Knuckles Crying Novels & Stories

"The other one." I let out a deep sigh and showed her my other hand. This female would be the death of me. Her little hands cupped my hand as she ran her fingers over my knuckles. Fucking sparks. It was making my knees weak. My knuckles were healing, but they were still swollen and showed signs of having hit something hard. She tilted her head to look at me. Her gaze was so soft that it looked like she was going to cry anytime soon. "Maybe we need to put in ice or something."

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.

Frank hung his head, clenching his knuckles as blood trickled off his palm. He seemed to sniffle as the medical staff looked on in confusion, as if he was crying.

He was coughing, his head buried in his hands, his broad shoulders trembling with a mixture of physical pain and unadulterated rage. “Wren,” he choked out, his voice a ragged, broken growl. “Are you—did he touch you? Did he get to you?” “No, no, I’m right here. I’m safe,” I cried, dropping to my knees in front of him. I set my phone down on the floor, its flashlight pointing upward to illuminate us in a harsh, ghostly glow. I reached out, my hands shaking as I gently pulled his wrists away from his face. His eyes were swollen shut, streaming with tears, the skin around them an angry, inflamed red. Blood from his split knuckles was smeared across his jawline.