Shame Application の小説・ストーリー

I'm so foolish, so blind, shameless desperate omega. Regret and shame tightly suffocates me, crushing my soul. My mind is trapped in a darkness so profound so that I'm numb to everything else. The world around me fades away, inconsequential. I curl in on myself as my surrounding blurs into nothing. All I can is this pain so great that my heart bleeds, my self-loathing burns under the weight of my mistake. If only I wasn't born like this– a shameless omega. I'm slave to my heat. A whore for any Alpha. A shame to any pack I find myself in. A failure…a reject.

Heat rises in my cheeks, making me lower my head. “I… I kinda like you, but… I just got out of a terrible relationship and I’m still kind of nursing my heart and not looking to…date.” I explain, feeling my face flame up even harder. Why do I feel ashamed when I’m the one that was wronged? Marcus and Nora are the ones who should feel ashamed. Not me. Finn brushes his knuckles against my cheeks softly. “I’ll be patient for as long as it takes. I’m here for you, Rhea. Never forget that. I’ll see you later, okay?”

I knew it was a bad idea to open the app, but I still went on reading the nasty comments till the texts and my screen became blurry I quickly blinked my tears away and shot up to my feet in a sudden confidence boost. No. I wasn’t going to cry or let them humiliate me. I picked up my phone and opened my camera and found a good angle to position my phone in the closet They couldn’t humiliate me if I humiliated myself first, right? That’s exactly what I was going to do. You can’t shame the shameless I pulled up a sound and started dancing with no rhythm or flow, just moving my body horribly When I was done, I watched it and nodded. Yep, this was ridiculous enough.

THE WORLD seems like it’s about to swallow Shean. That is how she feels. She could not open social media accounts for fear of seeing the fruit of the shame she had committed. She was still under the shower even after long hours of bathing. She feels like it was only the water that she could hide. She was experiencing so much shame just right now. She felt like bashers were all around her. She doesn't even know if her erotic novel will be sold because of the scandal she gets in.

“No, Brielle. You didn’t upset me. I upset me. I lost control.” The shame in his face was real. Tangible. But so was the fear that maybe this wasn’t a one-time thing. That maybe her forgiveness wasn’t healing—it was submission. The rest of the day, he worshipped her with his body—mouth, hands, words—burying apologies between her thighs, inside her. As if every orgasm could erase the sting. As if if he touched her gently enough, she'd forget the sound of his voice when it was cruel. He murmured over and over:

I couldn't survive Thane being taken away from me. I ignored my phone, ignored the buzzing and the missed calls from Thane. I couldn’t bear to hear his voice, not when shame had its claws in me. **** The days that followed were almost nonexistent. The phone lit up with his name over and over, but my throat locked every time. I couldn’t even bring myself to answer Thane’s continuous call. Couldn’t bear the weight of his voice when I felt like I was drowning. Shame wrapped itself around me like a shroud. I couldn’t face him—not when I’d failed so completely. Food went untouched. My room reeked of stale coffee and sweat-soaked sheets, the air as heavy as my chest. Every knock from the outside w

We are an island, and I am about to drown in the waters surrounding it. I count the days, then the weeks. My body, this intimate enemy, will soon betray me. In two months, maybe less. A gentle curve, imperceptible to others, but for me it will be like a flag raised, a public confession written on my skin. I cannot let this happen. I cannot bear their looks, their whispers, their disgust disguised as concern. Shame is an acid that corrodes everything, even hope.

Such a ludісrоuѕ claim wоuld have mаdе me thе сеntеr оf a соmmunіtу ѕсаndаl, аnd there’s nо way I wаѕ gоіng to lеt thаt happen. Thе ѕtоrіеѕ we hеаr аbоut vісtіmѕ of сrіmе аrе аll truе. Yоu dо blаmе yourself, you do fееl ashamed. I did, аnd I couldn’t gеt out frоm undеr thаt shame.

The memory danced just out of reach, frustratingly elusive, but every thought of it sent waves of panic crashing over me. My hands shook as I tugged at my hair and pressed my face into my palms, as if I could somehow erase the shame with sheer force of will. But it was inescapable. It was everywhere—on every screen, in every comment, in every whispered voice I imagined behind me. Hours past, or maybe minutes. In this haze of shame, time had completely lost its meaning. My phone buzzed non-stop, vibrating with a flood of messages, notifications, and reminders of my supposed mistakes. I just couldn’t bring myself to respond. The thought of facing anyone felt unbearable.

Anywhere but here. Even after all I said, still, no one moves or says anything. But I feel it then, shame. It’s so thick in the air that it almost suffocates me. They’re ashamed of themselves or of their alpha, I don’t care, because that’s the best they can offer me, and it’s so pathetic. “You’re all pathetic.”