Diary Of An Oxygen Thief Pdf Free Novels & Stories

◆◆◆ 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.”

The two of them looked at each other and started running, I waited for them, watching them make that futile attempt to escape me, and in my mind I wondered if they knew what would come next, and how meaningless their attempting to escape was. "Why not just fight and die with your dignity still intact?" I whispered. Then in a flicker, I dashed towards them, catching the first and throwing him against a wall, I heard something crack and it was the bone of his thigh, the second one made a final attempt to redeem himself, he shoved down a wooden stake into my chest as I grabbed him by the neck and screamed loudly, I waited for him to let it all out before biting into his neck, my fangs pierced h

I smiled faintly. Oops. I tapped my pen lightly against my notebook, pretending to read the lines in front of me. But my mind? Still wandering. Imagining him standing closer. Imagining what would happen if that calm expression cracked even a little as my cunt kept dripping. “Gosh, how can a man be so hot and yet stubborn… just take me already, professor.” “Try focusing on the actual text,” Jeff said again. “Right,” I murmured. I flipped the page of my notebook, leaning down to grab my textbook from the door beside my chair.

"Jacob, I know you. You are a traitor. You and Arthuro are the same. He thought of only one solution for everything. To stop his punishment. The flash drive that Arthuro is holding now. That flash drive contains many files. Everything, a small flash drive, is equal to all the chaos in Anastashia's family, in the secret world, in wealth, in lies, in murder, and in the mafia world. She wiped her tears. She went to a diary app. She was even surprised why Owen had such a thing. Her son also likes to write. Owen really got more of Arthuro's genes. Arthuro is also a writer. The diary app has no password. She looked at the door. She stood up and closed it. "What is Owen writing here?" she asked her

He intently looked at me, "It's not easy to search for it. It may took you years to find one. I advised you to search for Talia. She lives in the woods of Texas. Do you have your things with you?" I know he's pertaining to the diary, pocket watch and the key. I looked at the floor as I shook my head, "No, I don't. The only thing I have is the watch and the key." "That's fine. Do you remember your last diary piece?" "I tried writing everything in a piece of paper. everything that happened to me, still noted though I don't have my diary with me..." I showed him the paper I was able to salvage along the way. He smiled, "Smart ass."

Stress… But then today Phoebe, an engineering student she had never met before, had sat down at a table with Caelith and Elias and Zara and blabbed things that she wouldn't have over thought if not for all these loose threads. And the rough picture had edges that matched the shape of her dreams exactly. Mira pulled her laptop onto her knees. She opened a new document. She typed: *midnight call. what did I tell her.* She sat for a moment, thinking. Then she typed everything she remembered from that conversation. The references. The sources she had cited. The things she had said about ancient journals and bloodlines and texts that found their way to specific people rather than being found.

" I lowered my gaze to the card again. Maybe she was right. Maybe I was looking for answers that didn't exist. Ryder had already told me. I talked too much. I slept. That was it. Still... I couldn't bring myself to throw the card away. Instead, I walked toward my bookshelf and pulled out the leather-bound diary I had kept since I was sixteen. Between pages filled with old memories, pressed flowers, random sketches, and thoughts I'd never shared with anyone... I carefully slipped the black key card inside. Closed the diary. Then slid it back into its place. Hidden.

🖱️Victor🖱️ The moment Sammy and Jane left the room with Jayden, the room felt different nAnd somehow more dangerous. I reached inside my coat and pulled out the diary. My mother’s diary. The one that only answers when it wants to. The one that showed me fragments of what was coming before I even understood them. My fingers tightened around it before I opened it. The pages that had been blank before now shimmered faintly. Then slowly, like ink bleeding through water, words began to appear.

Beside it was a mask—a delicate filigree of platinum that covered only the upper half of her face. She put it on. Looking in the mirror, she didn't see the woman who had planted a garden in Romania. She saw the woman who had outplayed the Architect. She saw a Panni. But as she reached for her earrings, she saw something else. On the nightstand sat a small, leather-bound book. She opened it. It was a diary, and on the first page, in a handwriting that made her blood turn to ice, were the words: The soul is the only thing worth stealing.

Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, Oliver crouched beside me with a small notebook in hand and solemnly read aloud his thought report from the night before. "...In summary, when my owner blasted weird, loud, and annoying noises on the outdoor dancer speaker yesterday, she profoundly expressed her unique insight into postmodern deconstructive art. Her uniquely independent spirit deeply captivated me. "I love her so much that I'm drawn to her like a moth to a flame." He finished reading and looked at me expectantly. "My owner, did I use that phrase correctly?" "Half correct," I said, mixing paint without looking up. "You're definitely the moth, but I'm not the flame; I'm an electric bug zap