The Diary Of An Oxygen Thief Novels & Stories

It was a dangerous game, and I knew that the stakes were higher than ever. One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and cast long shadows across our secluded estate, I received an anonymous package. Inside was a small notebook, weathered and worn, with a note that read, "The truth lies within." Curiosity mingled with trepidation as I opened the notebook. The pages were filled with Cassandra's handwriting—ramblings, fragments of memories, and cryptic clues. It was her diary, a window into her tormented soul. As I delved deeper into the pages, the puzzle began to unravel. The truth of our shared past emerged, piece by piece, revealing a shocking revelation that threatened to shatter ev

“That’s not possible, Rosy. I don’t believe in us anymore and I'm married.” Then a sudden sound sliced through the air, a slow, cold clap making them freeze. Rosy turned first, and her face went pale. George’s throat went dry knowing the familiar scent. Thalia stood at the doorway, her eyes red and cold, a small diary clutched in her hand. The pool lights flickered across her face, catching the glint of the tears on her cheeks. Rosy traced her face to her hands, seeing the diary she was holding, she recognized the diary instantly.

I wonder he has his ass fucked or not. There were even a few diaries. I picked up one and hear I found something extremely useful. It had the details of all the murders he had done with the name and accomodation of the victim. Damon should have never stored it but here he did it and now I can torture him with this. I left the place taking the diary too running down the pipe and jumping off the boundary wall....

I shrieked, the towel clutched tighter to my chest. He turned slowly, a book in his hand. My stomach dropped. It wasn’t just a book. It was my diary. The one with the cheap floral cover, the one I’d hidden beneath a pile of sweaters in my bottom drawer. I took it out last night and forgot to return it back there. His eyes, dark and unreadable, flicked from my face to the diary, then back again. A slow, predatory smile spread across his lips.

He wants to find happiness, and focusing on those kinds of situations will cause nothing but terrible grief in his heart. However, things continue to happen, and both continue to notice the presence of that strange stalker who watches over them. That afternoon Diane is drinking water looking out the window at the panorama that is presented to her. Still, things got out of control when she sees Sarah looking at her in the distance. She was jogging calmly while their eyes crossed. Diane drops the glass of water in surprise, and when one of the pieces breaks on her foot, she gets hurt.

Her thighs trembled, the diary sliding to the floor, pages open and smeared with shaky ink. When she could finally breathe, she pulled the toy out, her body still quivering. She grabbed the diary with trembling hands, slammed it shut, and shoved it into her bag. “Never again,” she whispered to herself, cheeks burning. But she knew she was lying. --- The next afternoon, she sat in Professor Hayes’s office for her private session. The room smelled faintly of coffee and old books, his desk stacked with papers. He leaned against it while explaining a passage from Shakespeare, his deep voice filling the quiet space.

The soft thud against the mattress was barely audible, but in the silence of the room, it felt deafening. My fingers grazed the rusted zipper. It resisted slightly before giving way with a slow, reluctant rasp. The scent of faded fabric and something inherently her curled into my nose. Inside, the contents were mundane— old clothes, everyday necessities, the kind of things that spoke of survival, not comfort. Then, my eyes landed on it. A battered book. A stack of certificates. And at the very bottom, a diary. Bingo. A slow smirk tugged at my lips. I took out my phone, adjusted the angle, and snapped a quick picture of the certificate before restoring everything else to its original place.

One biting into my neck with his large canines as he pumped into me. I pressed my thighs together tighter and cursed at myself. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Pretty Bird,” Thayer growled, “if you don’t stop that, I’m going to eatyoufor breakfast.” Cheeks flushing harder, I cursed at myself for being so fucking embarrassing and desperately tried to calm myself. This wasnothow I’d expected this conversation to go, but I couldn’t help it. I had fantasized about them for far too long. “Do you guys have my diary?” I asked, staring at the granite tabletop.

She is mine. It was all there. The diary started when I was a teenager. This arrogant, tyrannical Mafia boss, my sworn enemy, had been secretly, almost pathologically, obsessed with me for years, like a worshipper at a twisted shrine. Just as I was reeling, the study door opened. Lorenzo stood in the doorway, his eyes full of a deep, dark despair. "Back again? Stealing my secrets for that man?" He gave a hollow, bitter laugh, his voice thick with exhaustion. "Daisy, my patience has a—"

My gloved hands rested uselessly on the open manuscript. “You’ve worked late every Thursday for the past two months,” he said quietly. “Always alone. Always in this room. I’ve watched you from the upper gallery more than once. The way you handle the books. The way you go completely still when you think no one is looking. The way your breathing changes when you turn certain pages.” My mouth went dry. I stared at the botanical illustration in front of me—delicate ink lines of a flower that suddenly felt obscene. “I don’t know what you mean.”