You Drew Stars On My Scars Novels & Stories

The scar. “Look,” I pointed to the place with a long mark on it. There was no need to see it to confirm it. I could feel its embedment into my pale skin. It was imprinted into my skin like a tattoo. “What is that?” Hannah gasped, running her hands silently over my scar. “My dad used a cane on me and struck my back so hard. It was painful.” “It looks very painful Stella," Hannah agreed sympathetically. And then she was angry.. “Why did he do this to you?”

I stuttered, my voice faltering. "Do you know how I got this scar?" he interrupted, raising a hand to point at his face. I tore my gaze away from his exposed chest and met his eyes. They appeared vacant, but his lips had tightened into a stern line. Most of the time, I never really noticed the scar on his face. Perhaps it was because I always averted my gaze from his cold, angry expression. However, when he suddenly drew attention to his scar by pointing at it, my eyes were fixed upon it. The scar stretched from his right eyebrow down to his chin, a deep, puckered slash.

I held her by the throat tighter as I remembered how I spent over five days in the infirmary because of her and her childish jealousy. "So... Sorry." She managed to say but I brought out my makeshift knife and I tore her with it in the stomach. "Ahhhhhh." She screamed but I carried her towel that was drap over her shoulder and I shoved it in her mouth to muffle her screams. I tore her again on both of her laps. The cuts I gave her are not deep enough to make her bleed to death but the are certainly deep enough to give her an everlasting scar... Whenever she sees the scars on her stomach and thighs, it's will be a reminder of her stupidity.

“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.

Though I couldn't reach my former level, I had recovered about 80% of it. Using the honors and certificates I had earned before, I found work as a piano teacher. After leaving Ryan, life seemed to improve, little by little. But sometimes, in the dead of night, I'd wake up from nightmares. In these dreams, Ryan stood coldly, holding a chair, advancing toward me step by step. No matter how much I pleaded, he didn't stop. And then he raised the chair, smashing it down onto my hands. The scene shifted, and in my screams, I could vaguely make out Miranda's triumphant smile.

The moon had long since set, but Aria could not sleep. She sat curled on the edge of her bed, knees pressed tight to her chest, the shadows of the room pressing in on her like a cage. Her gaze never left the seared mark on her wrist. It pulsed faintly under the torchlight, its glow soft but unyielding, mocking her with every heartbeat. Her nails had scratched the skin raw. She had tried again and again to scrape it away, to draw blood until nothing remained but torn flesh. Yet no matter how much she clawed, the mark endured bright, damning, cruel.

The girl in the mirror standing opposite me was a girl broken and recombined with the improper pieces. "Pathetic," I muttered to myself. And I grinned. Cold, empty thing that it was, with no regard for the girl that once was me. Because what I discovered, Jake and Cassandra didn't kill me. Victoria didn't, either. They just provided justification for waking the hell up. I removed my makeup and cotton brushes wiped away like discarding the old me. I looked again and caught sight of something new in my eyes. Peace of anger. Hunger. "No more tears," I told myself. "Time they're sorry for all of this."

I approached the scattering of stars in the night sky, which for some reason felt like I hadn’t seen in ages. Silence enveloped the room, broken only by the soft rustle of the night breeze and the ticking of the clock on the wall. I leaned my body against the wall, placing my weight there. Each breath felt heavy, but my body obeyed slowly. My gaze shifted to the large mirror in the corner of the room. My hair was messy and disheveled. My face... the right side looked darker, rougher. The scar. The mark of the curse. The mark that signifies how this world has never truly allowed me to rest.

Holding my breath, I slowly turned my back to the mirror, twisting my upper body around so I could get a clear, unobstructed look at the skin. The moment my eyes landed on the reflection, the air was completely sucked out of my lungs. Right there, like a tattoo on my skin just above my hip, were four distinct, dark markings shaped perfectly like stars. “No, no, no!” I cried out, my voice rising into something terrified as I scrubbed my waist, trying desperately to rub the markings away as if they were just dirt. But they didn’t budge. At this point, I was no longer worried about the itch; I just needed these stars to vanish from my body.

I guess that’s why I have my scar, a reminder of the fact that I’ll never be as strong as I need to be. As strong as I want to be. Maybe I deserve the scar…. I-i know I deserve my scar it’s all my fault. I… I need to search the body. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, collected the supplies and got to my feet, stumbling backwards as my backpack settled on my shoulders.