Novel & Cerita Painted Scars By Neva Altaj

Poppy gently pulls me to a chair. “Such pretty hair,” she mutters as she starts working with it. She is gentle and doesn’t pull on it. She puts my hair into a simple updo bun. It is not slick, but still curly. I like it because it's simple. “Alright, makeup.” She gets in front of me. “I’ll keep it simple and clean. Just enhance your natural beauty.” “Natural beauty? With these scars?” “These are an indication of what you’ve survived. They mean you’re a warrior. I have my own scars, and I never cover them. I wear them with pride because I overcame it all. You should too,” she says.

The air smelled of charcoal, oil paint, and the faint metallic tang of her own frustration. She held a pencil in one hand—loose, uncommitted—staring at the blank page in her lap. The last sketch of Nico lay beside her: him in boxers, arms crossed, scars on full display. The one she’d drawn after the 3 a.m. intervention. Every line captured—rough ridges, puckered burns, the way his lean muscle pulled tight over bone like he was always braced for the next hit. She’d drawn him a dozen times since.

However, my relief is short-lived when I don’t see the man she was with. Unaware of my inner turmoil, Mikhail and Neveah walk around and admire the art. There are some incredible art pieces, sculptures, and musicians in attendance. I’m half-way through the exhibit when a certain art piece catches my attention. The painting shows the profile of a girl with long blond hair that obscures her feature. The girl is sitting sideways on the grass, wearing only a sheer white dress. Standing in front of her is a man with his head buried in her neck. His auburn hair curls around his neck, and he has black wings behind his back. Unlike the girl, he’s wearing black leather pants and is bare-chested.

He takes Althea’s arm and presses the blade against her fair skin, leaving a line of blood behind. Althea flinches slightly, the drugs numbing her nervous system. “I love your fair skin. It’s so beautiful,” says Diaz, kissing the perfect skin before making another cut. “I won’t allow you to mark it any other way. All this...” says as he strokes her back over her gown, aiming for the whip scars adorning Althea’s skin.

He looks into the rearview mirror and asks, "Okay, ladies, where are we going first?" Jade sits forward a bit and says, "I think we will go to the day spa first..." I tense at the sound of that as no one other than Zachariah has seen or knows how bad the scars are that now pattern my skin both on my back and my abdomen, even after the healing cream Valentino's servants were using and then whatever Zachariah had his doctor or healer do they could not stop my skin from scaring. I move slightly closer to Jade and place my hand on her arm and whisper,

scrawled across a landscape. The next page was blank. But something was written there in a familiar, slashing script, fresh ink on the old paper. Her blood turned to ice. It was Kaelan’s handwriting. Now. It read: “You painted over the scar. I bought the original from Albrecht last year. It hangs in my study. The tear stain is the most honest part.” A wave of nausea hit her. He hadn’t just kept her trinkets. He was actively hunting down every artifact of her pain, buying them, preserving them. The violation was boundless.

Her eyes were moist as she was trying to fight back the burning tears in her eyes. The girl's small red lips quivered. Her left palm covered her face as she looked around in search of her mask. "We all have our scars" Alita whispered. The girl stopped, she looked deeply into Alita's eyes before letting her tears flow. A faint smile spread across her face as she removed the Hoodie from her head, exposing her long red hair. "You are beautiful" Alita gasped "Scars or no scars, you are the most beautiful person I have come across and I will never forget you" she beamed.

She remembered being told that it wasn’t her fault. She remembered seeing a tall guy standing beside Jace’s grave, his back towards her. He was probably his younger brother whom she never had a chance to meet. She remembered everything. She looked down at the scar on her forearm, there were a few scars on her body that left marks. They reminded her of that horrible night. The one on her forehead was nearly invisible now, but the rest were the same. They didn’t hurt but the memories did, the nightmares did. Her older sister had been her support in all of this, her sister, her parents, Faith, and all her friends.

The warm water began to drip down my body, and I started singing to myself. I assure you, it's the best sensation in the entire world. Mina complained, "We still have to find our mate," and I sighed somewhat. "Could you give me a moment to rest? Do you believe I don't desire a Mate as well? However, do you know who our Mate is? Alpha Kian Santos is him. The scarred Alpha, the social outcast. Do you want us to be with him for the rest of our lives? I yelled as I turned off the water while banging on my tap.