Damaged Novels & Stories

Chapter 24. Analyzing and Realization. Denzel went upstairs to bring Cyrus for lunch. He knew Cyrus would be upset and as expected he was. Not only mentally but he was physically stressed too. Bone Marrow transplant surgery was a hell complicated. It was just because he was an adult, he recovered the post-surgery stress quickly. But those frequent moves, mental stress. All shouting yelling, it put him back to square one. Denzel opened the door of the room to see Bright working on his mid back, where it was strained most. And Win bandaging his hand.

“There is no need to be such a tightarse.” I narrowed my eyes, locking gazes with his injured leg. “I could say the same for your legs. You shouldn't be moving.” "That's okay. I was just working out a little. Can't let the bed stay warm all day," Damien grunted softly as he moved his body again. He groaned painfully. He instinctively reached for his injured arm, squeezing it lightly. He met my unwavering gaze before clearing his throat. "I should be going back to… my room."

She had taken a demolition course in college, and now that knowledge came to her rescue. A soft click sounded. She successfully disconnected the fuse at the final second. Yet an explosion still went off. As the blast hurled her into the air, she caught a blurry glimpse of Theodore running back. … Calista opened her eyes in the hospital to excruciating pain radiating from her arm. Theodore was sitting by her bed. When he saw her awake, he quickly steadied her. "Don't move. You just had a skin graft for Ave." "What did you say?" Calista asked.

I held it tighter. Damien came back from imaging with confirmation of two bruised ribs, a stitched forearm, and several additional small cuts on his hand and shoulder that had been cleaned and bandaged while he was gone. He looked, when they wheeled him back in, like a man who had processed the adrenaline and was now running on something quieter and more tired underneath it. He saw my face when they brought him in. "I'm fine," he said immediately. Something in me came undone.

For several endless seconds, I couldn’t hear anything except the ringing in my ears. Then… “Ariana…” Damien’s voice. Weak. Painful. Very close. I forced my eyes open. The dust slowly settled. My heart stopped. Damien was shielding me with his own body. A massive steel beam had crashed across his back. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His breathing was shallow. Labored. His face had gone frighteningly pale. He looked at me and managed a faint smile. “You’re… okay.” His voice was barely audible.

Here, the only noise came from the wind and the slow hum of living. Damian moved through the house like a ghost trying to remember how to be human. His bandages were gone now, though his left arm still trembled when he tried to lift heavy things. Sometimes, when the light hit him a certain way, I saw the faint silver line that ran down his chest—the scar the world would never know he carried. I woke up to the smell of burnt toast one morning and found him frowning at the toaster like it had personally wronged him. “I told you not to leave it on five,” I said, laughing before I could stop myself.

Scar stared at him coldly as she smashed the bottle on his head. The bottle didn't completely shatter but it cracked as wine mixed with blood,flowed down. Damian's eyes are wide open twice its size as he holds his head, falling on the rug. Dora and Jenny are sobbing from the side completely terrified,the night has gone badly,not like they planned. She squatted before him, running a hand on his messed up hair with an amazing tenderness that contradicts the action she just performed.

Her moods changed from angry to downright irate when he came to Jon Moretti – he couldn’t remembered the last time he’d seen her smile a real smile. “It worked,” she beamed, spreading her elbows behind her head as she leaned back into the chair. “The failed abduction worked.” “It also took out two of our guys. Markus is in hospital with a pretty serious head injury, Alexis.” Beady eyes dipped to the floor as anger flashed across her face. “I-I’m glad it worked though.”

The water stopped a short while later, and Damien emerged with a towel slung low around his hips, his wet hair darkened to near black and his skin flushed from the heat. In the firelight, the damage was laid bare. A gash ran along his outer ribs on the left side, shallow but long. Bruises bloomed across his shoulder and down his hip in mottled shades of purple and black. Smaller cuts crisscrossed his forearms and the back of one knee. But his muscles still rolled with that familiar, coiled strength, and his gaze settled on her with an intensity that made her throat tighten. “Sit,” she said, patting the bed.

She was placed in a position depicting the likeness of a beggar. Dale had always wanted to evade East Bay far away from the tortures of Ken and Nicky to at least start a new life. But it now seemed that the last good man on earth had been killed. The journey had caused a tremendous change in her life pattern. The constant smirking he got from different situations had caused a concussion. Her brain had suffered a lot of whiplash and pounding lately. Her head now slightly bent towards her left shoulder, this defect which caused the head and brain to shake quickly backwards was now something to deal with. Now she had become physically disabled.