Painted Scars Novels & Stories

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!

Mateo’s body is like a piece of art, not because of how well taken care of it is, but because each of the scars on his body has a story to tell. He has two bullet wound scars. One on his right shoulder, the other one on his pelvis. There is a scar over his left nipple. There are some random cuts and other scars on his back as well, but they aren’t as prominent. He never hide those scars from his eyes – he didn’t get them covered with tattoos – he let them shine. He has tattoos, but they aren’t big ones nor are they there to hide any scars. He is not proud of them, but they keep him going on. They are the reminders that if he could go through what he went through, he can concur with anything

His face blank. Too blank. Mara’s hands paused for half a breath. Only half. Then she recovered and poured water over a cloth. Good woman. She knew better than to make a wound feel like a spectacle. I did not. Or maybe I did and still could not look away. Because the scars were not ugly in the simple way damage was ugly. They were deliberate. That made them obscene. Someone had taken time with his pain. Someone had planned where to hurt him so it would last.

He held his hand out for me to take as if he hadn't done anything wrong but I simply stared at him, there is no way in hell I was going to willingly go with him. Frustrated by my actions he growled grabbing hold of my naked forearms, and pulled me onto my feet, when I winced at the pain his fingers brought me, his eyes hardened. He forced my arm around and looked at it. There they were, the healing words that will forever be scarred on my skin. The words themselves were scabby and rough now, and a large deep purple hue lay around them, decorating the words like bubble writing, it was healing but after the last week I’d say it looks nastier than when it was first done.

“Not just good – amazing.” “One hundred percent amazing,” Jo said solemnly. “Thought so.” Scars held out a huge hand and she took it, felt the raised skin there. Without even looking, Jo knew that he had more scars on his hands and briefly wondered what he must look like under his jeans and blue t-shirt and cut: she’d heard from Jinx that the fire had burned Scars so badly, he’d needed reconstructive skin grafting on his back and legs. “It’s a pleasure, Jo.”

I knew he meant my back, where the new marks had appeared. "Strangely fine," I admitted. The pain had receded and the ugly red scars had dulled to less dramatic colors, turning the previously puckered skin into artistic swirls of pink and tan. This morning I'd stared forever at them in the bathroom. They weren't even tender anymore. In fact, if I wasn't looking at them, I could almost forget they were there. "Me, too," he said. "I'm looking forward to hearing what the doctor says. By the way, I have a theory about your vision on the wall."

The way he looked at me as though I had slipped through his fingers, though I wasn’t sure I’d ever been in his hands to begin with. Was that even a fight? I wasn’t sure. It hadn’t been shouting or doors slamming. Just silence. Silence with an edge sharp enough to cut through bone. I sat up with a sigh, swinging my legs off the bed. My scars prickled under the moonlight, old marks etched into my skin like someone else’s handwriting. I reached for the jar on the nightstand,the cream Malrik had left without a word weeks ago. Scar removal. Expensive. Rare. I rubbed it carefully over my arms, my collarbone, down to my legs. Slow circles, like erasing an old story.

“Before I show it to you, just know the doctors believe you will heal beautifully and there should be no scarring. Even if there are a few, since you’re young and mateless, they believe when you find your mate, the scarring will heal and your skin should be flawless again.” “Just show it to me, please,” I begged. “OK. Get ready,” she sighed. She held the mirror up over my bed, and my eyes were closed at first. I took a deep breath before I opened them. I gasped at the ghastly sight. The skin on my back was deep purple with black and blue colour in some places. The pelts on my back looked like someone had chopped at my flesh over and over with a sharp machete. The skin was oozing puss, and th

"Don, the knife work was lethal. If you'd truly meant to kill me, I wouldn't be here breathing." A flicker of madness in Wade's eyes froze for a split second before he erupted into a wild laugh. His laughter twisted the scars on his face into something even more sinister. Out of nowhere, he lunged and clamped down on my wrist. His grip was so strong I thought my bones might snap as he tried to shake me off. However, the moment his fingers brushed the inside of my wrist, he froze. There, an ugly burn scar marred my skin. It was an old wound, shaped like a scorched butterfly.

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.