Why Doesn't My Discharge Bleach My Underwear Novels & Stories

he asked. Her voice was equal parts cold and casual as she answered. "Moderate amounts of Drano and bleach in his bathtub drain. He lived in a shitty place with no CCTV, and he was so intoxicated with a filthy, cramped, free-standing house that the cops were just going to write it off as him being a drunk idiot." "What does Drano and bleach do?" She tilted her head. "Toxic vapors. He took a single shower in the morning, still fresh out of being blackout drunk, and he was out just like that."

“You're evil.” She grinned. “I'm effective.” She opened my drawer of underwear and let out a sound like a dying animal. “No. No. Absolutely not.” I rushed over. “Can you not scream at my underwear?” She held up a plain cotton bra like it had insulted her. “Why is everything beige? Are you allergic to color?” “It is practical,” I muttered. “So is prison uniform,” she said. “We are not wearing that for fun either.” I snatched it from her. “You are not touching my underwear. That is where we draw the line.”

"As long as I can have chemicals to clean it, then I will do that." All laughter stopped behind me. Were they as surprised as I was? The Amatucci family was powerful, moneyed, and very well respected. That their only daughter would clean the bathroom? Maybe I'd been doing this for too long, but that, more than anything else, seemed the most suspect of her actions. "No bleach," I said. She shrugged. "Fine. Soap and water, if you have hot enough water, should do fine." I nodded. "Agreed. Give me the knife."

He nodded and adjusted his round glasses. I loosened a button on my blazer and headed over. Luckily, the restroom was empty, but the place was disgusting. Everything looked cheap—the sanitizer, the soap, the tissue dispenser. And the smell… God, it was awful. I changed my mind about using the urinal and just washed my hands instead. My kidneys could wait a little longer.

Then, I removed the uniform. I changed into another set of home clothes. I sat down on my bed and used a scissors to tear the face cap into tiny pieces. I have a connecting bathroom and there was toilet wash in it. There was a bottle of bleaching agent too. I poured both on the pieces of the face cap. The color of the face cap changed when the two liquids touched it. I searched for a nylon bag and deposited the ruined face cap into it. I tied small the nylon bag carefully before taking it downstairs. I threw it into the trash.

They were white bikini underwear… that had superheroes holding up the middle finger. “Do I want to know why you have these?” “They were sent to me by mistake when I ordered something else online. I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away, and I definitely couldn’t give them to anyone. Until now. They are yours. Go put them on. They will be your rebel underwear.”

Having the consequences of that action surface weeks later was too much for me. I walked to the bathroom. I stood in front of the mirror above the sink, washing my face over and over. The many washes did not make my eyes any less red, but it made the tears stop and made my vision clear enough for me to see a bottle of bleach on the wood stand above the toilet seat.

The shampoo smelled expensive, like lavender and something she couldn't identify. Thirty minutes of thorough washing. She scrubbed her body until her skin was pink. She washed between her toes. She cleaned her fingernails. She wanted to wash away everything that had happened to her in that basement. As if the water could erase the fear, the defiance, the way he'd looked at her. When she finally got out and toweled herself dry, she discovered the varieties of underwear laid out on the bed. Silk. Lace. Colors ranging from black to white to red. Different styles and sizes, and they were all in her exact size.

The scream that left my lips was bloodcurdling. I stare at my reflection in horror and almost have the urge to cry. My hair is no longer a fair shade of strawberry blonde but a creamy chocolate brown, my natural hair colour. Oh, shit, shit, shit! I grabbed my bottle of shampoo and dumped its contents into the sink; it wasn’t shampoo. It was bleach. Fuck! How did bleach get in here? Someone must have poured bleach into this bottle, and Kiara was the only one in the room. My blood boiled in such a way that I was certain my skin was turning a bright shade of red. I storm out of the bathroom, but I am met by no one in our room.

She explained. Mrs. Teddy squinted her eyes and then she moved closer to her and tried sniffing what she had on her face and then she said. “I think it’s just bleach, an undiluted one. It could do a whole lot of damage if it stays longer on your face.” She grabbed her and pulled her inside, before closing the door and then began to walk her to the kitchen. “Do you think it's going to damage my face?” she asked, her mind going into dismay. She couldn't even think straight at that moment.