Feels Like We Had Matching Wounds Mga Nobela at Kwento

he smiled. I sighed and threw my head down. "Please" I whispered in defeat. "Leave" I said I closed my eyes when I heard the door open and close again. I fell onto my bed and allowed my tears to fall out. *** The doctor came into to check my wounds and said that my wound will heal soon, but what about the wounds in my heart?...who will heal them?. My family was crying when they saw me in the hospital bed again. I was now ready to go home. I could walk a bit as luckily the cut wasn't that deep. I just limp a little but I could walk thank god.

She mimed my punch, complete with sound effects. I burst into laughter again, doubling over. “He looked like a cartoon character seeing stars. I almost felt bad. Almost.” “Almost,” Natalie agreed, nodding sagely. Then she smirked wider. “But let’s be real, we look so much better with our bruises than they do. We’re like – badass battle scars. They just looked like kicked puppies.” We exchanged a proud, almost feral grin. Yeah, we were messed up, but we’d messed them up worse. The memory of their faces—stunned, shocked, and nursing their egos—was strangely satisfying.

Now I understand how he shares the same tragic experiences with me, albeit in a different form. He snickered at my statement and moved closer to gaze at me, “And yet here we are,” he shrugged. I smiled at the irony. No one would have ever guessed that our paths will diverge and intertwine like this. In some peculiar twist of fate, we were pulled towards one another. Both damaged, both turned into a darker version of ourselves. Carrying the heaviness with us forever. We found solace in our similarities, as fucked up as they are. It was almost comical.

It was a blurry night as the heat was unbearable for Alice, not that the room is hot but she was feeling hot. The conversation she had earlier with her grandmother had taken her off the edge. One thing Alice know off and she is sure of is that she has no interest in marrying any of the princes.

Different weird thoughts hit me as I trailed my fingers over the sores. The sores look no different from yesterday, it was still fresh and it stung like hell. I remembered the doctor's claims and I wondered when they would heal up. Yes, as werewolves, if we have achieved our wolves, our wounds heal in time, but I'm not confident about my wounds… I have not incurred this degree of injury before.

We were a whirlwind of emotions, a symphony of desire and desperation. The remnants of the night clung to us, a grim reminder of the horrors we'd faced. We scrubbed away the blood, the brain matter, the unknown fluids that had stained our skin. The thick soap lathered our bodies, a cleansing ritual that transcended the physical. It was a shared experience, a testament to our unbreakable bond.

I replied, the words feeling like a betrayal. My fingers instinctively reached out to trace the spot where my mark had once adorned her face, a bittersweet reminder of what we had lost. But she didn't react, didn't feel the spark that had once been there. Of course, she didn't. The mark had been the source of our bond, the thread that had tied us together. Without it, we were nothing more than perfect strangers.

It wasn’t intentional. We looked at each other in silence for a few seconds, and I felt something inside me break and rebuild at the same time. There was still so much left unsaid. So many wounds unhealed. But at least, for now, we were alive. Together. Or close. Because together meant something else and we weren’t that.

In that moment, she understood, perhaps for the first time, the true extent of the wounds they had both suffered. In the silence that followed, their shared sorrow lingered, wrapping around them like an invisible thread. The weight of the past was heavy, but there was a quiet understanding between them now, a mutual recognition of the pain they had endured. Each tear that fell seemed to carry a lifetime of unspoken words, of moments they had missed and dreams that had slipped through their fingers.

For a moment, the weight in my chest loosened. But the bond still burned. And the space where Krav should’ve been felt like an open wound.