Scars shut the front door and knelt down, his ams open wide. His three-year-old niece Cindy squealed and tore at the speed of light down the hall to him. A big part of him still couldn’t quite believe that she wasn’t fazed or freaked out by his scars, especially the ones on his face, but to nothing but his eternal relief, Cindy was fine with how he looked. Oh, of course she’d asked, pretty early on. She’d touched the shiny white marks on his cheeks, his forearms, his hands, and she’d asked him if it had hurt him when he’d gotten them. For just a second, maybe two, he’d flashed back to the feeling of being burned alive, of his flesh melting off his bones, of how it had smelled to be on fire. God, the smell of his skin burning – that was what haunted his dreams still, even more than twenty years later.But he’d just smiled at Cindy, and said, “Yeah, honey. It hurt when it happened.”She’d nodded solemnly, and in a gesture so sweet that it had fucking knocked the breath from his chest,
Última atualização : 2025-12-23
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