Ninety-three

The scars on my skin from Mitch's brutality stared back at him, and I watched as Atlas struggled to keep his composure. His eyes, once fierce with anger, now glistened with a mix of sorrow and disbelief. It was as though the very sight of those scars was pulling him into a vortex of pain and rage he barely managed to keep in check.

I could see the muscles in his jaw clench and unclench, his breaths coming in shallow, controlled gasps.

The silence in the room grew heavy, almost suffocating, as the weight of my scars bore down on both of us. He looked at each mark with an intensity that spoke of the anguish and anger he felt for what Mitch had done to me.

Calmly, he rose from the bed and approached me, his expression softening ever so slightly when our eyes locked together. I could feel his gaze as it traveled over my skin.

Then he leaned in, kissing each slowly and deliberately one by one. Each time his lips brushed my skin, I felt the tiniest bit more of the tension leave my body. Wh