Suicide Notes Book Novels & Stories

As I headed downstairs, my c**k still hard and needy from yesterday, I saw her reading a book in the sitting room. My heart skipped a beat, and my c**k tugged hard at the fabric of my pants. I imagined her spread out wide on my bed, my p***y open and dripping, her br***ts dangling heavy against her stomach. She stood up at that moment, leaving the book face down on the couch and walking towards the kitchen. I took that opportunity to slip the note into a page as quietly as I could before walking out to find Sonia. By the time I came in, I found the book on top of the glass table in the center of the sitting room.

Notes like: “Add extra ginseng if he’s been gone more than three days, he likes the water warmer after patrols, or ‘He always sleeps better after clove oil.’ Every detail. Every preference. Every small thing I never noticed. I find myself sitting on the edge of the tub, the book trembling slightly in my grip. The pages whisper things I should’ve known. Things I should’ve seen. But I didn’t. Beneath the notes is something else—a folded sheet tucked into the spine. I pull it out. Her journal. Just a few entries. But they hit harder than any enemy has. “He smiled today. Just for a second. That’s enough.”

We were both willing to do whatever it took to stay on top—and Tessa was about to find that out. She was already asleep when I got home. I headed straight to my room and shut the door, then took out the thick, black-covered book from my drawer. People kept diaries to record moments. I kept a book filled with names—names of the people I had killed. ‘Chief Paul Barnes.’ I wrote it down in red ink, then closed the book and slid it back into the drawer.

Nothing about it felt alive anymore. My fingers slid under the flap. For a moment, I couldn’t bring myself to pull the letter out. The handwriting on the front; neat, familiar, already told me everything I needed to know. My Suicide Note. I swallowed and unfolded the paper. Every line cut deeper than the one before. Hayes wrote about Lenora first. He wrote about how the house felt hollow

Hungry for revenge to those who did me wrong, to those who sexually abused me, and to those who treated me like a pig. I remember my dream that I killed someone. It is not a dream but I did kill someone and he is Gin; one of those men who abused me. My dream is not a dream but a memory too that I killed someone. Now that I remember why I killed him; I don't feel any regret. I suddenly remembered about the black notebook. I know I just hid it somewhere and I want to see the names that I wrote there and how many were left. I immediately stood up to find the notebook. I put the doll down on my bed, I heard my phone ringing but I ignored it. Finding the black notebook is more important than the

The last thing I want is for Samantha to walk in on me sneaking through her stuff; she already has trust issues as it is. My eyes catch on a notebook; it looks like a diary. It has the inscription, Dark stories by twisted minds, do not open. I pick the book up, my curiosity instantly piqued. I rise from my squatting position to sit on the edge of the bed. I flip through the pages to see how many there are, and it's well gone, over 500 pages. I should drop the book out of the room the same way I worked out, but I can't.

And when she didn't find the notes anywhere around the cave, she decided to check through Finnegan's things suspecting that he might have packed them among his things. While searching through his things, she came across several notes that she was certain were personal to him. She suddenly took a long pause when she came across a suspicious-looking note among them. There was a drawing of a skull on the cover of the book, even though it seemed completely normal to want to have a book with a weird cover design, somehow Aurora's suspicions propelled her to open the note which she did without hesitation even though knowing that she should not be going through Finnegan's notes. She was awed at fir

He was sleeping. It's not like he would be able to do anything. After that accident, he became useless. He can't even speak. However, he has something that can help me. Someone rather. I opened his safe box and I pulled the leather-bound notebook from Edward’s safe, my fingers trembling as though the book itself radiated the weight of every sin it contained. It was heavier than I remembered, smelling faintly of dust and old ink, Edward never let anyone touch it. The lock on the cover clicked open with a soft snap. I flipped through page after page of cramped handwriting, faded numbers. I quickly found what I was looking for. series of numbers scrawled in a corner. It had one name, just a let

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Whеn I wоkе up again аftеr thе drugs wоrе off, she was gоnе. Yesterday I fоund this nоtеbооk. It bеlоngеd tо аnоthеr gіrl thаt thеу tооk. Her nаmе wаѕ Sаrаh, аnd thе first lоgѕ іn thіѕ nоtеbооk аrе from her. I’m ѕаddеnеd аbоut whаt hарреnеd tо her and her frіеnd Luсу.