The Sober Diaries Novels & Stories

Tessy’s POV The engine died with a pathetic cough and a cloud of steam that smelled like burnt rubber and bad decisions. I slammed the heel of my hand against the steering wheel and swore loud enough for the empty desert to hear it. Two in the morning. Middle of nowhere. One flickering streetlight above me like God had decided this stretch of highway deserved exactly one half-assed miracle and then quit. My phone had one bar and zero signal. The backpack on the passenger seat held a change of clothes, half a bottle of water, and the last of my pride.

She needed to keep herself distracted, lest she became weak due to her emotions. Since Sia was distracted, she bumped right into the bookshelf. Rubbing her head, she picked up the book. She was going to keep it back when its cover attracted her attention. It was the same book Sia had seen Uncle Roy write into every night. Out of curiosity, she flipped through the pages. Her jaws hit the ground when she realized that it was her Uncle’s diary. She settled on her bed with it. Reading her Uncle’s diary was the perfect way to keep the demons of despair away.

"No, thank you, senor. I work better when I am sober." "You are young and new to this life, amigo. But you will find out that our business and sobriety do not go together. When uncertainty, suspicion, and the faces of the people you have killed and the ones you will kill starts to haunt you when sleeplessness becomes your best friend. Sobriety will evade you," he dragged the plate of cocaine nearer to himself and took a long whiff of it. "Perhaps, you are right," I replied. "You see, we are here to deal with the Visitantes. The bastards that shot at you, I heard," he took a seat beside me.

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.

“Entry Thirty-One: This is the deepest confession. It’s not about pleasure. It’s about being broken. Taken. It’s a fantasy of force so complete it absolves me of choice.” Ophelia’s movements became frantic. This was the core of it, the shameful, pulsing heart of her diary.

my head is still filled with this insane images and I didn't need some boy problems now the locker room was empty when I got there, perfect just what I needed , silence. I sat down slowly, my hands trembling slightly as I opened my bag. the diary was still there, staring at the cover, the bright colors, the stickers filled it front and back, the pink, purple, blue, white, red, all the fucking colors you can think of, it was her, literally and metaphorically her, it was supposed to be filled with adventures and names of friends but instead it corrupted with one persons name, it's so sickening how someone turned something so bright to something so dark, my hands tightens around the book , tear

A very elegant design covered the book cover and the words written on the first page filled my heart with nostalgia and longlines. "Personal diary of Aurora Sapphire Brown" Flipping through the pages of the diary at once my eyes saw how her handwriting changed from a kid to an adult...as the dates and years passed with a flip my hand stopped on her last entry ...... Date 27th Feb Time :2 am I can't sleep again ... The medicines are of no use when his eyes haunt my nights... Those cold eyes were again looking at me with hate... Hate is nothing new. I am used to it now...but his hate matters

Tears run down my cheeks. “Breed me… Daddy… Please…” Orgasm rips through my body, tearing me apart just to build me back up and break me all over again. I remain collapsed in bed, shuddering. Teeth gritting. Breath escaping my throat as hard gasps. “Please…” I curl up in bed, sobbing. Senses returning after my insanity. Damn the consequences, the only ‘Good Girl’ I want to be right now, is Dominic Mercer’s. Slowly, I crawl to the drawer and pull out my little pink diary, uncork the pen, and start scribbling. Even I am jealous of how the tip of the pen fuck the paper so well, leaving its fluid along each trail.

I am afraid of my demons wanting to sling her on my shoulders and take her back to the penthouse and show her how much I missed her but the small and sane part of me hissed at me to keep my ugly parts and demons away from her and the beautiful moments we are breathing in. Fay Moore is the only one who encourages that sane part of me to grow big and pushes away the demons lurking in front.

Taylor Someone was playing a bass drum inside my head. That was the only explanation for the pain I was in as I forced myself to open my eyes. I wished last night was a blur. I wished I didn’t remember everything I said or did, but I do, so embarrassment came with the memories. I kissed Isaac. Hell, I threw up on Isaac. He never said anything, but I knew he had to be mad. If the tables were turned I’d be mad. I glanced down at the foot of the bed and saw that he wasn’t there. That was where he was lying when I fell asleep. He didn’t even bother taking me home. Not that I could blame him with the vomit and all. Throw in the fact that Blakely had my keys, purse, and phone and it made even more