Under Your Scars Trigger Warnings Novels & Stories

The skin is raised and jagged, a stark pink against his tanned skin. And they still hurt him. When I brush my fingertips over them, he tenses beneath my touch and bares his teeth. It’s not a physical pain. These scars have long healed. But they’re like icebergs. They’re unmistakable and imposing on the outside, but beneath the surface is something much bigger and threatening. Something capable of sinking someone to the pits of their depravity, just like the Titanic. He went through hell in that facility. The scars on his body tell part of the tales he doesn't.

"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."

“These aren’t marks of shame. They’re proof you fought back. Proof you chose freedom over power.” “They’re ugly.” “They’re honest.” Alina traced one of the scars with her finger. “I have scars too. From childbirth. From battles. From the grey wolf that nearly killed me. They’re all ugly. And they’re all part of who I am.” “Do you wish they weren’t there?” “Sometimes. But they remind me I survived. That’s worth keeping.” Lena wanted to believe her. Wanted to see the scars as badges instead of failures. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

Yet Baevera’s back was littered with them. Not the kind that were bold, grotesque, or visible from afar, but subtle and disguised, only noticeable up close if one looked hard enough. And I was. Her body simply commanded that kind of attention. What would cause scars like that? That many? Why did they never fully heal? Or as a succubus-hybrid, did she not heal the way the rest of us did? And that panic moments ago was far too familiar. When I was younger, I used to go crazy when something pressed down on me from behind too. It reminded me of Yesta and his gang assaulting me. When they shoved me down, ground my face into the dirt, and raped me for sport, their laughter and mockery hot in my ea

“You told me once you were addicted to my face. Said it was your drug. Well… it’s gone now. Just scars. So please—go find someone whole.” “I’m so sorry, Jake…” Ariana choked out. “Sorry?” I laughed bitterly, my head shaking. “I wish sorry could fix it.” And then—something warm touched me. A hand. Small. Soft. Real. It was Liz. I knew how her hands felt. “Jake…” Her voice was soft, trembling. Her eyes were dripping with tears, but she didn’t look away. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t disgusted. She was just… there. She touched my scars like they were nothing, tracing them without being disgusted.

Byron looks to me looking slightly sad. “Actually after you left and I was washing her in the bath, I noticed some. They are on her back, her thighs and her stomach. We will have to ask her about them. We all know the only way we scar is if wolfsbane or silver is involved.” I watched as Kane jumped to his feet, obviously seething. I felt disgusted that anyone would touch her. The most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, and she felt as though she wasn’t worth anything because of some bastard. I brushed her cheek and pushed her hair out of her face.

“Oh, right. Hi.” “Hi.” He extended his massive hand, and she took it cautiously. That was when she felt the scars on his hands. Even without looking, just from touching the flesh under her fingertips, she knew now that his scars weren’t from a knife, or glass, or a prison yard fight gone way wrong. These were from burns, bad burns, burns that he’d carried since childhood maybe, and her heart squeezed. In her years as a tattoo artist, she’d covered up hundreds of scars, but in some ways, the most heartbreaking ones were burns. The stories attached to them were always, always so damn painful.

And I can’t let that happen. I still have the scars he left me with even though I’ve been shoving them far away, trying my best to forget they’re there. I can feel them. I remember them every night. And they hurt. So much. So, I can’t. Scars don’t disappear overnight. So I can’t trust him. Not this time. “You could be in danger, Elara. That might be the tip of the iceberg. What if they come back? There’s no one here. You’re all alone in this house.”

“My bikini is from Italy. Handmade. Each bead is placed by—” I didn’t hear the rest. My heartbeat was too loud. I stared down at my arms, the skin hidden under my long sleeves. If I went tomorrow… Everyone would see the the silvery C-section scar on my stomach and the faint, faded bruises from Eric’s abuse on my thighs and arms… the idea was pure torture. They would all see my scars, both inside and out. They would stare and whisper just as they were doing now. Killian turned to me quietly. “You okay?”

But it was there. It wasn’t just a scar. It meant something and I couldn’t forget that. Like a warning and weight I hadn’t asked for, but now had to carry. It was a reminder of what I saw, of what’s coming… and what I can’t run from anymore. It was a reminder. One I couldn’t ignore, no matter how badly I wanted to. The Oracle’s seal. It burned there like a warning I didn’t want but couldn’t escape. A crescent shaped scar, still warm. Still alive. Like it was reminding me that nothing would ever be the same.