The Sober Diaries Novels & Stories

It was just that my sadness always came half a beat later than others. I rested a hand on my abdomen, which was still flat. I whispered, "Sweetheart, it looks like your dad's off to be someone else's father now." I zoned out for a while, then picked up my phone. I wanted to text Nolan to tell him I was pregnant. I'd just unlocked the screen when the comments suddenly flooded in. [Oh my God! Mr. Steele really is working at a construction site!] [He's got blisters on his hands… I actually checked ahead again. Nolan really does end up filthy rich. Can someone explain what's going on?]

MY MOTHER'S BESTIE The aroma of Chardonnay filled the air in his office, seeping out into the living room like it's trying to lure me in. Five of Steven 's friends sit around in his office, glasses in their hands, ice clicking in them. They're laughing about some sweet business transaction that they had managed to get, when I walked in barefooted, carrying a fresh bottle of Chardonnay in a tray. I've been yearning for my uncle's dick for two whole months.

CHAPTER THIRTY: DREAM GIRL COOPER’S POV The rain hammered the roof of Cooper’s apartment in steady sheets, turning the night into a muffled cocoon of sound. At twenty-eight, Cooper had always kept his darker impulses locked away. He worked construction, kept his truck clean, paid his bills, and never stepped out on Jessica. Still, the thought of Lily, his best friend’s girlfriend had wormed its way under his skin months ago and refused to leave.

“You read the pages I sent. Tell me what you think while we get comfortable.” I sat on the edge of a leather couch, my legs spread a bit, feeling the heat building low in my belly. The whiskey burned going down but loosened my tongue. “Your writing’s raw, Damien. The way you describe the guys fucking, it’s not polite. It’s messy, sweaty, cocks sliding deep, balls slapping, the kind that leaves marks and cum everywhere. I like that. Makes me wonder how much of it comes from real experience.” He moved closer, sitting right next to me instead of across the room.

David's snoring in the bed beside me, oblivious to what had happened. His arm slung over the pillow where my head should be. But I'm here, in the dim glow of my phone screen, scribbling this out in my diary, because if I don't, it'll eat me alive. Today wasn't just a slip; it was a dive, headfirst into something I've been circling for months. Or years, if I'm honest. ***** At Zephyra Art Gallery, I didn't just let it happen. I started it. Me. Poppy. The good wife, the one who packs David's lunch with snacks, fruit and love notes. What the hell is wrong with me?

Brody states. "Let's open up our grimoires the "Communication spell." " Mr Brody instructs and we all obey.

I start to write, my hand moving quickly across the paper: "Dear Diary, I did it. I spent an entire day naked, and it was the most liberating experience of my life. I felt so free, so uninhibited. I did everything naked – watched TV, ate, cleaned the house, even danced around like a fool. And you know what? It was amazing. I felt sexy and powerful and alive. I know it sounds crazy, but I think I might do it again sometime. Maybe next weekend. Wish me luck!"

I said,my voice firm. She nods, her hands on her thighs for balance. I watch her face tighten with effort. A second passes, Then I hear the first trickle. Warm golden piss hits my chest, Splashing against my skin. It's hot, like liquid heat spreading out. The stream is stronger, hitting me right in the center of my chest. running down in rivulets over my nipples and stomach. The smell hits me—sharp, musky, all her. I love it. My chest gets soaked fast.

UNKNOWN DIARYYY, Just her mere presence in my vicinity, and I can already feel myself becoming strongerrr. I saw her naked body today, Diary… she was taking a shower, wanted to get rid of all the dirt she had on her from packing or so she said. I could see her through the walls, Diary —lots of demons like me do this to unsuspecting girls all over the world who manage to catch our attention, you know? — And you have no idea how I wished she could sense my presence, but I’m not that strong yet!

**David’s POV** Here in my New York apartment, as the relentless city rain echoes my mood, I find myself repeatedly drawn to the old, worn pages of Scarlet’s diary. This morning, the echoes of last night's indulgence weigh heavy, a migraine pulsing in the background as I numb it with the usual analgesic. But the diary demands attention once again. I flip to the last entry, a letter penned for me, her "Bumblebee," written in a moment of profound solitude and clarity.