Soaked In Bleach Streaming Novels & Stories

- River lies on his couch, pondering the ceiling while E Business plays on the television set—showing an ad for some random moisturizer. He checks his phone, then lays it back on his chest, not even a grimace on his face for he was too weary. A second later, the advertisement finishes and begins playing live coverage of Sebastian Black, speaking to the press outside of the Black & Co. building.

"It's ok Sarah... You are fine, I am here with you..." Xavier held her closer to his chest as he carried her to the washroom. He placed her under the shower and turned it on. She sobbed keeping her eyes closed. She gasped when suddenly water hit her. Xavier slowly washed the blood from her face with his hands. "You are fine..." He whispered gently, occasionally caressing her cheeks. Her blood phobia wasn't hidden from her and he has witnessed how badly it can give her panic attack. She slowly opened her eyes, she was still shaking in fear.

I wanted to scream. I slumped onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. My phone buzzed against the cushion. I almost ignored it, but I wanted to check if it was Jessica. Maybe she wanted to apologize. When I unlocked it, my breath caught. The livestream replay. Already uploaded. Already spreading. Over fifty thousand views. My face was blurred, but my body wasn’t. Every angle, every sound, it was out there for strangers to feast on. And at the top, a pinned comment:

She slammed the cup down on the little table in front of me. "Drink it, Claire. There's some powerful stuff in here. Guaranteed to make you act so nasty on camera your own mother wouldn't recognize you." The livestream launched. The viewer count instantly exploded past a hundred thousand. Bots started flooding the chat. The screen was packed with insults: "Slut." "Degenerate." "Drink it already. Let's see the show." Suddenly, Jake's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and his vicious expression twisted into pure joy.

His startled scream follows me to the table where I wipe the excess blood from my hands. There's a bottle of water and a decanter filled with scotch with glasses beside it. I fill up a glass with scotch and take a few sips before placing it back on the table. Stooping to get the bleach from the ground, I turn back to Kostas who is finally silent and trying to breathe through the waves of pain. Kneeling to my art on his leg, I open the bottle, the smell sharp enough to sting even through the air. I tilt the bottle watching the clear liquid as it trickles before becoming a steady stream moving through his wounds. Kostas jerks as the bleach eats into the cut tissue letting out gasps of pain.

“I am so sorry, Henry. Extremely sorry!” Realizing that the napkins were not that helpful she picked up a nearby mineral water bottle and poured it on the shirt. She did hear the gasps behind her but who gives a damn! She was animatedly dabbing on the stain but the stain was still there getting worse. “Don’t tell me you are planning to pour a laundry bleach this time on dead meat like me. Are you?” The deep and heavy male voice asked her lashes as her face was tilted down. Very slowly she raised her eyes and saw herself staring into his ocean blue eyes with those familiar longest lashes.

"Preston and Chloe are a couple of clowns!" "Sterling & Locke is DONE!" "Victoria, we are so sorry!" "THIS is what a real top lawyer looks like!" The viewer count shot past fifty thousand. "Everyone," I said to my camera, "there is only one truth. And professional skill is not something you can fake with marketing and PR." "That's all for today's stream." I closed the connection and ended the broadcast. The screen went black. The living room was quiet again. My mother came over, her eyes shining with pride. "Honey, that was brilliant!"

he says. “The Queen's motion is annoying but manageable,” I say. “The Bronx case compliance review came back clean. Adaeze told me yesterday that the Bar Association is profiling Okafor and Associates in their January newsletter.” I pause. “And the documentary trailer is still moving. Two point four million views as of this morning.” “Two point four,” he says. “Chen called yesterday,” I say. “The series has been picked up for a streaming platform. Releases in February.” I pause. “He says the Thomas episode is the one the platform is leading with in their marketing.”

"Go back to the archives and fix your neck because the smell of those chemicals is giving me a headache." I didn't wait for a second invitation. I scrambled for the door, unlocked it with shaking hands, and practically fell into the hallway. I didn't stop running until I reached the basement bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face, looking at my reflection. The ‘rash’ was itchy and burning, but it had saved me. But as I looked at the red mess, a wave of sadness hit me. Damon had looked so hopeful for a split second—so desperate to find a connection and I had given him a face full of bleach-smelling hives.

She hit record and started a livestream right there from her desk, her face a perfect mask of manufactured sorrow. A cold pit formed in my stomach. I had a very, very bad feeling about this. That night, as I was scrolling through my encrypted phone, a notification popped up from X. A clip of her livestream was going viral across the state. The title read: "Exposing My Toxic Mob Boss: Denying Us Basic Holiday Respect." The thumbnail was a close-up of Beatrice's face, a single, perfect tear rolling down her cheek.