Cracked Bleeding Knuckles Novels & Stories

Coming out of a blackout was always a painful experience, both physically and emotionally. Color blossomed like newborn flowers at the start of spring, sharpening before my eyes until the hallway with it’s vaulted ceilings and the lockers, as black as the raven in the University’s crest, came into view. I blinked a few times, flexing my fingers which brought on a sharp sting of pain that chased away the last of the grogginess. Ouch, that really hurt. With a frown, I looked down at my hands. The skin covering my knuckles was bruised and split in some places. There was blood speckled along my fingers, and I had a sickening feeling it wasn’t just my own.

He goes about it slowly, each step deliberate, unlike the previous times he’s patched me up. He’s trying to collect his thoughts, I realize with a start. By focusing on something that keeps his hands occupied. “How bad it is?” I ask, my voice raspy in the silence “Thoroughly broken,” Zen says, his own voice quiet “The bones of the palm are misaligned, I think the knuckles might be fractured. Your fingers are fine. It might heal without permanent damage, but there’s an off chance otherwise.” My brows go up “You sound like a doctor, you know.”

I see his car starting to disappear into the distance. I cry out in pain , as soon as his car disappears. A stinging sensation erupts from my knuckles and flows it’s way all over my body – stopping at my heart ; the pain linking up. My fist stays against the wall – my punch did little to no damage to the wall. The wall was attacked but it was my knuckles that suffered the blow. Pulling my fist away from the wall , I stare at the blood that leaks from my knuckles. Red is pretty.

A loud crackle reverberated inside the ring. ~CRACK Ivan's bones in foot seemed to have taken some kind of internal wear and tear when it hit Creed's knees. However, despite that Creed did now stay still. The outline of his dominant hand blurred for a fraction of second, painting the air with a deep scarlet. ~Arghhh A metallic glint stretched in the air and Ivan released a painful grunt from his very core. He saw that his calf was split vertically. A menacing grin appeared on Creed's face when the blood gushed out like the water leaking from a broker hydrant.

He wiped the blood off his lips after cracking his knuckles. That was the second mistake: cracking his knuckles. Kai saw that as a preparation for battle. He lurched forward, baring his elongated fangs, and swiped hard across Dallan's face. The impact bit deep into Dallan's cheek, scraping off a huge chunk of flesh. Kai was at his former position in no time. The injury on Dallan's cheek closed up as fast as his anger for Kai. "When did your nails get so sharp?" Dallan murmured while massaging his healed cheek. He sighed and moved toward Kai who was still in battle stance.

he insisted while his gaze dropped back down to my swollen lips. I gently grabbed his right wrist and I pulled his bruised hand up so I could inspect the fresh bandages I wrapped around his knuckles. The white gauze was already stained with a few spots of dark red blood but the cuts seemed to be holding together without needing medical stitches. "You are going to have to soak this hand in warm water and Epsom salts tonight or your joints will stiffen up by tomorrow morning," I instructed him while sliding back into my comfortable nursing mode. "I can survive a little bit of knuckle pain," Kyle dismissed my medical advice with a careless shrug of his broad shoulders.

His knuckles were swollen. “D, let’s go to the hospital” she pleaded. She couldn’t bear to see him in pain. “It’s okay, you should have seen my friend” he said arrogantly. If he knew this is a sure way to receive some concern from Celine, he shouldn’t have fought so hard in the past. “Your friend? Were you involved in any fight?” she asked in confusion. “No babe, it was a friendly match. I was just letting off some steam” “I wasn’t in a good shape so I got hit a few times”

Hands that shook but didn't drop a single bill. I've had board members twice her age fold under less pressure. She was barefoot, wrapped in a bedsheet, standing in front of a man who could end her with a phone call. She threw the money back. I close the file and head for the bathroom. Cold water. Toothbrush. Phone on the counter, tomorrow's schedule glowing on the screen. I unbutton my shirt and pull it off. The marks are still there. Six days. I've healed cracked ribs faster. Thin pink lines across my collarbone and chest, faded but present. One runs from the left collarbone down to just above my heart, a clean line, the kind left by someone gripping, not scratching. Holding on.

And again. I keep hitting the wall until my knuckles are bleeding and my hand goes through the thin wood of my wardrobe door with a loud crack.

CRACK. The sound of my knuckles meeting her cheekbone echoes in the small room. My fist is hard, fueled by weeks of suppressed rage. The force of the blow knocks her head to the side, and a white, bloody object flies from her mouth, a tooth. It bounces off the floor with a tiny clink.