Broken Beauty Novels & Stories

His beauty is caged and in pain. ****** ******

I try to move, but I'm stuck, reminded that I'm only just an observer. A woman steps gracefully out from the surrounding shadows. The woman from all my previous, agonizing visions. Her face is no longer half-rotten or decayed. It’s entirely, exquisitely beautiful now, hauntingly so. A chilling beauty that feels fundamentally wrong, like a smooth, perfect mask stretched deliberately over something ugly and cruel.

“You're too beautiful not to look at.” I pull my head from his grasp and shake my head. “They're not looking at me. They're looking at my bruises.” I feel ugly. Broken. I don't want to be treated like I'm made of glass, but at the moment I feel like I might be. And Dante is looking at me like I have a giant crack running down my center that might make me shatter at any moment. My shoulders sag. I won't be good company tonight. Not after the past two days.

He looked so macho, with his manly beauty, the coolness of his blue eyes never giving his broken self away. At that moment I realized everyone had their dirty plates. Everyone had their broken piece— from the man across the road flashing a charming smile at me, to the girl riding her bike with a smile so wide. The man could be broken like glass, and the girl could be crushed inside, but still, they had beaming smiles on.

In his time as a True Crime writer, Byron had interviewed many people, many of them disturbed or troubled in some way. In these interviews, he would often run up against what he called The Breakdown, to the point where, due to the pressures of telling him their story a person would hit an unknown well of feelings and just… shut down, usually in a maelstrom of tears. They always recovered but it was at a point that Byron always hated, even dreaded.

His fingers massaged my lower back as he tilted his head to pull away and whisper to me, “You’re beautiful, Winona. So beautiful you could stop the world.” My heart clenched at his words. Beauty had gotten me this far. It’d made men trip over me, made them come to my door in the middle of the night while their wives slept. It’d also given me what I needed to survive. The beauty was part of the broken side of me. Did he see the cracks? Did he see the shattered pieces, or was he just fixated on how my beauty could shine? My mind wandered. Sebastian’s stare was bright on me, but HJ’s had always been dark. That man only saw my jagged edges, the ones that were so broken he thought I was a lost ca

This one woman. The more he fucked her the more he wanted to. He impaled her repeatedly with his cock, making her cry and gasp. She was always beautiful but she looked ravishing under him. Absolutely ravishing. He pulled her arms over her head and started strinking into her in a brutal pace. Her eyes turned glossy with unshed tears. He knew he was being rough with her but he couldn't control it. She was making him lose control.

Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was her. That pained look on her face when she said I broke her will haunt me for the rest of my days. When I met Nessa, she didn’t have any damage. That was what was so damn rare and beautiful about her. She didn’t see the world for the dark, ugly place it is, but instead saw the good in everything, even me. The Nessa that confronted me last night wasn’t the same girl I left behind, though. All the agony written on her face, the defeat in her eyes, was fresh damage. Put there by me. I took a beautiful, pure thing, and I broke it. I thought I was setting her free by leaving, but instead, I was destroying her.

she asked, making a bitter expression take over Kayla’s face remembering how her boyfriend had broken up with her for someone hotter. “You always told me that no one will love me because I am not beautiful but Alastor does so I don’t have to worry about losing him but what are you all going to do? Beauty isn’t going to stay with you forever,” She cackled much like how they did basking in the surprised expression the women were giving her. She absolutely abhorred love but if she could use it to bring them down then she was going to do just that.

The enormity of my actions and the resulting grief cast a shadow over my soul, and I swore that I would never again allow myself to love or be loved. As I ran, the memories of my mother's gentle touch and my sister's infectious laughter faded into the distance, replaced by the overwhelming guilt and shame that would come to define my existence. At that moment, I became Jason the Broken, a man forever haunted by the tragic consequences of a single, devastating night.