Painful Books Novels & Stories

“Why does it have to be tragic?” I froze. He turned now, face drawn in visible frustration. “I read through a bunch of your drafts. They’re all painful. Why are you so obsessed with pain?” I laughed—too loud, too fast. I slapped the table twice with my palm. “What’s funny?” he snapped. “Are you a masochist or something? Even your books—they all end in heartbreak.” I wiped the tears from my eyes, still smiling. But slowly, the laughter faded. And then I realized something.

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This time, I was ready for the pain that I didn’t even blink when it started burning. It felt like the times when my father made me hold hot coals so I could grow resistance to them. He was a sick and depraved bastard. The book feels old. The pages are crusty and seconds from falling apart. I bet they only have one more read left in them. And I’ll be glad to offer it.

at times, emotional pain can be more awful than physical pain, maybe that's why i don't feel the pain on my leg i feel nothing he sighs, moving up and sits beside me on the bed. "sam, look at me," he pulls me gently to his side, brushing my hai "go away," i mumbl "sam, please, just look at me. and tell me how do you feel. let it out on me. let it out all the rage, all the things you're feeling i breath out heavily, then turn to him. "when storm gave me the bullet carved by my name, you know what i was thinking? all i was thinking, 'so this is how it's going to end, huh? this, my life?'