Do You Wanna Know How I Got These Scars Novels & Stories

I didn't want to tell them anything past that they would kick me out if they knew the truth. " How did you get that scar?" Theo spoke as he looked down at me. My eyes twitched and I looked away from him before answering. " My uh my m-mum s-she uh g-gave me t-the s-scar." It came out broken and as a whisper but I knew both of them had heard my answer as the silence was overwhelming, I could feel the hot tears streaming down my face as we continued to walk completely quiet as the only sound heard was their shoes hitting the ground.

One was in the bathtub and the others were assisting her in her bath. Agnes silently let them scrub her back and wash her body. She sat in the bathtub without moving and letting them do their work. After a while, they made her stand and dressed her up. She felt like she was in an 80's movie that features the life of royalty. Agnes watched her bare self in the reflection of the mirror. The scars that fade away was now replaced by a new and fresh one. Her eyes wandered around her body until they found the oldest one near her stomach.

he grinned brightly and I shrugged my shoulders. I stood under the warm spray, the king's release flowing down my inner thighs. What in the world was I thinking? I frowned and scrubbed myself occasionally bumping into the man himself. He asked for the soap and I dropped the bar into his hand. He grinned at me and I rolled my eyes as I started washing my hair. I felt him touching my back scars again. "How did you get these," he asked me. "From a whip for stealing food," I mumbled softly and he laughed. I turned and scowled at the ass. I shook my head and exited the shower drying myself off quickly. I wrapped the towel around myself and watched Mortas drying himself.

Before I knew what I was doing I started rubbing the scar on my left hand, desperately wanting Axel here, he always knew what to say to make me feel better. “How did you get that?” Zeke asked looking at my scar. “Oh this, I cut my hand when I was about ten on a glass when I was washing dishes” I said. “Why are you rubbing it does it hurt?” he asked sounding concerned. “No, it’s just something I do when I’m nervous, it comforts me” I told him. “Why?” he asked, what’s with all the questions I think it was the most he had spoken to me since coming here.

They were not so obvious. Her finger drifted to another one that wasn't as large as the scar beneath the tattoo but was also visible, and she asked. "How did you get this one?" "During one of the beatings, he pushed me so hard I crashed into a glass table and it broke," Adonis replied, and a tear rolled down Cara's face again. He didn't even think about the one she was touching first. He just said it like he had it memorized. "How did you even know the one I was asking about? Don't tell me you recognize each scar and when you got it."

Hana questioned, but her words trailed off as I lightly traced the scar. It wasn’t too deep, and it was old. I know scars aren’t uncommon for humans, but this isn’t just any scar. This scar came from a werewolf claw. How’d she get it? Is the werewolf dead? Why wasn’t it healed? I thought they had healers in Bloodmoon. “It’s fine. Like I told Isak in Barcelona…” She gasped softly when I kissed the length of each claw mark. “It was from training, and I opted to keep the scar. I’m a hunter. Scars are part of that. Aunt Sarael has one from your…” She paused again, losing her train of thought as it wasn’t just me touching her.

"What, is Mom not as important as some junk locket? You know what happens if her condition worsens." "I know." I cut him off, my voice cracking as I crouched on the floor. "No one knows better than me when she loses it." My old scars burned as I recalled it. Like a volatile child, she'd speak kindly one moment, and the next, brand me with a hot poker. The smell of scorched flesh haunted my nightmares. Andre fell silent, knowing how diligently I had cared for Evelyn, but a moment later, he hardened again. "I got it, you don't want her to get better."

“How can you know that? Who are you?” “Tell me, Strength. How strong are you?” “I don’t know what that means!” I cried. “Do you want to see her again?” “More than anything.” “More than stopping her from being hurt?” My mouth flapped uselessly. Pieces of myself started to draw together, closing up the wounds that had let this infection in. “I don’t know who you are, how you got my phone number, or what you really want. But I would never let Scar get hurt. Not for anything.”

He doesn’t look away, eyes steadily inspecting the scar with sharp focus. “How did you get this scar?” he asks as his gaze lifts, intimidating silver-gray eyes locking onto mine. “Who did this to you?” I draw in a slow breath, forcing it to steady even as panic crawls under my skin. There’s no chance in hell that I'm telling him the truth. That it was Valerie who’d pulled burning firewood from the flames and seared into me at fifteen, for daring to ask for what was mine.

“What if it was all a dream? What if none of that ever happened?” “Brook?” My mother’s voice turns cautious behind me. I turn sharply, and her gaze drops to my bare stomach. I’m wearing a tank top. “When did you get that scar?” She asks softly, confused. “What scar?” I say, looking down. The air leaves my lungs in one sharp rush as soon as I see it. A faint, healed scar on my stomach. On the exact spot Lance had stabbed me. My fingers tremble as I reach out and touch it. It’s real. Jesus Christ!