Novel & Cerita The Scars That Made Me Book

This man almost doubled his muscle mass. His dark brown hair had subtle streaks of red throughout. His eyes were green with hints of gold. They were the most amazing things I had ever seen. Looking at him made my heart pound. His eyes were focused on mine as he held my gaze. The scar on the left side of his neck was faded, the sight of it enraged me. I didn’t know why I was so upset about him being hurt. I felt myself begin to get lost in his eyes when my mind snapped me out of it.

I hurriedly went to him and asked "Doctor h-how is she?" My voice cracked "She is completely fine. She hit her head with something which caused her to faint and open up the old scar that was on her head. Which caused the bleeding" The doctor said "Old scar?" I asked confused "Yes, the area where she got hit was already cut before. But yes her foot is injured and she will have difficulty walking for a month or two. Rather than that she is fine. She has not woke up yet and it will take her time"

Once his jeans and underwear were off, I started to get on top of him, but he turned us over, “It’s my turn. I want to open my present.” He unlaced my negligee and slowly pushed the spaghetti straps down, off my shoulders, to expose my breasts. He lowered the negligee until I could kick it off, then he stood on his knees and hissed as he looked down at me laying and looking at him, “Damn, I can’t believe you are mine. You’re perfect.” I asked, “You don’t mind the scars?” He shook his head, “The scars are not who you are. They are just part of your story. I love every part of you. Especially your story because I get to be a part of it.”

He turned his back to me and crouched slightly so I wouldn’t have to strain. My eyes lingered on the floor for a second longer then slowly, I looked and my breath caught. The scars were everywhere. They spread across his back like shattered glass, some thin and pale, while some jagged, and some deep enough that I could almost feel the pain they once held. My chest tightened. This wasn’t just damage. This was survival and pain in the form of history. Without thinking, my hand lifted, slowly. I tried to be careful, like I was afraid he might disappear if I moved too fast. My fingertips brushed against one of the scars.

Any sane person would have been still running away from me and I resent myself for not being able to stop myself from being nothing more than a dick tonight. Pain has settled into my body and now that I was finally still, I could feel the wounds throb in pain right under my shirt, squeezed against the mattress. It only took a few seconds of uncertainty to get a few new scars to the collection of those already on my body. Scars that quite often she traced and studied. They made me feel exposed. The way she narrowed her eyes at the sight of them, the way she seemed to be disgusted by them when they moved with my muscles. I was nothing but a monster, wasn’t I?

I made it to the door, certain that I was in the right place and without a knock, I pushed it open. My breath hitched in my throat the moment my eyes locked onto him. He was shirtless, his toned body ripped with muscles and in full exposure but that wasn’t what made me stop. His bronze body was marred by scars, ugly jagged scars that were red welts of flesh crisscrossing his skin. I felt a sickening feeling deep in my gut and my heart sank deep into the pits of my stomach. Who could have done such a terrible thing to him? My eyes trailed his scars, a pitiful feeling washing over me as I looked at his marred body.

They didn’t make it inside.The rain was cold and his mouth was hot and somewhere between the terrace and the doorway they stopped caring about the difference. His hands found the hem of her shirt his shirt, the one she’d stolen from the laundry because it smelled like cedar and pulled it over her head, and the rain hit her bare skin and she gasped against his mouth and he swallowed the sound like it was something he’d been starving for.She pulled his wet shirt open. Buttons scattered across the stone floor like tiny gunshots. His chest was scarred beneath not just the jaw, but everywhere, a map of violence written across his skin in raised white lines and old burns and the particular pattern

He took a step closer to me, and I took a step back from fear, he tried to touch me, but I closed my eyes worried, that's when his aura disappeared, he disappeared, I opened my eyes but I was alone in my room, the thing that I felt now wasn't a normal hell creature, the story he's been telling me, I was worried I'm messing with something much stronger, but what is it! I ran to my bathroom, showering and putting some warm clothes on like I was told, also it feels good to feel warm, I went back down to the library, I got the hell book, one that includes demons. I hide the book under my clothes and ran back to my room, deciding to read it there, I need to know what Scar is, why he wants me to l

" I bit my lip, unable to help but feel hurt as I looked at him. I'm sure he has major insecurities because of the scars on his face. But I won't distance myself; I won't stop my plans to get him back. These scars symbolize his true love for me and our children. If not for Yohan, the triplets and I might not have been saved, and I might have been caught in the explosion back then. "Yohan, do you know where you got these scars?" I asked him, looking at his mask and the scar on his neck that extended from his cheek to his chest. I saw him furrow his brow as he looked at me. "Where?" he asked. I smiled and gently caressed his cheek. "You got them while you were saving us, your children and me.

ELEANOR SINCLAIR Five years have passed since that time. The days have counted into years that etched themselves into my bones, reshaping me from who I was into something colder, sharper, and far more dangerous than the woman who had stood trembling on that desolate sidewalk, watching helplessly as my world and everything I had known in it came crashing down under Vincent Moreau's cruel smirk. The memory of that night and everything that happened-the bite of the cold, and the suffocating haze of chloroform, were a stamp upon the lies that had torn me from Damian and the life we had managed to build. That memory still clings to me like damp rot.