcast Seattle sky bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling glass.

Everybody has gone, even the rest of the guards. A car horn startles me and I quicken my attempts at searching for where the bleach is kept. I walk into the kitchen and I look around frantically. I see a small door and I jog towards it and open it. Bingo! There are shelves of soap, disinfectants, other products, but most importantly, bleach! I grab the small gallon of bleach and I jog back out of the kitchen quickly. As I walk through the living room so I can go upstairs and prepare the syringe, I spot Robert talking to someone at the entrance of the house.

And besides, what pleasure would it be to do things well? I stop next to him. I don't smell her scent right away, so I know I'm not close enough. I look at the board. There are still a few weapons to clean, and as silly as it sounds, I'm not afraid. He could hurt me today as much as he could at other times. LeBlanc cleans the gun barrel with a soft cloth. His hands are dexterous and soft, like those of someone who has been doing this for many years. He places the grayish piece on the table, takes another weapon and begins to clean it.

It gave him something to do. He reached the storage cupboard near the gymnasium, unlocked the door with a jingle of keys, and pulled out his pool-cleaning trolley—a bigger rig fitted with racks for towels, spray bottles, and disinfectants. He set the smaller classroom unit aside, humming as he worked. “I love the colourful clothes she wears…” he sang under his breath, the Beach Boys tune lifting his spirits.

“Go on, darling. I’ll clean this up.” He leaned over his desk to pull out a container of wipes. I glared at him. “I thought you said you didn’t have wipes.” He laughed and turned the tube around. “I mean if you want to clean your vagina with bleach, be my guest.” He held out a wipe to me. “Here you go.” I pulled my shirt and bra up to flash him my breasts. “Asshole, now you can’t touch these.”

Now the skies were a lot clearer and it was much safer to walk. From such a high vantage point Caroline could see all the way to the edge of the city. Sitting grumpily in the atmosphere were the Cleaners; large blue egg shaped ovals a few metres around. Suspended in the air by the same propulsion system as the fliers, Cleaners did exactly what the name suggests; dirty air would get sucked into them, and then nanobots would go to work, removing all dangerous substances until the air came out as clean as a whistle.

We ran to the car and hid it in the back and ran back to the house to clear any evidence. "Bring the bleach and I will get something to wipe it off with," I said running to the kitchen, "That would be too obvious. They can smell the bleach," he said stating the obvious, "Obviously, but that's our only choice," I said grabbing the paper towels, "We can just use the dish soap," he pointed at the dish soap, "That would smell too," "Not as much as the bleach," he said and grabbed the dish soap running with it, It took us five minutes to clean the floor and wipe off any evidence. The house smelled a little like dish soap but we ignored and ran outside.

Lance asked, following me down to the hospital as we spoke. “It’s not something that you will understand if I explain with words,” I said nervously. The image of his drawer flashed in my head again and my smile got brighter. “Try me,” he insisted. “Okay, he poured bleach on his mate’s clothes. Trying to fix his mess and entire problem he went online to look for a solution and he saw where they asked him to use soda. Then he poured soda all over his drawer,” I said it all in one breath. Lance took a second to comprehend but then he said, “What?!”

He whispered. I didn’t respond because my attention was drawn to something else. My eyes were fixated on the bucket of water right next to the cleaner and in that bucket was blood mixed with water but rising above it was something else. Oil! They say oil can’t mix with anything, especially cooking oil. The cleaner dropped the mop in her bucket. “I’ll go get bleach and disinfectant to get rid of the smell,” she told Miles and left. I turned to Miles. “We came just on time. If we had wasted a minute, she would have cleaned up the entire place and we wouldn’t have gotten any evidence,”