Scars And Stripes Novels & Stories

I spoke as I climbed onto the first slab, Stripes walking ahead. “No shit.” “I don’t want to make things worse.” “You can’t get any worse than this” Stripes laughed from ahead, heaving his basket up to get a better grip “no way.” I kept climbing behind Stripes, who was powering ahead. I caught a glimpse of the back of his neck and cringed. It was just a scar now, but the large ‘TRAITOR’ gleaming back at me was a reminder of how I had betrayed Stripes when he needed me most.

I barely recognized the girl staring back at me in the black screen. Scars ran down my face, souvenirs from the day I ran into the fire to save the photo Axel and Gloria left behind. None of it mattered anymore. Leaving him was the only thing that did.

“But what if someone comes…” “That’s the idea, silly,” she breathes. “No, I mean, what if someone else comes in…” “I’ll keep a look out,” offers Laura helpfully. “You can imagine I’m Scar Son if you like,” pleads Sandra, starting to squirm around on the bed, her hips writhing in sexual frustration while she fucks herself with two fingers inside her panties.

"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.

The pressure was gentle, but the warning was crystal clear: "Remember why we're partners. It's about destroying the Ferraris, nothing else. Don't go where you don't belong." "I can fake someone's death, but I can also make it real." My breathing hitched for just a moment. Then I smiled and covered his hand with mine. "Of course, Mr. Rosetti. We're the perfect team." He hesitated, then released me: "My private doctor says your scars are treatable. Start preparing—we'll schedule the surgery soon." My eyes lit up. As he headed for the door, I called out: "Your face—why don't you consider getting yours fixed too?"

Saadiya had suffered a cut to her left arm but it wasn't anything serious, Parvina was attending to her. She looked at Omar and tried to steady her heavy breathing, he had ripped off his throbe and now left with a loose and very transparent under shirt which was no longer white but red and it perfectly outlined his very built muscles, his perspiration having soaked through them, Mariam stared at him for a while until he gave her a thumbs up and she blinked rapidly to clear her head. Focus Mariam, she told herself. He smiled at her and she smiled back but he couldn't clearly see her smile from the distance between them because of the cloth that hid her lower face so she nodded.

I forgot. Miss, whoever she is, looked at me shockingly but there's a hint of familiarity and sadness in her eyes. As I stared at her, I realized she really looked so weird and no offense, ugly. There's a huge birthmark that covered her left forehead, down to her eye and her ear. There's also a huge mole on the lower right side of her mouth. To top everything off, she has a lot of pimples, acne scars and blackheads. This girl needs help.

I might have nothing but I will still stand like a pillar. I still don't understand one thing. Why couldn't he kill me that day? He said something is holding him back. Is that even possible? A tattoo on the leader's chest. I don't have tattoos. I have scars. Tears blurred my eyes as I put my hand on my chest. My scars define how strong I am. They might not allure anyone. I might be ugly in the world's eye but I know how these scars have made me strong. If they are powerful so do I am.

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.

Rossi, seeing her vulnerability. ​She stripped off her clothes, the heavy blue dress suddenly feeling like a crushing weight. She found a large, expensive silk scarf in the dressing room and tied it tightly around the worst part of the bruise on her arm, hoping the compression would slow the internal bleeding and dull the throbbing ache. It was a flimsy, temporary fix, but it was all she could manage.