The Scars That Made Me Book Novels & Stories

Tears stained his cheeks. “Yes, it’s me. Please, I know you hated my people but know that I have nothing to do with them. They tried to kill me too. I tried to save Asher and Zara but they dragged me away. They tortured me.” He held out his arm that has an ugly burned scar around it. Eve’s gazed soften.

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.

They both replied in unison and left the room. I stared at the floor for a long time. The sparks were there with me because she was too close. Slowly, I looked at her palm that was lying beside my thigh. The terrible scars were right there, mocking me, telling me she would be like this for the rest of her life. She was so perfect, and there was nothing that could ever change my mind, but I didn’t want her to have a reminder of the pain she endured in life. Scars were a constant reminder, a horrible tale of what happened and hers would never go away.

" She... She re-opened dad's case? Why? Isn't she the one who told me that I should stop fighting against that invisible enemy of us? Why would she... Do this?" I stood up even if I feel like I would fall in any moment. I accidentally passed by a mirror and saw my scar. The memories that I buried six feet under the ground starts to flash like a flood. The screams in pain, the culprit's laugh, dad's cry in pain, our maids' shouts, and my cries. God, I need to stop this again. If this kept on flashing back, I'll lost myself again. And I don't want that to happen.

"You know it only makes things worse." My breath hitched as he stripped me bare, leaving me completely exposed. I shivered, not from the cold but from the sheer helplessness of it all. Then his gaze lowered, roaming over my body. The scars. The ones he had put there. His eyes filled with something dark, something twisted-contentment. Like he was admiring his own work. Theo’s gaze lingered on the scars, his fingers tracing over them like they were trophies instead of reminders of my suffering.

Today is going- not so great. I went about my day as usual- or rather as I remember. I pampered myself in the warm shower and stayed in there till the water lost its warmth. Standing in front of my full length mirror, I looked at my reflection I still couldn’t believe my eyes. I was simply shaken to the core as I stood in front of the mirror staring at my body. My hand flew to my mouth to prevent myself from crying out loud. I didn’t want to alarm my family. I was very disappointed in myself for not taking the time to notice the dark marks smearing parts of my body-the scars. There was a huge one on my back. It looked like my back was terribly burnt, maybe roasted over fire. It looked very

It was like the scars reminded me of her past. It was like Ava's scars screamed at me to set fire to her enemies, and together, with Ava by my side, I'd watch them burn in the flames. Scars made people ugly, they say, but with Ava, she looked more beautiful. Those scars were evidence of the pain that defined her. The pain that told a story of the stuff she was made of. I didn't want to say a word about it, so she doesn't feel uncomfortable but I made sure to touch those scars.

Like I have two dimples when I smile while Emily has two but one is not that deep. I have a small birthmark just above my navel, which Emily doesn't have. When I went out two days ago to meet up with Maddie at Starbucks, people were congratulating me on my wedding. I was too embarrassed to say I'm not the one getting married but my twin. Nobody will believe me, anyway. So I thanked them and smiled politely at them. At the mall, when we went shopping for wedding gifts, someone congratulated me, and I told him I wasn't the one he never believed me.

Then he accompanied her to the hospital himself to get the wound cleaned up. She'd thought he was overreacting, but he'd just smiled and said, "Lyra, you're the most important woman in my life. I don't want any scars on you—except maybe from having our kids. Smooth skin looks best with beautiful clothes and jewelry." And now, with her face covered in blood, he'd brushed her off to take care of someone else. He once swore she'd never have to bear a scar, but he made her risk her life to donate bone marrow for another woman. Even marriage and kids—he'd planned all that with someone else behind her back.

With the door closed and the room silent, I finally allowed myself to relax and melt into my chair. As uncomfortable as the wooden chair is, it still didn't stop me from chasing the tension out of my muscles. With everything silent around me, I felt like I was in the dark. It was always better when someone else spoke when they drew my attention to their voice and aura. I closed my eyes, running one hand down my face, feeling the scars in my palm in the process. The scars were my tenth birthday gift, from a man who finally lost his mind for good. They were supposed to make me better than him, better than all of them. They were supposed to stop me from going after her.