Bruises Book Novels & Stories

A slow smile threatened as he placed his hand tenderly against it. A kick answered him. But when he turned her gently to the side, the smile vanished. There, across her ribs, were claw marks. Deep. Angry. Healing, but not old. A dragon’s fury etched into her skin. And they weren’t the only ones. Bruises bloomed beneath the curve of her arm, another along her hip—shaped like fingers too large to be human. The dark yellowed mottling of healing strikes littered her side like a brutal mosaic of survival. And still she hadn’t said a word.

Watching her every move. Like he was trying to understand what she wanted from him. Or maybe... Like he was waiting for the kindness to end. Waiting for the part that hurt. It never came. When Irene carefully removed his clothes, her hands slowed. Then stopped completely. Her breath caught. Bruises. Everywhere. Some fading yellow. Some dark purple. Some newer. Some older. Layered over one another as though they had never been given the chance to heal. For one terrible moment, anger surged so fiercely she nearly couldn't breathe.

I too had been avoiding the sight, dreading the evidence of her suffering. Deep, purplish bruises adorned her limbs, some faded while others appeared more recent, likely just a few days old. Scrapes marked her knees and elbows, perhaps from the unforgiving ground. The skin bore signs of roughness, a testament to the harshness she had endured.

The closet door was shattered in pieces. Then his heart completely broke when looked to his side to see his mate curled up on the bed at his side, “Morana”. Her sleeping figure curled in a defensive position and she had streaks of tears still on her face. Morana’s body was bare and filled with bruises. Brandon could see gashes on her back, and shoulder “- I - I marked her.” His heart dropped as he closed his eyes. Brandon rubbed his hands down his face as he slowly sat up from the bed looking at the blood that rested beneath her hips. He bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes in an attempt to recollect himself, He hurriedly stepped out of the room.

My stomach is on fire. “What’s wrong?” Ms. Beatrice asked. She lifted up my dress and gasped loudly. Lillian looked and then her face turned white from whatever she was seeing. “Goddess.. why is she so bruised?” Sylvia asked. “Bruised? What do you mean?” I asked as I tried to move to see. I fell backward in pain. What is wrong with me? “Give me a moment.. I think.. I think I might know exactly what this is. I’ve only seen it one other time.” Ms. Beatrice quickly walked out of the room, then returned a few moments later with a book in her hand.

I heard him laugh behind me as I slammed my door and barged into hers, slamming her door shut as well, then locking it. She jumped, clutching a book to her chest as she looked at me wide-eyed from her reading chair. "Dominic," she started, eyeing the bottle in my hand, then her book she let Marcus borrow in the other, "what are you doing?" I sauntered over to her, setting the bottle down on her side table and leaned down with my hand on her chair. I would have asked about the new bruise hidden under her bangs or the small cut on her lips but my irritation with Marcus had filled my head with one. Single. Question.

I am only trying to do something far more difficult and far more honest, which is showing that survival is layered, that love can be both healing and frightening, and that trauma does not end at escape, it echoes, especially in children. What A Kiss For Every Bruise Is Really About This story is not about a rich man saving a broken woman. Not at all. A Kiss For Every Bruise is about: ~A woman who survived a narcissist and must now choose herself, again and again ~A man who loves deeply but must unlearn the instinct to claim instead of support ~A child whose first understanding of “father” was violence and whose future depends on what replaces that memory ~The invisible damage caused by charm

Her eyes moved to her arms, where several bruises had formed. He sighed heavily. He had already seen those bruises when he pulled her from the water, but seeing them now made his chest tighten. He didn’t know exactly what had happened to her at sea, but it was clear she had been through something traumatic. The bruises on her arms were large and dark. Maybe it was just because of her pale, almost porcelain skin— skin so delicate that even a slight bump would probably leave a mark. She had the kind of complexion that mosquitoes would hesitate to land on.

His lips pressing against mine, I moan, pulling him to me. "Every time you did that, I freaked out and imagined losing control and hurting you, I have let that go now". I nod, as he rolls off me, my head resting on his chest. Waking my Marcus is laid beneath me, I must have fallen asleep without even realising. I roll over, stretching my arms up, a pain shooting down my back. The bruises are going, the visible ones anyway, the ones inside though apparently can take months to heal fully. "Morning kitty. How are you feeling today?". I look back at him and smile.

I shut my eyes tightly, instantly berating myself. ‘Stupid. How would you think he'll be here?’ I shook my head, looking at the wrinkled sheets. It was just my imagination. I looked down at the sheets, trying to recover the gaps in my memories when I spotted it. Purple. Several purple spot-like bruises were on my arm. It was a strange thing that couldn't have been caused by anything other than a punching machine, or… Or a pair of metal claws. The memory of the claws digging into my skin came back, and with it, came the other memories, closing the gaps.