Bruises Book Novels & Stories

Laurie walks into the bathroom and takes her time changing into the significantly softer clothes. She takes a moment to look at herself in the mirror and lets out a disgruntled sigh when she spots a bruise forming on her right arm. There was some light bruising that went around her upper arm that Laurie knew would darken come morning. She hadn't been paying attention to how hard the man, Darren, had grabbed her but now that she wasn't wearing the sweater, she could see it was apparently hard enough to bruise.

No blisters, no discoloration, no signs of trauma. I pulled my left-hand back and lowered my sweater down my arms to see that the bruises were gone. No darkness, no yellow, nothing. I looked up at Veda with, I can only imagine, shock on my face. They had just been there, huge and dark. What is going on? I asked myself. I glanced at my arms again then at Veda. “They're gone!”

"I- I don't know." "You've been through some serious trauma." Brooke looked down at her hands as she lifted them and set them in his own. Both forearms curved just above the wrists, creating a curve that made it hard to look at without wincing. Deep purple bruises covered both arms. Swelling puffed the skin up around the wrists and down into her hands. Her fingers bent at odd angles. Tom wanted to cry. Or get angry. He wasn't sure, maybe both. "What did they do to you?"

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE — The Board Meeting POV: Elena Voss The bruise had violently darkened overnight. By morning, Marcus's fingerprints had become an unmistakable anatomical map—five distinct marks curving around the delicate inside of my upper arm, blooming in deep, aggressive shades of violet and necrotic blue beneath the skin. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror studying the marks with the detached, sterile curiosity of a physician. Contusion. Soft tissue trauma. No fracture, no nerve damage. Clinically speaking, it was a simple, superficial injury. Emotionally, it was a lethal weapon.

Although blood dripped from bruises that were there in various places on her body, she laid there on her stomach, her body convulsing; yet not even a sliver of pain showing on her face. She was tired. Her body was used beyond the point of exhaustion. She didn't feel anything except for a burning numbness, which never seemed to lessen. Bruises layered over each other, one fading as another bloomed. The cracks on her lips never got to heal. The hickies on her bréasts and inner thighs never got to rest. They were darkened everyday, several times, by different men as they sucked on them.

He is right on my heels, still wearing his pink thong. This can't be real. "Hey, wait. I payed for two hours. You can't leave." He says grabbing my hand and pulling me back. The reflexes kick in and my fist immediately swings right at his face, landing a hard blow on his cheek. Pain shoots through my hand and I grab it. The weird man is on the floor, holding his scrunched up face. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" He yells and I groan still holding my hand.

My hand found it in the dark, fingers pressing flat against skin that felt warmer than the rest of me, warmer than it had any right to be at this hour. I got up and crossed to the small mirror on the dresser. Pulled the collar of the borrowed shirt aside. In the low light, the line looked silver-white, thin as a hair, curving now where it used to run straight. I traced it with one fingertip, half expecting it to smudge like ink under my skin. It didn’t move. Bruising, I told myself. Stress. I didn’t believe it. Bruises didn’t grow overnight in straight, deliberate lines. Bruises didn’t hum faintly under a fingertip like something with its own low current running through it.

the doctor. "The imaging results this morning showed that the patient has bruising in the blood vessels of the brain." Emma Rosy was stunned: "What do we do about the bruising, surgery? Is it related to the fact that he hasn't woken up?" The doctor was interrupted by Emma Rosy before she could finish her sentence, and raised her hand to signal her to calm down before continuing, "From the current situation, surgery is not recommended for now. For one thing, the bruise is not large and may be able to dissipate on its own, and for another, the patient is still in a coma, so rushing into surgery would only cause danger." The doctor suggested conservative treatment, and Emma Rosy nodded her hea

Shirley I’m frozen. Completely struck with surprise as I stare at my phone, watching as my best friend - Jean - looks at me with tears in her eyes, her lip quivering. She’s pulling the collar of her shirt, allowing me to study her shoulder before she shifts and shows her stomach instead. Bruises. Large splatters of blues and purples decorate both areas. They look fresh, new. All I can feel is ice in my veins as Jean fixes her shirt again.

The bruise should not have come back. Silver noticed it while washing her hands at dawn, the basin water glinting pale blue beneath the high windows. Her knuckles were mostly healed, the faint yellow of old impact already fading. But on her ribs, just beneath her left breast, a dark mark had returned. Purple, deep, like a thumbprint. She pressed it, but there was no pain, just awareness. Her wolf stirred faintly, like something turning over in the dark. That wasn’t normal, bruises didn’t return, wolves healed fast, faster than humans, faster than memory.