Beauty Is Painful Novels & Stories

I shrug. There’s something that the three years of sleepless nights on the itchy mattress of my six-by-eight room have helped me conclude; every pain and every pleasure in life is necessary. It has shaped me to become the man I am today. I am not the best but, I am not the worst either. There is beauty in being battered and being battered is what makes everyone beautiful. “Want to talk about Celeste?” Dr. Sean Evans, the fifty-five-year-old psychologist, smirks like a teenage girl eager to gossip with his best friend.

She had full breasts, a bigger size, round and peachy ass, she was true, a pure beauty. Billina let out a scoff and said, "Choose one, Josh." Then was quiet for a minute, the manager eagerly waiting for her to speak. "HIV or acid?" she asked sneering and Josh was stunned. "Ma'am? Are you seriously want her to suffer from a sex disease?" he asked, eyes wide. "Maybe..." she spoke confidently. "What is acid for?" he asked unaware. "Face...." replied the billionaire beauty. Wow! The girl hates that woman that she wants her to suffer for the rest of her life.

I admitted, my voice barely audible. Grace softened. “That doesn’t mean it’s useless. It just means it’s honest.” “I don’t want to be honest,” I snapped. “I want to be beautiful.” Grace met my eyes. “Celeste, beautiful doesn’t come from pretending you’re not in pain. It comes from knowing where the pain is—and choosing what to do with it.” I looked back at the desk. At the evidence of my unraveling disguised as creativity. Ryan’s name buzzed on my phone again.

It was dark a time every creature within the deep dark forest revisited the bosom of their homes to rest their weary bone yet there was no sign of sleep, her body was on fire making her moan time and again from the shredding pain of the poison fed to her by her husband and his first love. Beauty was not a standard she did not meet. Sweet soft lips, smooth skin as soft as a baby’s butt, slender hands, and legs fit for nothing but a model of high demand. With everything, why didn't he want her? So much was to be said, yet her lips burned from the wounds caused by the acidic substance fed to her.

It was as if a hidden beauty had been awakened, and I couldn’t help but be grateful for Bea’s unwavering support. With each stroke of the brush and every delicate dab of color, Bea’s expertise elevated my natural features, highlighting my best attributes. She celebrated my uniqueness and made me realize that beauty lies not in conformity but in embracing our individuality. Together, we reveled in the power of self-expression, allowing our inner beauty to shine through.

Then I turn around and look at my own skin in its radiant beauty, creamy skin without blemish. My hands are fine and smooth, as are my feet. I slide off the bed, walking to a mirror. For a minute I observe my body in all its elegance, its perfection. I hate this body, for it has brought me much grief. Beauty has a terrible, terrible price. "Mona, are you okay?" Jake comes to stand beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. He must have noticed the small, almost invisible tear that spilled into my eyes.

I could still remember how humiliated I felt as they all laughed at me. But was she done? ' Besides, beauty is not an overnight fix. It takes time. It takes patience, and obviously, since you aren't the patient type, you can only endure, right? . I mean, look at my legs. I have been religiously coming for my pedicure appointments for years, and the results are speaking for themselves. '

he ordered again. “It’s pain,” she said, a catch in her voice. The crop left her ass where it rasped over sensitive, marked skin. “Too much?” There was worry in his voice. A promise that if she said the word, he’d stop. “No!” Her protest was immediate. A denial. She didn’t want him to stop. “It’s pain and then it’s pleasure,” she whispered. “Beautiful, exquisite pleasure. Like nothing I’ve ever felt. The pain is just pain. But the pleasure is indescribable. It makes me crave the pain because I know what will follow.”

I glance around as I step into the scanner. Yep. A lot of people and from the looks of it, there were some breakups over the holiday. One girl with caramel colored skin and a curly black afro has red and swollen eyes. Even from the next checkpoint over, I can feel her pain. She’s beautiful. Really beautiful but pain recognizes pain and no amount of beauty can cover that up. Guilt bubbles up in my chest.

“Do you know what it feels like to be a black duck from a long line of golden gooses? What it feels like to be sidelined because you're never enough? When the one you love so dearly doesn't even regard you? Do you know what it means to have insults from family members? Morning, day, and night. Either directly or indirectly because you're not as good as they expect? Do you know what it feels like to stare at the mirror in pain because you're tired of seeing the same damn person every time? An imperfect person who has refused to improve, and is the cause of all your issues! Do you know what it feels like to want to be perfect, but yet you keep messing up? “I question the old man, and he studie