Bruised Novels & Stories

Her breathing hitched when she saw claw-like bruises peppered around her cream skin. Alex had dug his claws Into her frigile skin when she had hugged him to calm down.

I wince when Jackson elbows me in the stomach. “What’s wrong with you, I didn’t elbow you that hard.” I lift up my shirt a bit to find nothing there. “I don’t know man, but it feels like I have a huge ass bruise there. My arm hurts too. I am sure it’s from her cut.” What in the world is going on with my mate to make her feel so sad to make her want to hurt herself.

Once the cold leaves her numb, she steps out. Her reflection makes her feel sick. There’s a large bruise forming around her right cheek, causing her face to swell and look puffy. Her ribs are covered in dark bruises, and placing slight pressure on them, she finds that a few on her left rib cage are fractured. Taking a closer look at her arm, she comes to the conclusion that she must have sprained her elbow when she fell down the stairs.

Marcus raises his hand at Blake but he nods it off. "Blake, what's-" He lifts his head, looking at me and my eyes widen. A huge purple bruise covers his left cheek, right under his eye. A small red cut on his bottom lip. "Holy crap! Blake, what happened?" I rush over to him, lightly grabbing his chin. I turn his cheek towards me to inspect it, softly running my fingers along the purple skin. He slightly flinches. His eyes meet mine, mine being full of worry. "I'm fine." He mumbles, jerking his head from my hold.

The boy I used to know was completely gone. A small, beige medical patch covered a spot right along his jawline, clearly hiding a stubborn bruise. It didn't make any sense. The fight happened two weeks ago, and as a wolf, he should have healed perfectly within hours. Why was he still bruised? I shook my head again, forcing the distraction out of my mind. I needed to focus on Horace and Horace alone. I grabbed my water bottle, swallowed a quick sip, and fixed my eyes back on the ice.

~Valerie~ The sun hitting my face feels like a personal attack. I wake up with my body feeling heavy and sore, my muscles aching in places I didn’t even know could hurt. For a second, I’m confused, lost in the fog of sleep. Then I move my head, and a sharp sting in my neck brings it all back. I reach up, my fingers trembling as they graze the skin. The bruise is there. It’s thick and swollen under my touch. I scramble out of bed and rush to the mirror, pulling my hair away from my throat.

Bruises adorned me like a macabre badge of honor, a visual reminder of my father’s rage and my weakness. Looking in the cracked mirror hanging on the wall, I winced at the sight of my battered face. My swollen eyes were starting to turn purple, and the cuts across my cheek were beginning to scab over. It was a sight that pained me not only physically but also emotionally—a constant reminder of how my life really was.

"Whoa. Em, what is that?" My heart stopped. She reached out, her cool fingers brushing against the side of my neck, right where the pulse was jumping. I looked in the mirror and felt the blood drain from my face. There, peeking out from under the collar of my shirt, was a dark, purple-red bruise. "I... I don't know," I stammered, pulling my collar up. "I think something bit me at the beach yesterday. Some kind of fly or a spider."

The cold air felt like shards of glass sliding down my windpipe. Spanning across the right side of his face, stretching from the hard line of his jawbone up across his high cheekbone toward his temple, was a deep, jagged, mottled purple bruise. The tissue was badly swollen, the skin stretched tight and discolored in a way that left no room for doubt or polite fiction. It wasn't an accidental collision along the boards, and it wasn't the result of a routine check during a team scrimmage. It was a handprint.

Was it when I was asleep or this morning? I got up slowly, wincing at every movement, my muscles screaming in protest, my neck so stiff I could barely turn my head. I made my way to the bathroom and caught my reflection in the mirror and I stopped. The bruising darkened overnight. Purple and ugly, spreading across my neck and down my shoulders like someone painted me some hard to wash off colored glue. I touched it gently and winced. I looked like I was in a fight and lost.