The Beauty In Breaking Novels & Stories

Falling in love is a process. It happens gradually with the way your heartbeat increases to the way your heart longs for forever with that one person.~ A. Gupta Cole My eyes couldn’t look away from her. She was exceptionally beautiful. Her beauty was too profound, like she should be kept under wraps and locked so no one would touch her and smudge her pure beauty. One touch and she would get dirty. But the man inside me wanted to dirty her up for myself, I wanted to make her mine, despite her being broken I wanted her to be my filthy princess.

My pieces are still falling apart. The only difference is that I’m trying to make it through this darkness. I am trying to get back all those pieces that once belonged together. I’m crawling on the shards of glass called life and I believe I’ll make it through if only I just keep breathing. I am my daddy’s Celeste after all.

CRACK, SHATTER She pulled away from him, breaking out of his grip, tears streaming down her face and looked behind her, seeing the mug broken into small pieces. “Awe look what you did, you broke it,” Fress taunted, smiling at her, “Well at least Beau won't receive such a cheap present from a woman who claims to love him so much.” She looked back at him, smacking him across the face, and pushed him out of the way, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. She walked towards the elevator, her mind in a lost daze. “What's wrong,” He mocked, “I thought you were going to wait for Beau? Don't you want to tell him everything… I'm sure he'll want to know.”

The pack moving forward as though I had never mattered. They didn’t deserve happiness. The thought came sharp and unfiltered, and I didn’t fight it. Not today. They had taken too much from me. They had crowned themselves righteous. If their happiness was built on my ruin, then it was fragile. Still, I moved. I lifted my chin and continued down the hallway, nodding politely at those who passed me, responding when spoken to, playing the role expected of me. The broken princess. The quiet girl who had returned defeated.

"The doctor said she just needs to rest." "Good to hear." He watched me packing and frowned. "You're not really leaving over a necklace, are you?" A necklace? I stopped and looked at him. "In your eyes, that was just a necklace?" "That's not what I meant…" He looked flustered. "I know it was important, but it's broken. We can find the best craftsman to fix it. There must be some magic that can repair it perfectly…" "Repair it?" I laughed, a cold, empty sound. "Austen, some things, once they're broken, stay broken."

It was beautiful. Through the glass I saw the tremor in her body, the tight clutch of her blanket as if it could shield her from me. I had broken her in bed, I had broken her on the roof, but this—this breaking was sweeter. This was fear born not of death, but of truth. She finally believed me.

I tasted her like I had all the time in the world. When I looked up from between her thighs, she was watching me. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her eyes soft, glassy, half-lidded. She looked at me like she didn’t know whether to cry or pull me back in. And I knew one thing for sure—this girl, this broken, brilliant , beautiful girl—she was mine and I will never let anyone take her From me I picked her up with a grunt, her legs still clinging to my waist, and laid her out in the back seat. Her breath hitched as I lined myself at her entrance. I rubbed the head of my cock over her entrance, slow, teasing...

“You’ll never get that satisfaction you so desperately seek.” I stepped back, crossing my arms as I studied her. Her body was battered, bloodied, and trembling, but her spirit remained intact. It was infuriating—and thrilling. Shy wasn't she crumbling or begging for mercy? Maybe I wasn't trying hard enough. She was a challenge, and I was determined to win. “You don’t understand how this works, do you?” I began. “Everyone breaks. It’s just a matter of time. And when you do, it will be beautiful.”

Mine does too, But I learnt to smile, Against all odds. Heartbreak, Trauma, Depression, They made a home in me, Did they try same with you too? You're the kind of broken, That people far and wide, Would one day come to watch. Your scars would be beautiful, It'll shine for all to see. You're a different kind of beautiful, You're broken beautiful. A masterpiece, Most times isn't perfect. It's the flaws, That creates art. Be proud of yourself,

“This is not a fight. Not a game. Not a ceremony you walk through to become a picture for other people’s comfort.” “I gathered,” I said. “It is a door,” she continued. “You will step to the threshold and decide if it is the right one. You will choose to knock, or not. You will decide how to listen and what to ignore. You will not be guided. You will not be helped across. If you break, it is because something inside you was brittle. If you do not break, it is because something inside you learned the shape of pressure. Both are information. Neither makes you worthy or unworthy. Worth is not a moon we pass around.”