Can't Hurt Me Book Novels & Stories

I ordered and she bowed before walking quietly out of the room. Taking a sip from the glass, I reached for the remaining books lying on my desk, pulled out my chair, sat down, and began to scan through them. It was all useless, I couldn't find a loophole or anything that seemed helpful, and all the books kept mentioning that the process was harmful and dangerous. Feeling frustrated, I closed the book. "You all can choose to scare me, but my mind is made up," I whispered to myself. "I am done being the weakest of all wolves, I am done being called a worthless being, I am done being helpless." My voice came out in a whisper.

"You're never this quiet. You didn't say a word at the table. I was worried about you." "Tell me, is this about Clara? Are you jealous?" His warm touch made my stomach churn, reminding me of that dark warehouse from my past life. Faced with endless humiliation, all I could do was cry and scream until I became numb and hopeless. I quietly clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms, using the sharp pain to suppress the turmoil rising within me. I turned my head slightly to avoid his touch, "Brother, you're mistaken." I didn't look at him. "You and Clara are a perfect match. I'm truly happy for you."

The public needs something new, something fresh, production companies need this, it is a hit novel by our very own editor, Lylah Jeurgens, Ladies and Gentlemen, I present, Hurt In A Year", Raj clapped. The auditorium erupted with series of clapping. Lylah abruptly stood to her feet, looking around frantically. What in the world was going on?, This wasn't the book she agreed to pitch. Was Raj trying to set her up?, How did he even know about Hurt In A Year? These were the type of questions swirling in her head. She had no one but herself to blame. She was supposed to pitch the book in the first place, but she just had to be late. Not only has she been tardy at the workplace, she couldn't cont

There it was again—that faint, surprised expression he wore whenever I challenged him. It vanished quickly. “You’ve known me for less than a day.” “And?” “And you shouldn’t care.” The bitterness in his voice caught me off guard. “I would care if anyone was hurt.” “That’s your problem.” I frowned. “Being concerned about people is a problem?” “For someone like you? Absolutely.” I folded my arms. “What is that supposed to mean?” He stepped closer, forcing me to retreat until the back of my boots reached the porch railing. “It means you don’t know when to stay away from things that can hurt you.”

I stayed for two hours, talking to everyone who wanted to talk. On the drive home, Benjamin said, "You were incredible up there." "I was just honest." "Honesty is powerful." The book took six months to write. It was painful, reliving everything with Richard. But it was also healing. "Chapter by chapter, word by word, I am letting go," I told my therapist. "That is the point of telling your story. It loses power over you." The book was titled "Phoenix Rising: Reclaiming Identity After Betrayal."

I whispered; my words so cold that I myself felt the ominous shiver run down my spine. "Shit!" The man muttered before something struck me on the back of my skull, extreme pain erupted in my head and then my world went black… A/N: THIS BOOK WILL CONTAIN SOME DARKER THEMES AND MENTION PAST PHYSICAL AND MENTAL ABUSE. UNLESS THE TRIGGER IS EXTREME I WONT INCLUDE A WARNING. PLEASE KEEP THIS IN MIND. THANK YOU!

His ears rang sharply—high, shrill—like a gunshot had gone off right beside his head. For one terrifying second, he couldn’t breathe. Air refused to enter his lungs. His chest locked, panic clawing up his throat. It was as if his body had turned against him, dragging every injury from a week ago back to the surface. Bruises screamed. Muscles burned. Half-healed wounds tore open inside him, pain stacking upon pain until it was almost unbearable. Something hit the floor at his feet. A book. It landed with a dull, mocking thud. Fuck! Who the hell—

I am a complete loser. I am immobile and irresponsive to whatever is happening to me or around me. I motivate myself not to think about him, then, the sight of a crow decides otherwise. I woke up and realized I didn’t think of him and the rest of the day will be good, then, someone use a lighter, and the sound shatters me into pieces I don’t know how to collect. I kept myself busy with loads of work, but the sight of books squeeze my lungs, for, I almost that I could finally attend an art school, live my dream. A song, a black shirt familiar cologne, smell of sweat even if it is my own, rain and coffee, and every speck has now become like guns shooting his memories to break the already broke

“Because when it comes to you, I never will.” The words hit me in places I didn’t want to name. I looked at the blood. I looked at him. And I couldn’t tell if I was safer now... Or more in danger than ever before. End of Chapter 12

I remembered I had hurt him and I couldn’t help but see myself as a terrible person. He left me. It had been two months and I hadn’t heard anything from him. I felt hurt and angry. I couldn’t imagine him not being in my life anymore. What was even the point of living anymore? My life had no meaning anymore. I flung the book on the bed and reached out to my cabinet. I opened the drawer and brought as many pills as my hands could carry. My hands were shaking as I held the pills. I knew what I was about to do was dangerous, but I couldn’t help myself.