Novelas y relatos de Randomly Smelling Bleach

"Treyvan! If you are hiding to skip breakfast duty, I am doubling the penalty!" Still nothing. The hallway stretched quiet, but as I passed the corridor leading to Dad is study, a faint whiff hit me, sharp, chemical, like bleach or something cleaner and harsher. It stung the back of my nose, aggressive and wrong for a Sunday morning. Cleaning crew must have come early, I thought, wrinkling my nose. Octavia probably had them scrubbing after our game night mess. No big deal. But the smell lingered, clinging to the air long after I passed the corridor.

"Not every Alpha gives in to instinct." Lucas lowered his gaze.That answer should have reassured him.Instead, it only made him more confused.After a brief silence, he spoke again. "He also said he could smell me." "That's expected." Lucas looked up. "But I couldn't smell anything." This time, the doctor became noticeably more attentive. "What do you mean?" "I smelled disinfectant... soap... and the rain outside." Lucas shook his head. "That's all." The doctor's expression gradually turned serious. "You couldn't detect his pheromones?"

Phoebe The smell of an approaching deadline has a very specific chemical composition. In my small Capitol Hill studio, it wasn't the scent of clean binary code or the sterile, chilled air of Peter’s high-tech executive boardrooms. It was a dense, suffocating mixture of ninety-nine percent isopropyl alcohol, the thick, heavy drag of synthetic liquid latex, and the powdery, vanilla-scented dust of translucent setting powders that hung in the air like a localized fog under my halogen vanity lights.

It’s thick, metallic and then I remember where we are. It clings to the air like a suffocating fog, sinking into my nostrils and coating the back of my throat. I gag on it as bile rises into the back of my mouth. Then I smell bleach mixed in. The tang burns my nose, and for a split second, I can’t tell if the sting in my eyes is from the fumes or the growing panic in my chest. We slept in this. I cleaned the floor last night, scrubbed this spot until my hands were raw, but now the mix of blood and bleach is even worse. It’s foul and chemical, like something rotting beneath sterile lies.

He releases me when I set my icy glare on him but still speaks, “Harper doesn’t have any reason to be on the upper floors, so we should start at the bottom and work our way up.” “I have a better idea,” I mutter, closing my eyes. I focus my senses, pushing them through the building to touch everything. Then, my nose starts stinging and the scent of bleach becomes almost overwhelming. “What is it?” Mason asks when I turn toward the back of the house. “Bleach, and I think I can smell Harper.” “Bleach? Like—” I don’t wait for him to finish, my mind going to the worst places as I run toward the smell. I shove past pack members and nearly throw myself down the service staircase.

I started to wash my body as I started cycling through smells. Bleach? No, it wasn’t strong enough to be bleach, and I kind of liked the smell of that, thanks to my mother’s obsessive cleanliness. The smell of bleach reminded me of being at home. I thought of some smells I definitely didn’t like. Alcohol—like the kind used in the shitty perfumes Olivia used to wear. I used to hate that, but that wasn’t it. I was still thinking of the scent as I toweled off and brushed my teeth.

I’m still vomiting, but they no longer care as they dig their fingernails into my arms, forcing me into the tight, dark space. The door closed with a slam and a click as the lock fell into place. Pounding on the door weakly, I cried for help. But will anyone hear me? Would anyone think to look for me here? The smell of bleach blended with the smell of my sick bowels made me gag as I inhaled the foul chemicals. Looking over, I noticed several of the cleaning bottles were left open, their noxious fumes filling the small space. Holding my breath I bang on the door once more.

It was about twenty minutes into the game, I am bored out of my mind when the smell hits me or maybe it was always there but now I just noticed it. The rancid sweaty smell surrounds me till it's all I can smell. It’s like everyone decided not to bathe all week. I try covering my nose but it doesn’t work. The smell is everywhere, on everything, and everyone. Worse, as the place warmed up with everyone’s body heat the smell just got stronger and stronger. I pinch my nose in an attempt to save my weak stomach but it doesn’t help much. I remember one of the articles I read on schizophrenia and psychosis.

Only time will reveal the extent of her schemes and the consequences they will bring to all involved. “What is the fetidness smell?” As Alexa detects the unpleasant odor lingering in the air, her nose scrunches up in distaste. She directs her questioning gaze towards Blaze and Dexter, seeking an answer to the source of the smell. Dexter is feeling uneasy, avoids eye contact, and focuses on his meal. “What smell, Alexa?” Blaze, interjecting on his behalf, plays ignorant and suggests, “It probably might be coming from the kitchen, I believe.”

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