Scars And Lies Novels & Stories

When his thumb grazed the newest one, a raw line still scabbed at the edges, I stiffened. “This one’s mine,” he growled, lips following the path his fingers took, as if his kisses could rewrite the story. He continues working his way down my ribs, kissing and caressing every scar as if he could make them all go away. His lips traced the ridged scar on my ribs—Louise’s parting gift. “This one,” he said, voice thick, “is a lie.” His tongue followed the curve, as if he could lick away the memory. “You’re not hers. You’re…” He hesitated, the unspoken *mine* hanging in the air like smoke. I arched into him, my silent answer: *Yes. But only if you’re mine too.*

Her face was rarely unreadable but it was now, and her eyes shone with disappointment. "Where were you, Mae?" she asked, her voice low but laced with venom. I swallowed hard, then tried to flash a small smile to ease up the tension in the room. "I don't know what you're talking about, I just… I've been in my room?" Scar shook her head, her frown deepening, "Do you even understand what kind of trouble you are bringing on yourself? And you have to lie to me too?" I clenched my fists, trying to hold my ground. Scar was kind, but I did not fully know the length she would go if I got in trouble with her, "I… I wasn't—”

I eye her suspiciously at her sudden formality, and I wonder if Liam is inside. “Well...” She falters. “You look beautiful, by the way.” I blurt out and realize that I have been looking up and down her body with a smirk. Her cheeks turn bright red, and she breaks eye contact. “Thank you,” she whispers. “But I have scars.” “I know, and they look new, but scars tell stories.” I stare at them, and I wince, while thinking about how she might have had a traumatic experience during our day and night at Carkeek Park. “And I’m curious to know how you got them.” I continue.

It had taken five grown men to drag Scars out of that car – seconds before it had exploded. His whole body was covered in burns, she knew that intimately. The most recent ones were from him running into the old Blue Dragon Ink tattoo parlour to rescue Zoe’s daughter Keira from an explosion and a fire. Scars had saved Keira’s life – but he’d done so at a huge physical and emotional cost to himself. Not that he regretted it, not for one second, but it had been one hell of a road to recovery. He was here, though. Here in one piece, so strong and loving. Her heart and her blood, her breath and soul. Her future husband. Her whole life.

"Keep going. This is just pocket change for a bottle of wine. It doesn't prove her loyalty. I just dropped 30 million on a sports car for Natalie. This will soften the blow." The loan shark hesitated, realizing Andre meant to jack up the interest. "But she seems..." Natalie Deleon, the fake daughter, clung to Andre's arm. "You heard him. This little money proves nothing. Selling her chastity? She's a leech. We can't trust her." My chest tightened, a familiar ache clawing at my heart. I fumbled for my pills, swallowing them dry, and braced against the wall. I'd abandoned my dreams, rejected an Ivy League school, and worked until my hands were cracked and bleeding. For what? A lie!

Layla scrambled back in terror, but it was too late. My claws ripped her dress, revealing the pale skin of her back. It was smooth. Flawless. There was no scar. And Myrna... Myrna had a hideous scar running from her left shoulder to her right hip. The scar I had touched a thousand times, but never once asked where it came from. "Moon Goddess," I collapsed. "What have I done?" "You regret it now?" Layla sat on the floor, her eyes filled with malicious glee. "It's too late, Clark. It's far too late."

] [And since we're already broken up, you have no right to even say something like you're disappointed in me. I sent the message, then tapped open my contact and blocked the number. The screen went dark and I went back to scrubbing the sheets. The next morning, my phone woke me up by vibrating more than a dozen times. Still half asleep, I opened it and found a long string of messages from my roommates, with a link at the top. The headline read: [Shocking news! The truth about Central University's wealthy heiress and her maid! Is the girl always beside Sophie an impostor?]

Woke up hours later. Liar. He wasn’t jumped by a group. Chérie Noir beat his ass herself. Dragged him into a car, knocked him out, dumped him in a ditch. But Scarface wasn’t about to admit that. Couldn’t say a girl did that to him. So he lied. “She’s working with outsiders,” Scarface added. “Maybe cops. Maybe worse.” Giordano stared at him. Breathing slow. Measured. Then he laughed. Cold. Dry. “You’re lying.”

“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.”

Pretending to sleep without even move a muscle while feeling someone approaching her is the hardest thing she has ever done. Scar curls up, her knees as close to her chest as her bound arms allow. She buries her face half into the pillow, praying that Johnny Vanderbilt wouldn’t touch her -- It would be really awkward if she has to “wake up” in front of him. She is a bad liar, and she doesn’t know how to make that look natural at all. He was the one who lied! So why is she here trying to avoid the embarrassment?! That being said, Scar has the faintest idea how to fast him at this moment. To ask him why he doesn’t love her? Or why he married Emma when he was in love with Anna Fuller?