Novel & Cerita Diary Of An Oxygen Thief Author

My first memoir in a new diary. My old diary was filled with stories and stories of girls I've fucked and turned but after this incident that happened on 23/4/2027 I had to start a new diary. So... I was angry that mum was remarrying. I really hate the thought that she couldn't keep her pussy at check after dad's death and jumped into another man's arms. However, she kept reassuring me that it's going to be fine but I hate it as hell.

Dear Diary, I’ve decided to keep a book recording all my days here at High Hill, should make pleasant reading in the future! Well, let’s start with the basics. I’m Gabriel; surname’s irrelevant as I’d rather not link myself to my parents. I’m 15; average height, wavy mousey brown hair, hazel brown eyes, and I’ve just arrived on my first day here. My parents sent me here because apparently public school isn’t good enough for me. But the reason they don’t know is that my parents would rather not have a son like me around them, snobbish twats. I’m just not good enough for them because I’m gay... Oh yes, did I not mention, I’m gay...and single... and full of a house with lots of boys in it. Oh b

There, a thin panel at the back of the shelf seemed slightly out of place, as if it had been forced in. Theo moved in closer. “Boss?” I pressed against the panel, and it popped loose. In the darkened space behind it, I discovered a small leather notebook, covered in dust and mold. My heart raced as I slowly pulled it out. The initials embossed on the cover were unmistakable. A.O. Adrian Orlov. A frown crossed my face. Adrian wasn’t one for reading; he preferred to collect fine wines, while books were never really his thing. I took it out, the cool leather sending a shiver through my palm. Theo straightened at the sight of my expression.

"Dear diary, I was this close today. This close to making a ground-breaking invention. But the sulphuric acid rusted IT. I think we might need to change the acid used..." A series of calculations was included on the first page. No matter how many times I read it, I couldn't understand the calculation. Who wrote this? I flipped the book and looked at the front cover. There was no name. Quickly, I checked the other books and saw that they were all journals with the same handwriting.

“You’ll come back, right? Fia?” He lay down on the bed and sniffed at Fia’s scent, and he held the blanket tightly. Suddenly, he touched something hard inside the blanket. He unzipped it and took it out. It was a diary. A very thick diary. He flipped it open and looked at the graceful handwriting on it. Fia Lawson. It was Fia’s diary. The diary was a bit yellow, showing how old it was. He looked at the date written at the top on the second page. It was many years ago when Fia was in her fifth grade.

It filled every breath, every crack in my mind. Tyler doesn’t see you the way he sees me. You never had the hunger. You never had the fire. Janet says I was made for this. I got out of bed without waking him. Barefoot, wrapped in a robe, I padded to the hidden drawer, opened it, and took the diary out again. I sat on the floor and read it cover to cover. This time, I flipped the pages slowly. No gasps and no shaking hands. Raw, acidic truth, eaten up one page at a time.

It’s a diary. For several seconds, he simply stares at it. She forgot her diary? Carefully, he picks it up. The cover is worn around the edges, used often. Very often. Opening the front cover, his eyes drop to the first page. This diary belongs to: TROY SUMMERS Summers? He didn't even know her surname. Back then, it didn't matter. They were just two starving children trying to survive another winter. His thumb lingers over the page, then he shuts the diary immediately and sets it on the bedside table with force and intention.

“Did you know about this?” Damien shakes his head, stepping around the desk to stand beside my chair. “She kept personal diaries when she was younger, but I thought Victor confiscated all her writings when she went into the facility.” I carefully unhook the brass latch and open the cover. The first fifty pages contain daily entries written in thin, fluid script, tracking her thoughts during her early months at Oakhaven. But as I flip further back, near the final entries written in the autumn of 2018, the handwriting changes. It becomes tight, hurried, and precise.

She described him as a kind and gentle soul who made her heart skip a beat. The words were filled with a sense of longing and desire that Eleanor could feel in her bones. She wondered who the author was writing about and what had happened between them. The more she read, the more she felt like she was invading someone else's privacy, but she couldn't help but feel drawn to the story. She had to know how it ended. And when Eleanor read further, she discovered the author was writing about the alpha. Did this diary belong to the Luna?

◆◆◆ Chapter 2 ◆◆◆ I spent the entire weekend hiding in my apartment, ignoring texts from classmates who suddenly found me fascinating for all the wrong reasons. The humiliation replayed on loop as my own words, my deepest, most depraved fantasies, were read aloud in front of everyone while Darian Rho watched with those unreadable dark eyes that seemed to strip me bare without ever touching me. Monday morning, I discovered my diary was missing. Tuesday afternoon, the first text arrived from an unknown number: “Page 23. The elevator fantasy. Creative use of the emergency stop button.”