1. The Tales From The Tavern: I Lust After Your Scar


    Date: 8/18/2015, Categories: Love Stories, Author: el_henke, Rating: 2, Source: LushStories

    whistling their high-pitched constant tones – a little more bearable this time. Mixed feelings churned up my stomach. Anger. Angst. Desperation. I heard a voice from afar, but couldn't make out the words. I missed out a few sentences until I matched said voice with the movement of Dad's lips: "…said you might feel strange, but it should wear off by a few minutes. How do you feel?" His eyes were irritated, and his cheeks reddened; obviously, he had been crying. Was I really in such a terrible shape? My bone-dry throat made it hard to form the words, and my voice was weak: "I… don't… know… How… am I…s'posed… to feel?" Yeah, how was I supposed to feel? With all these answer-craving questions in my head, the burning in my face, my clearly broken memory, this unbearable high-pitched tinnitus I was afraid I might never get rid of again. How was I supposed to feel? Dad took my hand in both his hands, and lifted it up to his lips. He murmured comforting words like he always did in times of need. After a while, I was fully conscious again; still far from being good, but fully conscious. Not trying to make sense of the constant shuffled, and blurred flashbacks helped a lot. Dad looked into my uncovered eye, his eyes swollen, glistening as though he was about to burst out in tears again. Hesitantly, he asked, "Beth… Bethany! What do you… What do you remember?" I was struggling to keep that one eye open. I was still suffering the side-effects of the tranquilizer I had been injected a ...
    while earlier, or whatever chemicals my body was drugged up with. With my weak voice, my answer came in bits, and pieces, "Hot. Fire. Then, Dark." That was all. Dad adjusted his chair to sit right next to my head, so he could lean in, and caress my intact cheek. "Okay, Bethany, darling," whispered Dad, sighing, playing with his lower lip, seemingly fighting for words, "there was an accident in your school lab. I think your classmate can explain it to you.” My classmate took a deep breath. He too was obviously fighting for words, as the fresh shock was still deep-seated. “Beth, I... I made a mistake in the lab. I... I'm so terribly sorry. I... It was my fault. I caused an explosion. It flung you through the entire room. The entire lab is completely destroyed.” He was shaking, pale, unable to speak any further. He sat on a chair, and stared blankly into space, his face immobilized. Apparently he had been luckier than me. He just had a few small patches here, and there. Lucky him, he had fallen under the sink, being almost completely shielded from the explosion, and the flying shards. What I didn't see was that the sink had been ripped from the wall, and fallen onto his back, damaging, nonetheless not breaking, his spine. Dad resumed: “You suffered a concussion, a few broken ribs, second-, and third-degree burns , and a likely psychological trauma ." As my curiosity was greater than my fear, I directly asked him about the bandages in my face. He didn't reply at first, but again, ...
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