Painted Scars Book Novels & Stories

It was like the scars reminded me of her past. It was like Ava's scars screamed at me to set fire to her enemies, and together, with Ava by my side, I'd watch them burn in the flames. Scars made people ugly, they say, but with Ava, she looked more beautiful. Those scars were evidence of the pain that defined her. The pain that told a story of the stuff she was made of. I didn't want to say a word about it, so she doesn't feel uncomfortable but I made sure to touch those scars.

“You told me once you were addicted to my face. Said it was your drug. Well… it’s gone now. Just scars. So please—go find someone whole.” “I’m so sorry, Jake…” Ariana choked out. “Sorry?” I laughed bitterly, my head shaking. “I wish sorry could fix it.” And then—something warm touched me. A hand. Small. Soft. Real. It was Liz. I knew how her hands felt. “Jake…” Her voice was soft, trembling. Her eyes were dripping with tears, but she didn’t look away. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t disgusted. She was just… there. She touched my scars like they were nothing, tracing them without being disgusted.

"No way! Natalie's the one who sold her kidney," Evelyn snapped, shoving Natalie aside to inspect me. "She has lost a kidney," the leader confirmed. "Taking the other would kill her." Just as Evelyn's hand reached for me, Natalie cried out and collapsed, revealing a prominent scar on her abdomen. "Go ahead and take her to the hospital. She is faking to win your love." Evelyn flinched, rushing back to check Natalie's scar. "I almost fell for her trick. Don't worry. I'm taking you to the hospital now."

With her eyes resting on the fire, she use her nails to scratch the spot he ahd kissed and blood was forming on the red line her nails had continually and roughly dragged. A gently door losing behind her didn’t faze her one bit. She felt a shadow lingering behind her. “Thank you, Khalid. I didn’t think you would take such a long time to call Ambrose.” “He was asleep. No wolf like to be disturbed when he sleeps.” Zara smiled. She relax back on the chair and speak eerily. “Prepare the water. I want it to scorch me.” “Are you sure?” Khalid’s voice becomes sad. “His touch feels like thousands of insects are running down my body. I need to get it off me. I feel dirty.”

"I'm painting over your shame. This is the last coat." He pulled the sheet away. It fell to the floor in a soft heap. And I saw it. I saw me. It was me, lying on a dark, simple surface. But I wasn't just naked. I was exposed. My body was painted in perfect detail, but so were my secrets. Faint, almost invisible scars on my skin. The faded tattoo on my shoulder was there, but it was painted over with soft, golden light, as if it was being erased. My eyes were open in the painting, and they weren't scared. They were clear. And they were looking right at me. It was the most vulnerable and the most powerful thing I had ever seen. It was me, completely laid bare, and I was not ashamed. Tears fill

“Oh, right. Hi.” “Hi.” He extended his massive hand, and she took it cautiously. That was when she felt the scars on his hands. Even without looking, just from touching the flesh under her fingertips, she knew now that his scars weren’t from a knife, or glass, or a prison yard fight gone way wrong. These were from burns, bad burns, burns that he’d carried since childhood maybe, and her heart squeezed. In her years as a tattoo artist, she’d covered up hundreds of scars, but in some ways, the most heartbreaking ones were burns. The stories attached to them were always, always so damn painful.

Or simply the quiet joy of being alive. "Let me see you," she said, reaching for his shirt. He allowed her to undress him, his body emerging from the layers of leather and wool. The scars on his chest caught the light, silver lines on bronze skin. She traced them with her fingers, each one a story, each one a battle survived. He shivered beneath her touch. "You are beautiful," she said. "I am scarred." "So am I." She pressed her palm flat against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "Scars are not ugly. They are proof that we did not break."

His beautiful body right in front of me makes me just keep staring and then I see a full-top body full over tattoos and scars. "I have scars too, Casey; some faded and some will always remain. I covered up a fair few of them but believe me. You're beautiful, baby. You are so beautiful, I don't care about what you look like. The scars show you survived. It's part of you and if you don't like them, then that's also okay; you can do whatever you want to them. Tattoos or skin grafting, of they allow that or if it's even a thing to do,. Let me look after you"

Marvin I flipped through several pages, my curiosity and confusion pushing me to search for something that might make sense of everything. The memory from the previous day suddenly returned to me. After Beta Raymond had left, I had picked up this very book from the desk because he had forgotten to place it back on the shelves. My fingers moved faster now as I turned the pages until I reached the particular section near the middle of the enormous book he had left behind. There it was, the same scar that met my eyes. My eyes widened as I stared right back at the replica of the scar on Becky's stomach.

Elena winced. "Ow, my head," she groaned in pain as she looked around. Where was she? She looked around again. It was wide room with small windows covered by dirty curtains, making it suffocating. The paint on the wall was faded, different stains and marks plastered to it. There was a wooden table and chair at the corner of the room, several empty crates, bottles and cigarettes box laying carelessly around. It looked like an old abandoned room.