Painted Scars Novels & Stories

Even a flicker of complicated emotion flashed in Scott's eyes. Were they worried about me? I shook my head and immediately dismissed the thought. The first time they forced me to give Nicole blood, they had reacted the same way when they saw how pale my lips were, but they eventually got used to it. Whenever I resisted and refused to donate, Scott would say, "It's just a little blood, and you'll recover after a bowl of chicken soup. Stop being so dramatic." When I went to Devin and showed him my bruised arms from the frequent blood draws, he simply said, "Bruises fade in a few days. You've been doing this for a year now, so how are you still not used to it?"

Circular, linear, triangular scars of all shapes and sizes marred his skin, fierce and haunting. Patricia recoiled in horror, her hands trembling as she pushed his clothes back into place. Indeed, there wasn't an untouched spot on his skin. All were scars of varying sizes. What kind of cruelty leaves marks that never fade? Manda had beaten her too, but she had never been left with a single scar. Patricia covered her mouth with her hand, tears falling one by one, too heartbroken to speak. Hunter quickly grabbed his coat from the chair and put it on.

“I'm sorry for not protecting you then,I'm sorry but no one would hurt you again,I swear on my word,and those who hurt you I'll find them and end them” He promised his gaze holding hers seriously. “And your scars they give you a sexy do not mess with me look” He added , tracing a thumb over her chin, tracing the scar. He placed a kiss on her forehead,then her nose, cheeks, before slowly kissing the scar. “What are you doing” She asked breathlessly. “Kissing your scars ,I'm gonna kiss them till they fade from your memories” He kissed the scar on her eyebrow,her breath hitched as his hands moved over her breasts rubbing it slowly through the light night wear.

The red scales unlike anything I had seen before, hints of gold looked as if they were painted fresh daily. As I turned my arm over, I could see where it looked as if two tail ends were touching. Resting in the middle was a circle, clearly it was made in the image of the moon. Plopping myself down on the couch to stop my pacing, I traced my tattoo gently with my fingertips. Tadeas had a matching tattoo also on his left wrist. They were simple, elegant, and powerful, I thought. It was hard to explain, having this on my wrist allowed me to feel as if he was always with me.

Intentionally imperfect. But the slashes— They ruin everything. Across his face, A deep tear from brow to jaw, splitting straight through the painted eye, as if someone tried to rip his identity in half. Across his chest, A diagonal gouge, the paint peeled back in curling strips like the canvas tried to recoil from the violence. Down his left arm, A clean, brutal tear right through the sleeve. The edges around each claw mark curl outward, stiff and warped, like they burned a little during the shredding.

These kinds of burns would usually heal without scars, but as they became repetitive, her scar tissues became thick and noticeable on her skin. Damien did not react surprised when she pulled her sleeves, and her scars showed. He casually checked on their sizes, and as he stared at them, his eyes also moved to the designs he had on the frames hanging on the wall. He was purely and genuinely focused on what design would be good considering the distances and sizes of her scars. "Do you have any designs in mind you want to get painted in here?" Damien looked up to ask her face to face after gazing back and forth her arm and to the wall. But before Flora could answer, Damien moved away.

But how is that possible with someone so damaged? I touch her back with my fingers, softly run the tips over the scars, not mine, my belting will heal. The deeper ones etched into her back like an abstract painting. Carved into her soul. Some are raised and as I slide a finger down one, goosebumps rise across her skin and she shivers. "Don't." Her voice is muffled, distant, soft and defeated.

he responds. “I have been thinking about getting a tattoo…” James’s eyes widen in surprise, and I can see he never pegged me as someone who would like ink. “But I have some scars and I don’t know if you can tattoo over them.” “I guess it depends on the scars,” James says, and I can tell he wants to ask me more. I take a breath and walk across to him, pulling up the sleeves of my top as I approach. I hold out my wrists, and you can easily see where I cut myself, the line running up my arms instead of across. The scars are no longer the livid red weals that drew looks of horror but instead have faded to a rosy pink. I know it will be years before they fade properly, but for now, I would like s

The disfigurements painted the otherwise perfection of his flesh in puckered whelps, which flowed their way over his stomach and abs in harmonized rivers that trailed off beneath the waistband of his jeans. Though the scars weren't fresh, I could tell they weren't that old, either. Yet, even with all the damage to his features and body, somehow, it didn't repulse, instead, they added mystery, allure, and, I admit, made him sexy as all fucking hell!