Stars With Scars Novels & Stories

Averting his eyes to his hand, Scar watched as the golden ring on his finger sparkled under the harsh light from the sun, the rays illuminated the carefully carved 'G'. Scar didn't want to look but he couldn't help himself from doing so, what he saw made his eyes glaze over and his mind go foggy. There, stood his other half, his saviour and he looked exactly the same as what he did in all of Scar's worst nightmares. His smile was still inviting and bright, just as it had been the day he watched him get taken away from him whilst his eyes were still the shade of the night sky. In them, he saw the stars. Every moon, every galaxy, even the milky way, sparkled in the iridescent colour that lay d

The cuts were superficial. “She can’t hurt me.” While saying it, Gabriel knew he was lying. Calleigh had cut him to the bone long ago. But, his lust for her cut far deeper than any blade. Gabriel watched her across the room, dancing with her eyes closed, her arms swaying over her head. Like every other man in the room, he wanted her so badly that every nerve in his body vibrated with her music.

She had grown into a breathtaking woman, more stunning than even he could have imagined her. And he had done just that. For years after he did what he did, he had kept away from her, while simultaneously fighting the urge to see her again. Curiosity was a painful thing to endure, and he kept wondering what she would look like now, and whether anything would change over the years. Time healed all wounds, and he had hoped that the scar he left on her would have healed by then. Wounds heal, but scars remain with us for life. "Look at you," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "You look even more beautiful than I remember."

The scene shifted, and in my screams, I could vaguely make out Miranda's triumphant smile. "Look, Ryan's willing to break your fingers for me." I woke up from the nightmare, still shaken, drenched in sweat. The truth was, not long after Ryan left that day, Miranda showed up. She mocked my brokenness, ridiculing me for thinking I could stand a chance. "Tsk, so pathetic," Miranda said, lowering her head. Her innocent, beautiful face was now twisted with malice. "Susan, look at you. Your hands are in ruins. How are you even going to perform tomorrow?"

"What, is Mom not as important as some junk locket? You know what happens if her condition worsens." "I know." I cut him off, my voice cracking as I crouched on the floor. "No one knows better than me when she loses it." My old scars burned as I recalled it. Like a volatile child, she'd speak kindly one moment, and the next, brand me with a hot poker. The smell of scorched flesh haunted my nightmares. Andre fell silent, knowing how diligently I had cared for Evelyn, but a moment later, he hardened again. "I got it, you don't want her to get better."

Aiden looks like he might be sick, while Jasper and Marcus both look pissed. I turn back to Zahra just as she stands up straight, and I finally see what they’re staring at. Her back is covered in angry red and white scars, crisscrossing into a horrible lattice over her skin. My stomach churns at the sight. I knew her father had hurt her, but this is the first time I’m seeing the damage with my own eyes. I watch the realization dawn in her expression, and the look on her face nearly breaks me. Stepping forward, I try to ease her anxiety, wanting to brush this off for her sake. “Hey, little one. It’s good to see you enjoying yourself after this morning. How are you feeling?”

The girl in the mirror standing opposite me was a girl broken and recombined with the improper pieces. "Pathetic," I muttered to myself. And I grinned. Cold, empty thing that it was, with no regard for the girl that once was me. Because what I discovered, Jake and Cassandra didn't kill me. Victoria didn't, either. They just provided justification for waking the hell up. I removed my makeup and cotton brushes wiped away like discarding the old me. I looked again and caught sight of something new in my eyes. Peace of anger. Hunger. "No more tears," I told myself. "Time they're sorry for all of this."

I never liked people getting too close to me. It might have been my survival instincts and trust issues, but I'm used to people being cruel. With both my parents gone, years of surviving as a lone wolf taught me to expect only the worst in humans. Kindness isn't something I see every day. Scar watches me as I wrap up the cuts around my hand with a white cloth. As his name says, he has quite a glaring scar that runs from his left eye to the side of his jaw. His bare chest shows numerous tattoos and battle marks. A leather belt hangs on his waist, securing a pair of cargo pants.

It was old, but the pain it must have caused was evident. "It must have hurt," I murmured, my fingers tracing the raised edges of the scar. His body tensed, a flicker of fear in his eyes. I just felt like I could connect with him so much after seeing this. His scar was physical, but my own scars, though invisible, ran just as deep. I bent my head, pressing a soft kiss against the scarred flesh, a silent apology for the pain he had endured.

I ran my fingers along the thin lines of old wounds that were hiding under his skin. “We’ve come a long way,” I murmured. His eyes caught mine as he tilted his head up. Now there was no darkness or storm in them; only light that was steady and true. “We survived,” he whispered. “Every scar has a story. And every story brought us here.” My throat tightened. I leaned down, pressing my forehead against his. “You make it sound like we’re stars,” I said. Eliot smiled, and his lips touched mine in a very light kiss. He said in a soft voice, "Scars and stars." "That's what we are. So if there is anything bothering you, I'm always here to listen."