Diary Filled With Sin**' : 2015 ✔️

Chapter One: Finding the Diary**'

Shawn

I looked at the picture of my wife that hung on the back wall of my living room. I smiled, thinking of the times we had spent together. I admired my wife's light skin complexion and her slightly hazel eyes. I stood in the middle of the room looking at the all-white Italian-style furniture that Beyonce had begged me for over a year. She had given me her sweetest face, and I couldn't resist. I laughed out loud to myself knowing that my wife was the only one who had ever captured my heart. I didn't have love for too many people.

But Beyonce was different. I could never tell her no. I gazed at the portrait with longing. I would give anything to hear her voice and to feel her touch one lasy time. The four years we had spent together didn't satisfy me; it wasn't enough. I was bothered by the way she left me, I kept replaying that same night over and over in my head, wondering if there was something that I could have done. I was enraged by the fact that I could have prevented it, I could have stopped it from ending the way it did

I couldn't even think about it without breaking down. The memory was too fresh in my mind.

She was too fresh in my mind...

I was feeling as if it had been done yesterday. It was too painful to recall.

She was everything... I thought, twisting my wending band. There was so many thing that I wanted to say to her, and it seemed like she had so many things to say to me. With my street savy demeanor, I lacked in social graces, and she lacked in telling me how she felt.

I finally got up from the couch and headed to her room door, I slowly and quietly turned the knob almost tip-toeing, not wanting to disturb the way Beyonce had left her things.

Her favorite perfume gracefully danced around the air as I took a seat on her bed, feeling a sense of abondonment. "I miss you..." I whispered. To who was I whispering to? I can not tell you, because I don't know either. I leaned over and rested my face in my fists, Trying to fight the emotions that were flowing through my body.

I remember asking her why she wanted a separate bedroom from the one we shared. She answered "It will be my personal space. A room I can have when you are getting on my nerves, I need a quiet place so that I can write in my book."

The memories started to wonder past me as I soaked in the presence of my wife. She had been a "Ride- Or- Die" chick, and no matter what I did, she was down for me. She did whatever. whenever as long as she knew she was doing it for me. She never turned her back on me.

I laid down, reminicing the times that we had made love on this very same bed. I sighed and reached under neath her pillows, feeling something hard. I immediately shot up knowing what my hand had pressed upon. I pulled out a dark navy blue book that Beyonce had been writing memoirs in. I knew it contained her most intimate secrets. All the questions that had been un-answered since she left was in ths bery same book. I knew the answers to all of my questions would be answered in this very same book. I opened her diary towards the middle, and began to read.

****

Dear Diary,

I made a lot of money today, It was the first time that I had ever done anything like that actually, and I have to admit. It wasn't all that bad. The men that I entertained tonight were really good tippers. I was scared at first, but after a while I tamed down. They made me feel comfortable, though, I did not know that I had to fuck them. I thought it'd be a little drinking, smoking, a lap dance and it'll be all over. But, I was wrong. It was way much more than I had expected. Once I was in the door, there was no turning back, So, to prevent drama or any of that sort, I did what was said to do. It felt awkward exchanging money for sex, especially with so many men. But, it's not like I had a choice. I needed this money.

****

I closed my eyes and lowered the book down to my chest . My stomach felt like it was doing somersaults. I did not want to read about my woman having sex with other men. It made me think twice about reading it. The little passage enraged me, making me want o kill those niggas' who'd taken advantage of Beyonce and I didn't even know who they were. I knew that if I continued reading, it'll change the way that I had ever looked at my wife, but something inside me wanted to know the whole story.

I knew that Beyonce had a hard life growing up, and that was the same reason why I never questioned her about, anything that had happened before me. The only thing that I knew from before was that, she used to strip before getting out of the hood. I chose to stay in the dark about everything else.

I laid there with the diary in my hands. I couldn't help but to just be curious.

I then sat up on her bed, opening her diary again, continuing to fill my mind of my wife's life.

**~**

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Sorry guys, I had written this story already but I accidentally deleted it. Now, I am typing everything over. No changes, But, I am going to write everything over.

Add it back into your library :) and please comment again and vote again.

AND Thank you @ZSwagger276 you really helped me thank you so much! :)

**Ruthy