Bleeding Through The Truth Novels & Stories

A chill runs through me. Another message follows. Unknown: Now everyone bleeds. I lock the phone and stand, adrenaline surging. So this is it. The war after the exposure. The phase where truth isn’t enough—you have to survive it. I walk to the mirror and look at myself. Not the woman who loved blindly. Not the woman who stood beside power and mistook proximity for safety. The woman who spoke. They think I’m done. They think heartbreak makes you fragile. They’re wrong.

It had made her see a new side of herself, a side she had never known existed. She did not see anything wrong with her impulsiveness. She considered it part of her honest nature. True love, as she saw it, was not a state of complete peace. It was a beautiful state of chaos. A chaos that made her afraid, jealous, angry... And in the end, made her forgive and love even more. Her jealousy was something different.

They had let me think the worst of them all this time, just so that I wouldn't suffer the weight of these memories. But surviving was not enough, I wanted to live and I would only achieve that by knowing the truth. And the truth was liberating. I no longer felt guilty for feeling the way I did about three different people, but I felt so many inconsistent and unreasonable things. I lost myself in Logan's grey gaze, the sparkle in his eyes, the calmness of his expression, -I... He put his finger on my mouth, “Okay.”

His jaw tightened so hard a muscle pulsed in his cheek. "Sometimes, Snow..." Blake said, his voice raw, "...the truth isn't noble. Sometimes, bringing the truth to light just destroys everything in its path." "Then let it destroy what needs to be destroyed," I answered gently, my voice steady and full of conviction. "If the truth destroys false reputations, if it tears down the fake walls built by arrogant people... then it needs to happen. The truth sets people free, Blake." Blake closed his eyes for a long, agonizing second. He pulled his arm slowly out of my grip and turned his back to me, walking over to the large glass window overlooking the rainy city.

But I know one thing for certain. Whoever sent that envelope made a mistake. They gave me a reason to look closer. And when I find the truth... When I find the truth, someone is going to bleed for it.

I remembered the sound first — a soft ripping that felt like a small surrender, like tissue tearing under too-stiff fingers. It echoed in the tiny apartment the way a dropped glass might in a cathedral: too loud, too honest. I held the page in both hands and watched the words I had given life to fold into something useless. The headline still sat on the top like an accusation: ELYSIUM — THE WORLD INSIDE A GILDED THEATER. I had believed, once, that truth had a duty to be loud. Tonight, the truth sounded cruel.

Temperance "And what does that mean for me?” I ask him frantically. "It means if we don't stop this, then you won't make it. "He’s joking, right?" "Anything that could have caused this?" The doctor asks. I tremble as I realize I can’t tell him the truth, the real cause. He won’t know how bad my body has been treated. Internal bleeding? God really hates me, doesn’t he? "I got mugged the other day." I blurt out a lie. Emaline looks at me, thinning her lips before getting distracted by something Ella whispers.

There it was, the word vomit that was creeping up inside my throat, gear to escape, I knew that telling him the truth, and the end of things, would prove much greater than lying to him, just as I knew that the truth always had a nasty habit of leaking out, and against my better judgment, I knew against everything that I did, that the truth would eventually come out, whether I truly liked it or not. And I knew that deep down, there was nothing that scared me more than that. Nothing at all, so I took the deep dive, and I opened up emotionally, mentally and physically. I could tell that the heart was becoming very evident on my face because he looked at me, Isaiah looked at me, as if there was

Bleiz said that he and his were regretful. Bleiz talked about his madness and despair during the past few months of searching for me. I struggled to suppress the tremors throughout my body, not out of pleasure, nor out of sorrow, but because the long-delayed truth suddenly tore open the scab, revealing the unhealed rotten flesh beneath. It’s too late, everything is too late. I’ve long since passed the point where I needed the truth to be revealed, nor do I need Bleiz’s redemption or regret.

"But even if it doesn't, even if the reaction is mostly negative, at least we'll have told our truth. At least we won't be hiding anymore." By the time she leaves on the second evening, I'm exhausted in a way that goes beyond physical tiredness. My throat is raw from talking and my emotions feel scraped clean, but I'm also lighter. We've told our truth. Not the partial truth of careful omissions, but the whole truth, messy and complicated and human. "Whatever happens now," Damon says quietly, "at least it's our story. Told in our words." "The rest is out of our hands," Mike adds.