The Sober Diaries Novels & Stories

"Good evening, Lara!" "It's my first time here, and I'm not... how can I say it, I haven't been sober for even a day." She fell silent, unsure of what else she could contribute. The sounds of crickets outside, the rural darkness. She looked into the eyes of each person there and felt hopeless, unable to imagine achieving what they had. She wasn't that strong, not at all. "I don't know if I can do it. I think that's the truth. And even if I do someday, I don't know if I'll open up here like you all did. Don't get me wrong, I don't think what you did wasn't beautiful, sharing your stories, opening up, but I don't think I'll do that, and I don't see how it helps. I don't believe that baring my

I don’t even know how on earth he could have them or if they are even real. What kind of witchcraft is this? I gawp at him, so sure I’m dreaming and should pinch myself to break this god-awful nightmare once and for all. Diaries of years and years of having no one else to turn to and offload the horrors of my life. This was how I got it out of my head and battled on to breathe another day. I put everything into these dire little notebooks. Every woe and dark secret. Every confession and dying dream. It was my outlet to stay sane, and I used them to tear the ugliness out of my brain and lock them away to burden the books instead of me.

But now I could see the torment in his eyes. He ran a hand through his curls and sat down slowly, motioning for me to do the same. There was a small fire burning in a metal bowl on the table. Beside it, a leather-bound journal sat, its pages partially torn. “I didn’t know who else to call,” he began. “You’re the only person I trust now.” I didn’t speak. I only nodded, urging him to speak on. By now, I was restless, the air around us was tensed.

But sitting in this nice kitchen, with this nice guy who had literally carried my drunk ass home and made me breakfast, made it harder to stay closed off. I stayed quiet for a long moment, staring at the countertop. Jordan waited patiently. When I didn’t speak, he added softly, “Please? You can trust me.” I exhaled shakily and ran a hand through my messy hair. “I’m… I..lo.. someone I shouldn’t be,” I said finally “Someone completely off-limits. It’s been eating me alive for months. Every time I try to forget, it gets worse. So I drink. I get high. I suck random cocks hoping it’ll drown it out. But it never does. It just makes everything hurt more afterward.”

But tonight, none of that mattered. As I went closer to the bar, my fears kept pulling me back, but no! I grabbed the bottle. "Johnny Walker," the label read. With a twisted grin, I uncapped it and placed it against my lips. I didn’t sip. I gulped. I kept drinking until a sharp pain tore through my chest. I gasped, pressing a hand against my ribs. But then, I laughed again—because Michael Finsch was a disgusting bastard, and I was an even bigger fool.

"No. We should apologize instead." We held each other and broke down in tears. Leonard was still in a critical stage. Meanwhile, the content of his diary was published on the Internet. The diary recorded every moment we had spent together. I sat on the bench outside the ICU, and my phone kept vibrating. "Liv, have you seen the news? Leonard's diary has gone viral on the Internet!" "Oh my God! You guys had such great memories together!" "He loves you so much…" I tapped on my phone. The topic at the top of the trending list read, "high school memories of Leonard Burton."

he said his eyes glistening. I nodded about my head vigorously trying to think something but my mind was totally blank. Thing which keeps me sane? Calms me give me comforts? What's it? I closed my eyes trying to remember something. Suddenly Joshua's face came infront of me, how he cares for me, he concerns for me, tell me what's wrong and right, his presence calms me, he comforts me when I need it, he-he is the one who keeps me sane. I opened my eyes and stuttered out "Y-you it's you who keeps me sane."

She knew, with a terrifying certainty, that if she let herself actually ‘feel’ the weight of Mira’s finality, if she let the grief break through the dam, it would shatter her into pieces she could never piece back together. So, she focused on the mundane. She focused on the texture of the unfamiliar, soft pajamas she had been changed into. She traced the rhythm of her own shallow breathing. She did anything to stay hovering in the hollow space between reality and denial. A soft click broke the silence. The heavy bedroom door swung open, and Idris stepped inside. He carried a small wooden tray holding a bowl of steaming broth and a glass of water. The usual detached, armor-like aloofness he w

Step by step, I was getting closer to the man whose methods were rumored to be cold and cruel. It was said that he was ugly and temperamental. No one could ever tell what he was thinking. As for his three previous wives, they were said to have spent every day in great suffering. However, when I saw that almost mythical person, I realized how ridiculous the rumors were. Aaron Prentiss was leaning against the desk, his steel-gray shirt showing off his broad shoulders and trim waist. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his blue eyes were deep as the Atlantic. He was twirling a fountain pen in his hand, his fingers long and deft.

A crash sounded just as I was thinking of a way to destroy that ring. The plate of sticky glazed ribs shattered on the floor, and the ring slipped loose, rolling straight toward my feet. I quickly kicked it into a hidden corner. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to!" Oddly enough, Annie suddenly dropped to her knees the moment the plate broke. She had fallen right by my feet. I jumped back in shock, retreating several steps. "I really didn't mean to, Sienna. I'll pay for it, I swear I will! Please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." She trembled as if she were terrified of me.