Dear Diary...

He was made of glass and honey, so sweet yet so fragile.

All he wanted was to escape the pain, so he loaded himself with Opioids and Heroin, and I did likewise. I so was tired of being daddy's little princess at the time. When did you ever hear that princesses had whip marks down their backs, and bruises on their ribs?

The fake smile I presented to the world was enough to keep them from guessing everything was amiss at home, just the way my father wanted. But he was my hero, my escape, the only source of oxygen in a world filled with monoxide.

He was so skinny, with deep sunken eyes and hair as dark as midnight, but he was beautiful. Not in the conventional way, but in such a horrifyingly enchanting way.

Yes, that was the word to describe him.

Enchanting.

He told me he loved me, and I believed him, why wouldn't I?

My prince, my knight in shining armor.
He'd come home, eyes bloodshot and tears streaking down his face, apologizing for not being good enough, but he was everything to me. He thought I didn't notice the scars, but I saw them each time he leaned in for a kiss.

I should have said something then.

He'd sing to me, and call me all sorts of sweet names in different languages. He was really good at that. Languages, that is.

My favorite was Princessa.

I was his princess, and he was my prince. We ruled over our broken castle of ramen cups, and empty bottles of sprite. He really loved sprite, so I did as well. Today he cuddled me for the last time, when he thought I was asleep, gently stroking my hair.

"You deserve more, princessa," he whispered, as he kissed the top of my head.

I didn't want more, I only wanted him. He was my prince after all.

"But I've done it, I've killed him. I just don't know if I can live with it." He whispered ever so faintly, so much so that the last part was barely audible to me.

But I smiled. My father was dead, now I felt truly free. I always feared he'd somehow find me.
I felt his presence leave the bed, and the cold became ever so present. But I thought nothing of it and went to sleep.

When I woke up, I noticed the note by my bedside table.

You will always be my princessa.

I smiled; it was like him to do something so sweet.
But I still couldn't help the badgering feeling inside my chest. Something wasn't right.

I headed towards the bathroom and there he was, pale as snow, the gleam of sunlight only making him more ethereal. The orange bottle of Opioids had fallen from his hands and spilled onto the floor.

A soft smile lined my lips as a single tear left my eye.

"I'm coming my prince." I whispered after kissing him on the forehead. "I'm coming. I just have to write first, it's the only way to document our love."

AUTHOR:

The Pringle. Doodeelolaski