Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)

by J.M. Darhower

If you give the monster a name, it takes away its power, because we’re really just afraid of what we don’t know. If you name it, if you know what it is, you can be stronger than it. So face your fears and wipe your tears, remember? Face your fears and wipe your tears.”

But the gut? The gut knows. The gut remembers. You should always listen to it.

“Now let’s get the hell out of here so my nutsack can start thawing.”

I’m the villain; I’m the lion that swooped on in, destroying their pride lands. I killed the king and sent Simba packing. But unlike the fictional Scar from the cartoon, I don’t intend to lose at the end of my story. Everything the light touches in this city belongs to me. I’m the fucking Lion King.

Someone once told me that evil can sense itself inside of others, our hearts beating in a different rhythm than most, playing a morbid song that only other evil knows.

Death doesn’t always come with a scream and a bang, no… death, when premature, usually comes like a whisper on the wind, quietly stalking you until it can rob you of your last breath.

There’s a reason girls yell ‘fire’ instead of ‘rape’, why we lie and say we have boyfriends instead of just saying ‘no’ when we’re not interested. Because a lot of men respect another man’s property more than they respect a woman’s right to her own body.

Moments are pieces, formed together and built upon, creating the bigger picture within the border of your world. My puzzle is full of deformed shapes and jagged edges, but it still all fits together in its own twisted way, making a hideous fucking picture of my reality.

“I will slit his fucking throat and drink his blood, Scarlet,”

His lips are the softest things about him, warm and gentle, like a slice of heaven wrapped in hell, so worth battling the flames to feel his fire.

I know this, because she’s singing along, like this is Karaoke Hour on the RMS Titanic.

My brother likes to fuck his girlfriend as she sobs over fictional characters.

“Wow,” she says, voice flat. “You keep being so charming and I might start catching feelings.” “I wouldn’t blame you,” I say. “Just, you know, keep them to yourself, in case they’re contagious.”

“You have to be careful who you give pieces of yourself to, because even a little bit here and there adds up to a hell of a lot eventually, and it’s not worth it, losing yourself to them, giving yourself to people who don’t give a fuck about you. You keep pouring yourself into other people and you’ll just wind up empty.”