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Fiction » Horror » Scars font: B s : A A A . width: full 3/4 1/2
Author: Silvan Arown Elendal
Fiction Rated: M - English - Horror/Angst - Reviews: 3 - Published: 10-04-06 - Updated: 10-04-06 - id:2257191

Scars

Self destruction is a theory I face every day. It’s not a problem, not for me, not for us. We chose to do this, we chose to take our lives into our own hands. Does it make us bad people, dangerous people? That’s not my decision I’m afraid.

Nick’s back is all scars, a freckling of white cigarette stars over his shoulders. I put most of them there. Lower down he bears parallel markings, knife wounds slanting across his spin. We did this to each other.

Will started out just doing it to himself, arms, shoulders, legs. A pattern of dug out hollows roughen the surface of a hip. Chips taken out of his knuckles, a groove in the palm of one hand.

The three of us take turns, do it to each other, sometimes sober, sometimes high. Often just tipsy, over sexed and spoiling for a fight. When in moods like that the blades come out and we let the one holding the knife decide what to give us, and where.

Usually we fuck afterwards, broken and bleeding and sky high on the head rush and the pain. Three imperfect bodies moving in the sheen of sweat. I like to be in the middle of things, two hot mouths on my newly cut skin.

All my scars were given to me by them, all of them. I was unmarked when they took me in, something of an innocent. That changed very quickly. These two brothers and me. I’m the offset to their scarred perfection, these two blue eyed blond angel and me. Me with my black hair and my dancing dark eyes.

Nick has my chest as his playground. He draws strange and beautiful swirls over me, cuts into my shoulders like the mauling of a beast. Will has slowly carved a river into my back, our three names intertwined on my shoulder blade. Neck, arms and ankles are random playful scars, deathly kiss and sharp heat burns.

The three of us are united in our passions, our scars, our blood. Sex and death, it’s almost our motto. The copper taste of blood and the salt of sex. We are chartering our own demise. Nick’s voice as I take him, Will’s voice as he claims me, both growling in pleasure and pain, both speaking my name.

“Jamie!”


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