Broken
  • Leituras 12
  • Votos 0
  • Capítulos 1
  • Tempo <5 mins
  • Leituras 12
  • Votos 0
  • Capítulos 1
  • Tempo <5 mins
Em andamento, Primeira publicação em set 25, 2015
I'm a broken person with a broken life, but they don't know it. They can't know it. Why? It's simple. A  man goes hunting and sees two rabbits. One of them is fast and will easily run away, but the other has a broken leg and can’t move. Which rabbit do you think he’ll shoot? He’ll shoot the rabbit with a broken leg because he’s an easy target, one he cannot fail. The same happens with me. If I show them I’m broken they’ll choose me. They won’t choose the other guy who doesn’t care about a word they say. No, they’ll choose me, because I will listen and hurt. They’ll choose me because they know it’ll make me sad. They’ll choose me because they know I can’t run away. They’ll choose me because I’m broken.
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The experiment., de shrosz
18 capítulos Concluído Maduro
They used my vulnerability against me. They used that weapon, to make me accept their stupid idea. And I of course, accepted it, I didn't even know what they were going to do. They tugged and poked and even shoved their disgusting finger in your wound, just to see you cry. To see you change. No pitty in their eyes. They just continue. They drag you around with metal chains, hit you and turn you into a experiment. But I had enough of the tugging, the clawing, the moaning, the crying and pleading for them to stop, but simply feeding them with our pain. They turned me into something, that neither do they know what I am. Their afraid of me, of my reflexes, my strength. I killed a lot of them. They say I have a cold heart, that I don't feel nothing. That's why they call me: Death -----------------------------------------************************************--------------------------------------------- Death. A teen girl, pitch black hair, black eyes, white skin. Her height is 5'8. People are scared of her, not just because of her strength but because of they way she kills. She lived in this hell hole, where they take her to rooms. Examine. Fight. She knows she won't be able to entertain them for long. She decides to run. Soul. Brown hair as mud, blue eyes as the sky. Hight 6'2. Tanned and toned body. Death's best friend in the hell hole they're in, he's as cold as she is. But shows a bit of sympathy. Well... More than her at least. He's been there for her, ever since she entered this place of crap. They're the two most feared. As some people say, they're a perfect couple. Killing. Fighting. Cold hearted creatures. Also known as D and S. Why? That's what your going to find out, joining this adventure with D and S.
Is it too late to say Sorry? - 1 ✓, de iambellissima_nishaz
37 capítulos Concluído Maduro
"The fuck you are leaving me." He snapped and growled at his mate. She was calm as she was ever be regardless of his snapping. She sighed and turned around to leave without saying something to him because it was worthless. There was no point in talking and especially to him. He grabbed her arm before she put one step. "Where do you think you are going Ara?" He growled so loudly as everyone shuddered watching their interaction. She quickly remove his hand as anger rolling off of her in waves. "Don't. Touch. Me. So you think I will live here and watch you mate and breed that female." She snapped at him. "She meant nothing Ara." He said after a minute. She laughed, literally laughed but without any humor. "That's why you were fucking her in your office just a minutes before, don't you?" "It was a mistake." He tried to reason with her. "But in your case mistakes happened in more than one time. And they said mistakes happened only one time." She said sarcastically. "I don't need her. I need you." He said again desperately. "Lies. All lies coming from your mouth. I feel disgusted just by looking at you, let alone talking to you. And you said you need me? Ha. Very funny. You don't need me and I sure as hell don't need you. This female behind your back is more enough than me. Breed her, mark her or fuck her. I DON'T FUCKING CARE." "I am sorry. I am really fucking sorry." He said brokenly as kneeling on the ground. A small laugh escaped from her lips. "Isn't it too late for that mate?" And she left just like that while single tear rolled down her cheeks. He had made mistakes. Mistakes that will cost him everything. He knew he had lost her and this time completely. She was broken. Again. He did break her, repair her just to break her again leaving a broken shattered woman but strong willed. ---------------------------------------------------- The cruel, sadistic Rogue Alpha and his caring, lovable Witch mate. Will it be too late for him to say sorry?
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Loneliness. Depression. Broken. Scared. Devastated. Hopeless. Mournful. Disheartening. Bleak. Joyless. Somber. I have no one. Depression and Loneliness are the only things I feel. My family tries to make me happy, but I just put on a fake smile and cry about it in my room. They act like everything is alright, but everything is not. They KNOW I was devastated about Mom's murder. They KNOW I was heartbroken about Dad's sickness that eventually killed him. That's all I've thought about. Devastation and heartbroken. Just because of those two things. Never in my life I have been this devastating. Dayton, Hayden, Angel, or Monica know how to make me truly happy. Not even my own siblings know how to make me show a real smile. Suicide is all I can think about day to day and I've almost died because of that. DEPRESSION IS A REAL THING. NO ONE KNOWS HOW I FEEL EVERYDAY. NO ONE CAN JUDGE OTHERS ABOUT DEPRESSION OR EVEN MAKE JOKES ABOUT IT BECAUSE ITS A REAL THING. DEPRESSION HAS KILLED PEOPLE. EVERYONE IN MY LIFE JUDGES ME JUST BECAUSE I DON'T SMILE, LAUGH, HUG, OR DO ANYTHING NORMAL PEOPLE DO. I CUT MYSELF, I CRY, I YELL, I VENT, I PUSH PEOPLE OUT OF MY LIFE. Those are the things people are worried about me. "Go kill yourself and join your parents in hell." They say and I just shrug it off and find a private place to hide and cry it out. "I CAN'T DEAL WITH LIFE ANYMORE!!!!" I say and I use my sharp nails and cut myself then cry some more. A gun is buried within my arm for defense from my dad, but I use it in case I am tired of society. Then that's when I met the Host Club. They saw my sadness and made me a part of it to repay my debt for accidentally breaking a vase. I am now a Host for men to flatter them, but how can normal guys want me to be a Host when I wear lip earrings, eyeliner, chains, and have a gun in my arm? I'm the definition of Hell. Then he made me smile again, something that I thought I would never get back. Happiness.
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