Scarred Emily Mcintire Novels & Stories

The kind that happens when something enters a room that nobody was prepared for. I go still. I don’t look at anyone. I stare at the wall directly in front of me and I breathe, slowly, through my nose, and I feel the air on my back and I know exactly what they can see and I don’t move a single muscle. The scars don’t lie. They never have. They’re not the clean, faded kind that can be explained away as childhood accidents or a medical procedure. They’re the kind that have a story, and the story is ugly, and every woman in this room is currently reading it whether they want to or not.

Then he accompanied her to the hospital himself to get the wound cleaned up. She'd thought he was overreacting, but he'd just smiled and said, "Lyra, you're the most important woman in my life. I don't want any scars on you—except maybe from having our kids. Smooth skin looks best with beautiful clothes and jewelry." And now, with her face covered in blood, he'd brushed her off to take care of someone else. He once swore she'd never have to bear a scar, but he made her risk her life to donate bone marrow for another woman. Even marriage and kids—he'd planned all that with someone else behind her back.

A pair of pants lay crumpled on the floor beside a dress. “Silas, I’m hungry,” Amy said as she padded out barefoot. She was wearing one of Silas’s shirts. “Tessa! You’re back?” When Amy spotted me, she didn’t look surprised at all. She tugged her shirt collar wider, deliberately revealing fresh love bites. A moment later, Silas stepped out behind her. “Amy was having those PTSD nightmares again,” he said, dodging my eyes, “So I brought her back to our house.”

Not with the pieces of my heart scattered at my feet. Jake Lawson has taken away everything: my child, my dignity, and my hope, and cast away like trash.

Damon rubbed his eyes. He wanted to believe that. It was stupid, really. If this whole thing with talking was just meant to get him to drop his guard, then it was working. Wasn’t he smarter than this? He tried to pull his anger and hate forward, to shield himself from unfortunate emotions—but he was so tired of being angry. He sighed as he turned toward her. "How many witches are in Scanthin ?” “I only know about one,And that is me Scarlett." Scar murmured, holding herself tightly.Damon advanced on her and she backed into the wall, staring up at him with wide eyes. “Why should I believe you?”

I held her by the throat tighter as I remembered how I spent over five days in the infirmary because of her and her childish jealousy. "So... Sorry." She managed to say but I brought out my makeshift knife and I tore her with it in the stomach. "Ahhhhhh." She screamed but I carried her towel that was drap over her shoulder and I shoved it in her mouth to muffle her screams. I tore her again on both of her laps. The cuts I gave her are not deep enough to make her bleed to death but the are certainly deep enough to give her an everlasting scar... Whenever she sees the scars on her stomach and thighs, it's will be a reminder of her stupidity.

" She... She re-opened dad's case? Why? Isn't she the one who told me that I should stop fighting against that invisible enemy of us? Why would she... Do this?" I stood up even if I feel like I would fall in any moment. I accidentally passed by a mirror and saw my scar. The memories that I buried six feet under the ground starts to flash like a flood. The screams in pain, the culprit's laugh, dad's cry in pain, our maids' shouts, and my cries. God, I need to stop this again. If this kept on flashing back, I'll lost myself again. And I don't want that to happen.

I rounded up my story "You're really evil ,you're a devil" Whitney yelled and I slapped her "No!! Don't you dare touch her you bastard" Jack yelled jerking on the chair "Don't worry lover boy, you'll get to watch more of this" I said and took a heated knife I held Whitney face in place and began moving the knife close to her face. "No stop please don't hurt her" Jack kept yelling I grinned and sliced Whitney face with the hot knife, she cried out in pain as blood gushed outta her cheek

I penetrated her memory of being used to satisfy a man, and her pain and suffering made me gnash my teeth and clench my fists. She trembled in her flashback, uttering a name that was not her real name, “Scarlet.” I absorbed how she was incredibly fearful of the man who had ripped her innocence from her and transformed her into the person she is today. A person without morals and dignity, as she called herself in her mind. I released my hand from her forehead, breaking the bond.

I lay her down and look at Emily "Is she okay Em?" "Surprisingly, yes, she is exhausted and a lot of it is just surface bruising, cuts and scratches, maybe a broken or fractured rib or two, but otherwise, physically, she is fine. It is how she comes back from it in her mind that has me a little worried. She has more or less been a prisoner for over twenty years, so it may take a little time for her to adjust back into the family, but then Scarlett loves proving everyone wrong."