Problem Solved Bloody T-shirt Mga Nobela at Kwento

“This is not going to come out, is it?” I look down at my shirt. “Of all the nights I didn’t wear black.” Grimacing, I pull my shirt over my head, trying not to get blood on my face. “I guess I’ll just toss it.” I roll my shirt up the best I can, keeping the blood and guts on the inside, and put it in the kitchen garbage, tying the bag shut and putting it in another to make sure the smell of blood isn’t detectable.

“Good. But if you carry me back into the pack, it’s going to start the wrong kind of attack. We should go back in like nothing has happened. If anyone questions it, tell them it was car trouble. Technically it’s not a lie. And if anyone does question something that doesn't fit what we said, you will have your answer as to who is involved.” “Is that right?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, he was impressed with my idea. He grins at me. “The problem is, you are covered in blood.” I look down at my tee. There is a large hole ripped through the front, right where my stomach is, it was also soaked in my own blood. My jeans are splattered with deep red streaks and spots and so are my arms. I can onl

she exclaimed as she hurried over to the bed with the glue containers clutched in her tiny hands. I laid the t-shirt flat on the bed as straight as I could get it. “Okay! What colors do you want to write in it?” “Can we we do a mix of red and pink? That way no one will think he belongs with anyone else?” she asked. “Yep. And maybe we can do a heart too,” I answered as I held out my hands for the pink and red containers. Ten minutes later the t-shirt was done and was almost dry. Becky beamed at me. “It’s beautiful! Do you think Daddy Rip will wear it?”

Fixing what someone tried to tear apart. Only difference? I don’t use thread and cotton. I use consequences. And tonight... Someone is about to learn exactly how permanent mine are.

My eyes fell on the oversized T-shirt she was wearing, and my thoughts drifted back to the day we painted the walls. I had been afraid he would stain his suit, so I bought him a change of clothes. I had hesitated for a long time before giving it to him, worried he would think it looked cheap. But not only had he not disliked it, he had even said he would wash it and keep it properly. Yet now, the shirt he had once said he wanted to treasure was being worn so casually by her. Rain drizzled softly outside, and something inside me turned damp and heavy along with it. I did not want to argue or lose control. I simply looked around for my sketchbook.

I grabbed a pair of scissors from my drawer and sliced through the packing tape. "Oh my God," I gasped, my hands instantly flying to my mouth as a terrified scream tore from my throat. Lying inside the box was a crumpled white university T-shirt covered with blood, with my photo on top. I stumbled backward in pure horror as I stared at the bloody shirt sitting on my desk. There was a small card by the side. I picked it up with shaky hands. ‘If you stay by his side, this isn't just going to be on your clothes next time. It's going to be leaking out of your skin.’

“That’s a six-hundred-dollar shirt! You have to make sure that stain gets out. I can’t afford someone cleaning that!” Fuck. Six hundred dollars? Even double and triple tabs wouldn’t cover it. “Okay,” I whisper, my voice trembling. I turn around to the table, which now looks similar to a murder scene. I throw the napkins on the table to soak up what I can, almost tripping over one of Madden’s friends in my haste to get to his bloody shirt. The stain is huge—a dark, spreading purple blotch across his crisp shirt. Shit! “That’s not going to work,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Can I clean this somewhere?”

I braced up and sat on my seat, ready for the meet and greet. The door opened again and he came in, his aura filling the entire room. The black bold tattoo on his arm was visible because he had rolled up his sleeves. The design was more distinct than the last time I saw him and I wondered if he'd added more to it. The collar of white shirt was stained with dry blood and there were splashes on his face and palm too. I wonder whose blood it was. One of the men passed him a white handkerchief and he tried cleaning off the mess but it was futile.

Seven's white t-shirt is stained on the chest. I watch in horror as Seven falls on the ground, blood oozing out of his body. All I can see is Blood! Blood! Blood! 💀💀💀💀💀

"No, no, no, no..." "I've never seen you with so much concern in your eyes for me," I try to giggle but it only comes out as a bloodied cough. "Zara, this is not the time to be fucking funny." He takes off his shirt, trying to use it as a means of stopping the blood near my stomach. "Hold on, please. Just hold on a bit longer. I have men on the way here, they'll..." He stops as he takes in the sight of me. The dark liquid has absorbed through the material in an instant.