Traumatic Stories Novels & Stories

Close enough that if something went wrong, he could move fast, far enough that no one could accuse him of looming over the proceedings. “This is a bad idea,” he’d said the night before. “Public. Cameras. You.” “It’s not a siren hearing,” she’d replied. “It’s a panel. On trauma and rebuilding.” “Exactly,” he’d said. “You don’t owe them your story.” “I know,” she’d said. “That’s why I’m choosing what parts they get. If we want people to stop pretending what happened to us was an abstraction, someone has to stand up and say ‘this is what it looked like.’ Without letting them turn it into a spectacle.”

Yet she could not say that to the people who knew her in her real life. Sidney took a deep breath and gathered up the phone, putting both hands to work on the keyboard. Sidney: No, not really. I’m pretty much a disaster. My son kind of got abducted. Then my roommate got murdered. We had to move to a new place. Sidney stopped and reviewed her list of traumas, watching the dancing dots below her words that indicated Allison was typing. What could she be typing? How could you respond to all that? Sidney realized that Allison probably thought she was full of shit. Sidney’s stories and drama since Telluride read unbelievable, like the lies of a bored troll on the internet looking to entertain her

“That was not a trauma. That was survival training. Granted, that was probably the most dramatic training I been through. Usually, I just took care of myself and not someone else. Still, that wasn’t a trauma… for me. Maybe for Brittany, but not for me.” “Can I ask you a question?” Gavin looked at me with a confused expression. “Ask all the questions you want.” “This wasn’t a trauma for you, but getting kidnapped was?” I nodded at his question. “That’s fair.” Sighing, I just put my fork down. I was done eating anyway. “It wasn’t really…. the things they…” I was struggling to find the right words. “It wasn’t that I got shot that caused this. That just pissed me off more than anything. It was w

he asks, changing the subject. “Like how?” “Scared, panicked,”he answers. “Some of us. You have to understand, we didn't all choose to be rogues. Some of us… some of us were made that way. By our packs. By those we trusted. Abused. Tormented. Left for dead. It takes a while for us to begin to trust again, even longer for the trauma to fade.” “Does it? Fade, I mean?” “Not completely,” I answer. “Sometimes, we can go a long stretch of time being fine and okay and then just one, insignificant occurrence, sound, word, anything really, and all that work is undone. A nightmare is the least of the things we have seen.”

I whispered again. Kissing Tania’s cheek, I gently spoke into her ear. “Are you alright Tania?” She finally stirred, and then opened her eyes. “That was the best experience I’ve ever had, how did you learn to do that?” “Oh, it’s something I read about in an erotic story,” I lied. Putting her arms around my neck, she whispered, “Fuck me, fuck me hard.”

The blank looks on the faces of the three people looking back at him told the doctor that he had not yet won his audience. “I am not sure what she has been through since I have not seen her previous medical records,” he continued. “However, it appears your daughter has blocked out certain information, experiences from her past…could be traumatizing events such as abuse, or even an accident. It could also be that something traumatic happened to her very recently and her memories have been blocked as a mechanism of dealing with, or getting rid of the stress.” Their faces were now telling him that he had them fully on board.

And their dream of having the Centre in their command and the thirst of becoming the most powerful is the reason why they fought many years and became the reason for their own loss. I can't forget those days when everyday I used to see the dead corpses, carcasses of young women and innocent children. It is hard to forget that mother who was calling her young son, who lost his life in the war. The sorrow of widows and the cries of little orphan kids. Everything was melting my heart and I couldn't do anything for them. Now it's even hard to narrate this story but, don't worry I will never miss a single thing to mention in my narration because I'm the best narrator you got.

Author's Note This book is a short compilation of erotic stories. Please note that not all entries are heavily erotic—some lean more toward emotional moments, dramatic tension, or character interaction. Also, 99% of these stories don’t follow a traditional plot, so don’t be confused if there's no clear beginning, middle, or end. They’re written more for mood, moments, and expression than full narratives. Enjoy the ride,no overthinking needed. 😉 ********************************************* Kael didn’t wait.

Trust yourself. Eleventh, Harper and Marcus will fall in love. Jordan will find someone who makes him leave his computer occasionally. Layla will move to Italy and actually do the work to change. Ethan will go to prison. Richard will be caught. Victoria will die with a conscience. Justice exists. Not perfect justice. But enough. Twelfth, you're going to give a TED talk about healing. It will go viral. Millions will watch it. Some will criticize you. Most will thank you. You'll learn that sharing your story helps others survive theirs. That vulnerability is power. That your trauma has purpose.

But you reached the end of something, and that matters. This story started as a record. Proof, mostly—to myself—that what happened was real, that I didn’t imagine the fear or the choices or the cost of surviving a system that called itself fair. Somewhere along the way, it became something else. This is a reminder that stories don’t just trap us. They can also give us language for escape. They can name what hurts, and what heals, and what we refuse to accept ever again. I didn’t write this to promise you safety.