Books Like Untouchable Novels & Stories

It was not meant to be. For a moment, she almost found it funny. For three years, she had stepped into rooms like this as if walking over thin ice, terrified of saying the wrong thing, wearing the wrong thing, existing in the wrong way. Now, looking at them from even half a step outside their circle, she could no longer see the grandeur she had once feared. This so-called upper class, with its velvet ropes and inherited names, was not so different from any crowded market where people gathered to mock someone who did not belong.

I'm smiling. Hector looked at me and waited for my name to be said. “ Hanalia Faye Beltran Evan's” is my second untouchable handcuff. FIN

His voice was smooth and windy, locked around her like the coiling of smoke. “ You can never be trusted, they would always see you as an endangered person, a dangerous force locked within the confine of their consciousness. No matter how you try to conform, their cage is your fate. But with me, no chains, no law would bind you, but only the reality of the untamed that was taken unfairly away from you.” Lydia reached out towards him, with her fingers trembling with expectation. And for the first time, she experienced an unfamiliar warmth against her fingertips - vibrant and alive. It was as if she felt hopeful within her.

Not even in the business game, and definitely not like this one. The irony hit him hard: Lillian had always found a way to stay free of the dirt that accompanied their world. Even against a society that didn't care, he had tried to save her. But now, like so many others, she was being pulled through the mud; the worst part was that he couldn't let it stand. Deeply exhaling, he rose and walked about the room, unable to suppress the urge to defend what was vanishing from him. The article had done more than expose her; it had awakened something primitive in him. He had finished observing from the sidelines.

Trampling people's life, trampling clans and sects just to bring someone like himself back to life. He wore a black robe with a black leather belt around his strong slender waist. He wore long black shoes just like her. They were ending below their knees. His sleeves were tight unlike hers, they were wide. A black wolf's fur scarf was resting on his broad shoulders and his lapel had golden embroidery on it. She never pitied herself, no matter what she went through...but one thing made her pity herself. She engraved his flame tattoo between her chest and he engraved her flame tattoo on his right arm. Their souls were tangled but none of them cared.

“You’ve lost your job, your reputation, and your husband is currently at a hotel with a woman ten years younger than you. You have nothing left to protect, Celeste. Not even a home.” Her jaw tightened until it ached. “I still have my dignity.” He smiled, and this time it was predatory. “Dignity is a luxury for people who have food on the table and a name that doesn't make people spit. In this room? It’s negotiable.” “Go to hell, Dante.” “I’ve been there,” he said simply, his voice dropping to a low, melodic vibration. “It’s quieter than you think. And much more honest than the world you’ve been living in.”

"Untouchable." "Penelope's words," I said, managing a small, nervous smile despite the tension coiling tight beneath my ribs. "True regardless of who said them first," he replied, stepping closer to press a gentle kiss to my temple, a small anchor of warmth before whatever waited for us tonight.

It was already getting dark and I'm pretty sure Todd was tired of driving so I had to suggest we stop at the nearest motel "Wow, it's nice in here" I complimented as well entered the motel room "Well it's small" Todd made a fuss "That's why motel not hotel, there's a difference you know" I explained "Yea yea whatever" He mumbled "Never did i know my freshman year would be this adventurous, i just came in with an open mind to learn but didn't know I'll learn more than what i asked for" I soliloquized inside of me and let out a smile.

I can’t explain it, but I don’t have to, either, if I don’t bring it up, and I’m not one to ever start conversations. I sniff the paperback—old, musty paper, glue, and Justus—and set it on the pallet. The next book in the pile, Peter Kropotkin’s The Conquest of Bread, has a picture of two men chopping down a tree on the cover. It smells the same. All the books are dog-eared paperbacks with yellowed pages—Walden by Henry David Thoreau, Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler, Critique of Practical Reason by Immanuel Kant, several each by Ursula K. Le Guin and N. K. Jemison, and a massive hardback of Plato’s collected works. The Plato is the only one that looks like it hasn’t been read a hundre

She said as Christian dropped her gently on the floor and she rushed outside. “So?” Christian lifted an eyebrow as Mishka wrapped her arms around his shoulder. “So?” She smiled. “You intentionally kept that book at the podium to remind guests of the adversities Indians faced during British rule in India,” He stared into her eyes. “Nooo!” Mishka said. “Why would I do that?” She asked, and Christian tickled her. “You can’t fool me! The book is about all the atrocities Indians faced and how they were enslaved in the hands of Britishers.” He said and Mishka pouted. “You are no less than Kiara.”