❛ A bruise is a lesson. And each lesson makes us better. ❜
(* GOT SENTENCE STARTERS // ACCEPTING ! *)
She lies in his embrace, his arms instinctively drawing her body closer to him. Apologies build in his throat to fall on a lifeless tongue. Evidence of a previous argument is sprinkled on her skin in the form of dark blue and purple hues. He can’t help himself— she makes him so furious ( the only woman that can push Tristan Ahn to the brink of oblivion ). For once his touch his gentle, caressing each mark with a tenderness that is almost laughable; it seems mocking for gentle isn’t in his vocabulary.
“I’m sorry Gab.” His tone lacks remorse, and he swears it isn’t his fault. But he whole heartedly agrees with her statement. With disobedience came punishment, and she knew him well enough to be aware of his violent temper. “It won’t happen again.” He lies so blatantly.
Lifting his head, he kisses the bruise on her cheek, soft skin molding against his lips as if it’s all he knows how to do: kiss the bruises he creates. The demon in him roars in rage and a twinge of pain in his head warrants him to sit up, fingers pressing against his temples. Gabbanna was the only woman Lilith looked at with a respect she granted to no other woman.
“Promise you won’t leave me.” He turns to her, fingers clasping her wrist squeezing just enough to get her attention but not enough to leave marks. She doesn’t need any more evidence of his violent desire, of his twisted way of showing that he cares for her.