Broken Aesthetic Novels & Stories

I hadn’t been ready for her to go to school, I still wanted her at home with us, and that feeling had never gone away, especially now. “I hope you are going to fix those,” Deacon’s voice pulls me back from my trip down memory lane as he sits beside me on the bench. I look up at the headless statue with a frown. “I think they look better like this, they were kind of creepy,” Axel shrugs as he comes to sit on my other side. “That may be so, but they look expensive, and I think the owner of this house probably prefers them with their heads intact,” D sighs.

“You’ve got this sweet, innocent look that makes people think you’re harmless. That you don’t know how to play the game.” She smiled wider, as if that was her greatest victory. “It’s almost cute. Like a porcelain doll someone’s too scared to break.” Her words were like needles, sharp but coated in silk. “But don’t forget,” she added, her tone turning darker, “beauty like that can only get you so far. It fades. It cracks. And when it does, all that’s left is empty glass.” I held her gaze steadily, refusing to let her see me falter.

I try to be polite as possible. " You better do and make sure you don't lose a tablet of those drugs. They are worth more than your life" He adds with his usual expressionless face before walking out. Gosh how can someone so attractive be so annoying. ################

To be honest, I thought I was over him but I guess I was totally wrong and the sensations I am feeling in my body right now are clear evidences of that. "Hey, Jessa how have you been?" Halley asks me, smirking. Just looking at her face, I want to just destroy that fake heavy makeup face of hers. Halley is now different from the best friend I had years ago. I mean, she is nearly unrecognizable with her fake boobs, fake butt and the annoying toy face, probably from too much plastic surgeries. Now, she sure looks like a typical bitch. I can't believe Edmond has been spending his money on her for all this fake body.

"You are an amazing person whether you see it or not. You see everything you've been through as bad luck but I see it as struggles that you made it through and became stronger from. I'm not scared of your past, Tiffany." Tiffany exhaled through her noes. She held a worrisome and somewhat sad look on her face which made my chest ache because I knew she was finding it hard to believe and accept that someone was willing to love her despite the baggage she was carrying. "Maybe you're right," she finally said, looking at me with soft eyes. "But... I'm broken and messed up and have pieces of me all over the place. That's not something anybody should have to deal with, Noah."

Her mouth was slightly open, and her wide, dilated eyes reflected the overhead light, making them look like two polished stones. The woman who always wore a mask of pristine control, whose life was a carefully curated I*******m feed of domestic bliss, was utterly, irrevocably broken. It was magnificent. It was also sickening. Finally, a muscle twitched in her jaw. The color, which had drained away to a sickly parchment white, surged back in a venomous, furious rush, staining her neck and cheeks a violent, mottled red. The stillness shattered.

“Nineteen eighty-three, nineteen ninety-seven, and two thousand nine.” I lean in, the familiar part of my brain — the engineer, the problem-solver — waking up fully. “In each one,” she continues, “they addressed what they could see.” Her finger glides over an image where workers shore up visible cracks. “Surface breaks. Visible erosion. Cosmetic fractures.” “Cosmetic?” I echo. “Fractures that disturb the eye but not the story,” she says. Then her nail taps a darker streak beneath an arch. “But underneath…”

He stops her, not letting her go. Her stubbornness getting on his nerves. "Fine. " "But I need to know the reasons." They both stare and she sighs, asking him directly. "What is the definition of the word beautiful for you Ethan? He looks at her in confusion, but still answers. "Someone who is appealing to the eyes, someone who is flawless and stunning." "Exactly. And you look at me Ethan." "I a flawed in more ways you know." "I am broken." "I am a fucking mess dammit!"

My makeup was a disaster, dark streaks of mascara staining my cheeks like war paint, and the sapphire jewelry—once so breathtaking—now looked like a mockery of the girl I had tried to be. The moment I saw my reflection, all the memories came rushing back with a force that made me grip the edges of the sink. Every event that had led to me looking this way played behind my eyelids like a film I couldn't shut off. Most of all, Adrian's broken face flashed before my eyes. I could see the way his features had crumbled, the way his eyes had filled with a moisture that looked remarkably like genuine pain.

And the large canvas in front of me now, still in progress, the one that had started the morning after the first night I stayed at Dominic's. Clara was right. There was a thread. Broken things. The beauty that lived specifically inside fracture, not around it or after it, but in the actual crack itself. The Japanese had a word for it. The gold in the break. The idea that a repaired thing was more interesting than an unbroken one because it carried the evidence of its own survival. I had been painting that for eight months without naming it.