Skeleton In One's Closet Novels & Stories

I needed to wash the scent of Alejandro off me, but the pine and rain seemed to have soaked into my pores. I walked into the closet. Rows of designer suits, silk shirts, and cashmere sweaters hung there. All my size. All expensive. But when I looked for the basics, I froze. No underwear. Boxers, briefs, trunks—gone. The drawers were empty. I checked again, my face heating up. It wasn't a mistake. It was a message. I dug through my old duffel bag, found a pair of black briefs, and shoved them on. I wasn't going to play their game yet. I climbed into the massive bed, the silk sheets cool against my skin, and fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

Until next time you stay girly and I'll stay in the closet awaiting my best opportunity to finally escape. Love, Teagan The Closeted Lesbian

3:17 ticks to 3:18, and I'm already upright, legs already over the mattress edge, bare feet already on the cold floor. This is insane. Normal people don't do this. Employed people don't do this. This is a horror film setup. This is a headline: Temp Found Dead, Billionaire's Penthouse, Film at Eleven. I'm standing. I'm in the closet. I'm yanking out the only decent dress I still own—black, basic, clearance-rack Somerset Collection from three years ago, back when I still believed I'd finish the degree and land the career and become a woman who needed nice dresses.

Drawers, when I slid one open with a trembling hand, were filled with delicate, lacy underthings, all in my exact size. It was a closet for a ghost who had been meticulously measured. A cold prickle, separate from the awe, travelled down my spine. This wasn’t generosity. This was curation. Ronan hadn’t just provided shelter; he had prepared a cage with gilded bars. Every perfect stitch felt like a reminder: You are here because I allow it. You wear what I provide. I backed out of the closet, my heart doing a nervous little tap-dance against my ribs. I showered, the hot water scouring away the last phantom smells of hospital and panic. I dressed in the simplest things I could find—soft grey l

Just like every other night, the souls of the innocent will scream inside my head. The neatness of my closet brings me joy. I whip the towel off of my hips and grab a pair of pants. I only own one kind. Ten sets of the same kind. There are pockets for all my weapons. There is nothing else needed. I cover my scarred chest with a black t-shirt. The fabric pulls tight across my skin and allows me the mobility I need to catch my prey. Not that its challenging.

All of a sudden, she remembered that it was placed in a hidden pocket on the outside of her skirt. The skirt she wore was a luxury skirt with a hidden design, so it appeared to have no pockets. Ivy slowly reached into it. As long as she pressed it, she would be saved. Shawn would find a way to rescue her. Aurum did not notice Ivy's small movement because he was staring fixedly into her eyes. "You're so beautiful. It would be such a waste to die, hmm? Your career has just begun. You're still so young. How can you bear to go to hell so soon?" Aurum said.

It was replaced by built-in cabinets in an off-white finish. Every trace of my life, from books, awards, to pictures, was missing. The space was now furnished with clothes, bags, and shoes. My room in the apartment I had paid for had been converted into Cass’ walk-in closet.

I got out of bed and looked in my closet. I found outfits of all kinds, but none that really appealed to me. I’m not a dress kind of girl and the closet only contained the skimpy dresses that are very short with super low necklines or cut-outs so big there is very little holding the top and bottom together. I went to the dresser and looked through it. I found a pair of leggings, and over-sized t shirt, then found a pair of socks, a bra and underwear. I took the clothes to the bathroom, locked the door and searched the bathroom for cameras. I found one over the toilet, took it down and smashed it after flipping him the bird. While I was in the shower, I heard the doorknob to the bathroom turn

The place looked like somewhere a cultivator practicing in solitude would live. Sitting on the bed was a skeleton in black robes, covered in spiderwebs. The skeleton was obviously devoid of any flesh, but Wilbur was reminded of Stefan at the mere sight of it. Stefan had achieved great things in his time but had still ended up dying here.

My mask back on. " Is that what you call handling it?' he raises his voice. " Is that all in the past.' " Because you think your over it and pretend to be okay when your not, but when you sleep you forget your facade." " No please, just let me be, I just want to go home." I plead. " We all have skeletons and some are just buried deep" " I'm coming with you, God knows what will happen if you have another one in your own."