Scars Above の小説・ストーリー

, I came out of my car and I wasn’t surprised when Scarlett came out wearing a long face. “You bitch!” She said as she walked towards me. “Can we do this later, I got work. Thank you” I said dryly and made to enter my car but she was fast to touch me by my hand. I quickly removed her hand from my body like it was a plague and looked at her angrily. “Never in your life, I repeat, never touch me with that hand you uses to give my dad a hand job” Scarlett looked pretty embarrassed as I said that but she was quick to cover it up with a scoff.

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.

Amara stared back, trying to project a semblance of stillness, refusing to betray the sheer terror gripping her. ​Emiliano stared at her for a long, silent moment, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be assessing her, her fear, her presence in his bed. He slowly walked around the bed, stopping on his side. ​He reached up, pulling his undershirt over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it onto a nearby chair. Amara couldn't breathe. Her gaze involuntarily dropped, taking in the powerful breadth of his chest, the taut lines of his abdomen, and the faint, intricate scars—silent trophies of a violent life—that crisscrossed his left shoulder.

"This place is all girly and it nauseates me" I bursted into laughter at what he said, I just really like the fact that he manages to make me happy. He held my hand and took me out of the room taking me to his own room where I was before. We entered and he sat me on the bed, he walked towards his table and then came back holding a round white cream jar stuff. I stared at it. "Whats that?". "It can help you take away those marks on you and heal your scars". "Reece ..".

The doctor leaves and Vivian couldn't help, throw aside the comforter and rush towards a mirror in the corner. The throbbing in her head, no longer bothering her. As a new fear has shaken her insides. Her eyes widen as she stared at herself. Her fingers trembling as they traced her reflection in the mirror. The scar It was looking like new, raw and visible without any veils of foundation. She couldn't stop the tears, that leave her eyes. Closing them, she couldn't hide it any longer now.

His t-shirt was torn, bruises and cuts all over his body. Tears carelessly rolled down Elena's cheeks as she look at Luke. She screamed and cried, Luke not responding. "You would not do anything, Conor!" the woman yelled, walking towards Conor. She looked at Elena and then shook her head. "Enough." "Oh, Rose," he smirked. "Don't get into this. Just stay out of it." Oh, she was Rose. Elena immediately felt the urge to hate her. "I will not!" She yelled. "Just stop it. It's been years, Conor."

"Then... the scar on my face, do you have any way to get rid of it? I've tried every scar treatment on the market over the years, expensive ones, cheap ones... not a single one does a damn thing!" Tabitha looked down at the tight grip around her wrist. When she raised her eyes back up, they were filled with a perfectly measured look of sympathetic apology. "Most scar products on the market are just marketing gimmicks; the actual results depend entirely on the individual's skin. This scar of yours is an old, deep-set injury from years ago. Trying to erase it completely... I'm afraid it won't be easy." The hope on Rosemary's face died instantly, looking exactly like a candle blown out by a gus

She always wear the dark blue skirt and suit as her uniform that ultimately matches her white complexion and her blonde hair. "We made some changes today. All Level 12 and above who is still underdeveloped will be under intensive care in the experiment room." I shockingly looked at Ana who is now confused and terrified. No. No way.

Olivia’s forearm is under the sleeve, pressed flushed upon Asher’s bicep, right where she wants it to be, and she starts from the top, her fingers randomly grazing the ragged and puffy skin. Her fingers delicately brush up and down, left and right, mapping out the scar. Scars, Olivia realizes, four of them encasing the upper arm. The pulp of Olivia’s fingers passes by a few dips here and there. Some segments of the scars are smooth and velvety, while others are wrinkled and jagged, signs of poor healing. She visualizes their shape, the pair of crescents they form as they cross each other. Olivia is familiar with the existence of scars, having acquired her own throughout her life but none to