Problem Solved Bloody T-shirt Novels & Stories

Then I hold the yellow blouse up next to the screen, comparing every inch. The neckline — with its delicate string tie. The long sleeves. The soft cotton fabric. Identical. My chest tightens. This is the same shirt. I take a deep breath to steady my nerves, then slip a razor blade from the inside pocket of my coat. In one quick motion, I press it gently against the back of the blouse, slicing through the fabric. A clean cut — then, with my fingers, I tug the tear wider, making it look rough and accidental, like the cloth got caught on something.

We can buy a new one if it is not salvageable, " Sidastir said and received a grim look from Akana as an answer. "So, you can mar one more shirt? Absolutely not. From now on, you can use this shirt in Sword Arts. It is already ruined, so more blood will not play any role in future grievances but put on black pants next time. The blood is not visible in dark colors and tells Magnus that he can try at least not to draw blood, "Akana finally mumbled and ignored Sidastir's sullen expression. Sidastir threw himself on the bed and let his arms wrap themselves around Akana's waist.

Blue resolved to burn her clothes. She managed a weak smile as the man gripped her sides and tugged her into his chest—and as he spoke, she felt her heart throb in disgust. "But I'm going to want a favor from you one of these days... and you don't get to say no," Resolving to scream for help, all she could do was nod as she had, knuckles cramping as she clutched at the counter behind, knees buckling in sheer terror.

I spin around, ready to rip the head off whoever dared to make such a sound. A small woman, dressed in a once-white shirt—now just a tattered, blood-stained rag—staggers toward me. Her mouth hangs open in a muted scream, her eyes wide. She throws a mean punch with that tiny fist, her face emotionless, expressionless, full of blood. I let her take the shot. She totters to one side before she can land the hit, and I catch her in time. “You’re alright. I got you.” I smile to comfort her. “You’re safe now.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, shutting the door behind me, happy to have something that I could comfortably sleep in. It was also a bonus that it smelled of Theonardo. However, as I held up the T-shirt, my eyes widened, and I held back a scream, noticing what the T-shirt was coated in. Blood. I threw the piece of fabric to the floor, stumbling backwards, nausea wavering through me. I knew that I had probably about thirty seconds until someone came upstairs after hearing my strangled yelp, and I quickly snatched up the T-shirt from the floor.

he asked as she started to pull at the hem of the shirt she was wearing. “I need something to put on the wound to stop the bleeding,” she repeated very patiently. “You're not going to get naked here—” “I'm not!” she exclaimed. “I just need to tear this shirt so... why is this so damn hard to tear? It looks easy in the movies.” He snickered. “Stop. Use this.” And he started to strip his shirt off… his body. “What are you doing?” she asked, very suspiciously. “Use this. It's got blood in my back already, so it doesn’t matter. I have a lot and I can walk shirtless. You can't.”

Dawn shook her head. “Let’s start with the good news.” “We have actual clothes. I found two of your shorts in here. They probably got mixed in with mine,” Maxwell said. “But the only shirts we have are these.” He pulled out one extra-large T-shirt with a print that read: [I Put the ‘Max’ in Maximum Pleasure] “And this is yours,” Maxwell said, showing a small-sized shirt that read: [I Survived the Max Attack!]

"Then why are you bleeding now!?" At first, Mila just wanted to make sure that Aaric wasn't fooling her with stupid stories about non-human beings, or using a trick that could cut the hem of her shirt without injuring her at all, but now that she saw how Aaric was bleeding, Mila felt like she was indeed stupid to trust him.

With that fake-apologetic tone of his, he said, "Sorry. It was just a harmless joke, you know?" The spot he held was right where Tristram had bitten me a few days ago. The wound had nearly healed, but now it throbbed again, and the sharp, itchy pain spread as Glen's grip tightened. The more I tried to pull free, the harder he held on, until I finally jerked my arm loose. He stumbled backward, and Rhea rushed to steady him. She shot me a look full of disgust. The pain in my wrist made it hard to even speak. My brow furrowed tightly as I tried to catch my breath.

They have no idea what’s crawling beneath the surface, what’s simmering inside my mind. As I get closer to the hotel, I realise the blood on my shirt is a bit too... obvious. So, with a twisted grin, I pull the shirt off, bundle it up, and tuck it under my arm. No need to raise any eyebrows just yet. The fabric clings to my fingers, still damp with the evidence of what I’ve done. My little trophies, all wrapped up in cotton.