Legoshi Scars の小説・ストーリー

Adnan sighed heavily, grabbing another fistful and this time holding it tight. "I was six years old when I first saw him hit my mother," he said, a mirthless chuckle escaping his lips. "Can you imagine what a six year old would have done? Of course I tried to stop him. Nafisa was three at the time. I still remember the way she ran towards Umma and tried to shield her from him. He never loved her. That's what he kept saying as he beat her. As little as I was, I tried to hold him off. That's where I got this scar."

Lenore whispered. She was trembling as her eyes landed on her scar scattered back. Her back was almost completely covered in scars. They were all in various stages of healing. Some are still bright pink, others the color of her skin. Her back told a story of horror. Flashes of her step mother yelling about food being overcooked or undercooked; even though they were. Items going missing and mysteriously returning. Items breaking she was not ever involved. It was all just a punishment because she never belonged there. Tears slipped out of her eyes, her mouth trembling as it tried to hold back her cry. She didn't know seeing the scars would make her feel this way. How could anyone want to look

“Get on with it, or I will.” Greyson is nearly shouting, and Rosie stumbles out of her tent, roused by all the noise. “I did it for him.” Chick looks indignant, “She was lying to you. She showed me scars in her mind that she doesn’t even have.” George looks at Celine in her tank top and shorts, her scars clearly visible all over her body. Celine snorts and walks over to them, showing her scars to a now incredulous Chick. She hisses angrily,

But it’s enough. I reach out to grab a spool of black thread, my eyes falling on the exposed skin beneath the tape. My hand stops dead in mid-air. It’s a scar. But it isn't an injury from the pool, and it isn't a surgical mark. It is a brand. The scarred, raised flesh is shaped into a perfectly distinct, moon shaped crestent with three jagged, interlocking peaks that look like a mountain range, surrounded by a thick, circular border. It looks like it was burned into her skin with hot iron.

After everything! Tears ran down my eyes and I fisted my palm, curling my toes at the discomfort of being naked under Ares' gaze, as they bore holes into my flesh. I wondered what he was thinking. I had scars all over my arms, on my chest and stomach too. The only place Jax had refused to hurt were my legs. He was obsessed with them. I heard Ares groan as he released my hair, before reaching for the scar on my shoulder. It was a deep scar and I had gotten it when Jax had flinged me against the door in anger.

They rounded me again and one of them lunged for me and I dodged it but another one jumped on me from behind and its teeth sunk into my arm. I screamed in pain and I tried to shake it off. I raised the sharp branch I was holding and stuck it in its side. It let out a loud welp and jumped off me, tearing off some skin in the process. I winced in pain as I backed off from them. I couldn't hold up much longer but it was hard to just give up. I needed to live up to my father's mantra. Three of them lunged for me at once and I jumped out of the way but one of them caught me, giving the other a chance to sink their sharp teeth into my skin.

This was the only place he ever let his guard down completely, the only time his muscles fully relaxed. “What was this from?” I whispered, gently touching the scar. Igor’s breath hitched slightly. “A skiing trip years ago. I took a bad fall off-piste. Should have been much worse, but I insisted on immediate evacuation and surgery to minimize the downtime.” “Of course,” I murmured, a faint smile touching my lips. “Even your injuries are optimized for efficiency.” He chuckled, a low, genuine sound that vibrated through his chest. “It’s a habit. I don’t like things being left to chance.”

I reached for my oversized, cotton shirt, the one I used as a shield, a comfortable cocoon, but my gaze snagged on my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back wasn’t the girl who used to cower beneath the weight of her father’s harsh words and Lisa and Chloe's physical assaults. My shoulders were broader now, my posture straighter, a testament to the disciplined workouts I had adopted. My arms, once thin and perpetually bruised, held a quiet strength. The faint ghost of old bruises, once a vibrant tapestry of purple and green, had faded to pale shadows on my skin. They were silent reminders of the torment I had endured, a constant whisper of life I struggled to leave behind. All exce

“How was the surgery?” “It went well, but the injuries were severe. The patient’s still in critical condition.” Adora didn’t respond right away. Instead, she sat up and switched on the light. “What are you doing?” She waved him over like she was calling over a child. “Turn around. Let me see.” Louis immediately knew what she meant. He let out a helpless laugh but still slipped off his sleep shirt and turned his back to her. On the left side of his back, the long scar across his shoulder blade—nearly four inches—was almost fully healed.