Hello! I was hoping y'all could read this and leave comments regarding my grammar, spelling, and way I could improve this. This is going to be very important as I'm sending it in with college applications and I'm hoping y'all could help me by going over it. Thank you so much and I hope you like it!

He heard her grow up above his head. Never once laying his eyes on her, but always hearing her voice. He listened as she grew, her footsteps leaving a more prominent sound, her voice maturing beautifully, and her personality skyrocketing.

Perhaps that was the reason he didn't want to leave. Perhaps he had an inkling that if he stayed quiet, obey the rules, that one day he would have the pleasure of putting a face to the voice he was becoming more and more captivated by each and every day.

He was taken when he was nine years old, he guessed by how high her voice was that they were around the same age, he was older he knew it. Just by her mannerisms. The way she acted reminded him of how many of the younger girls at his school would act. You could say that's what drew him to her in the first place. For him, she provided a sense of familiarity. Helped him hold onto the life he once took for granted.

She didn't know the effect she had on him, she didn't even know he existed yet alone was right beneath her feet. Being locked away, used as a way for her father let out his anger when she laid her head down for a night's rest.
She would wake up every day ready for a bright happy day, believing that her home was as safe as a dream when in reality a nightmare was hiding in plain sight. She would believe her family is good, her father was a kind loving man who was doing good, causing no harm, when in reality the results of his actions would forever scorn the lives he's touched.

He wasn't dead, but sometimes it felt like it. He would lay their sad and depressed, just praying for a sign, something, anything, that would help move on. The first time he prayed was the first time he heard her voice. He had been so scared, but her soft words to her dolls, as he presumed, allowed him an escape. Made him remember the world outside the confinement of his walls.
It would forever haunt him as to why he never calls for help. He remembers trying a few times, calling out for anyone to come and save him, but it also feels so foreign he can't recall if the worlds had really come from his mouth or not. Had his courage not been strong enough, was the fear too much? Or had he simply not wanted to go, there was no way of knowing. Not today, not tomorrow. Thoughts like this simply had no answer.

He was nearing the age of twenty, or so he presumed. He faintly remembered his brother, and how he looked when he was twenty, the last time he saw him. He had to be thirty by now. Living his life, probably having forgotten of his troublesome younger brother. No matter though, he couldn't recall any memories no more, his mind was simply a jumble used to remember the rules of his captor and the voice of his angel.
She was leaving.

He remembered the day he heard her announce it to her father. She was going off to college to pursue a career as a detective. Funny how she wanted to solve crimes when the one just under her nose had yet to acknowledge.
She was set to leave in a few months. Time was no longer relevant to the boy anymore. Days were just as long as nights, they fade into one these days. He hoped to use that to his advantage, to savor the time before the last sliver of hope was being taken from him. He would remember all her words, all her emotions. He would remember her as his savor even if she didn't know him.
When the day came that she finally left, there was bittersweet feeling that over flooded him. Bitter because his only light was being snapped out, sweet because it meant that he could finally give up, trade his torture for the world beyond, finally find some peace in his life.

Even if by now he did make it out, he would always be known as the kidnapped kid. The miracle story. Happily ever after. Forgetting the happily ever afters don't exist, the villain only gets a minor role in the sequel of your life.

He figured she was hugging her seemingly perfect father goodbye when the voices faded. He knew they were still standing above him by the way the floor creaked as if crying the tears he wished he could.

She left leaving him alone.
His days were much longer now, as his captor had evidently a free calendar. The scars on his shoulders were healing much slower, or not at all. Consumed by the darkness, he considered giving up, not flinching when he was hit, not eating the nasty food he was given, avoiding consumption of water. Not that we would notice of course.

He had been such a good prisoner. Never screaming for help. Never refusing to eat. In the eyes of his captor, he was perfect, no need to make sure he did the simple things of staying alive. He would always do them. But without his light, he had no reason.

"I am leaving" His voice broad and loud, he spoke overhead allowing only a shimmer of the sun into the basement. It's been a few months, maybe a year, hard to say for the boy at this point, again time was pointless "I have some business to attend to and I expect you to be here when I return."

It wasn't as if he could leave. No. He was trapped. His dominant arm locked to the wall, giving him one to eat and drink,  his feet tied together. Not to mention the door, the only way of getting out was always locked.

"That food there is all you get, you behave yourself you hear?" He left no room for an answer. "Don't make me angry boy, you ain't going to like me when I'm angry." He didn't like him now, he didn't like him at all.

The threats weren't necessarily needed at this point. He left for long periods of time before and he never moved. Only allowed himself to heal. The thought of ever getting out was so foreign to him, so... out of a movie.

The door was slammed shut and the boy looked at his rations. If he were to drink and eat, he'd savor them and spread them out for about a week or two. But as he has given up on his will to live he noted that the rations would be the same as when the man left.

He couldn't help but wonder, as he did whenever the man left, what he looked like now. He never had a mirror. He knew his hair was long, he felt it at his shoulders. It was cut often when the man was particularly angry at him.

He assumed the stubble on his face was the beginning of a beard. He wondered if his face suited a beard, not that it would matter if no one would see it. Even if by some miracle he made it out, no one would even look at him and say he looked good. The scars covering his body were just too haunting.

It was a good thing he was never getting out of here because he'd hate to have to explain his scars to people with curious gazes. The scars would always be apart of him, and he wondered if it would still hold true after death.

Would the scars permanently stay plastered on him even as he entered into a nonexistent state? Was there even a world beyond his own were he could find peace or does everything simply end? A blank slate forms only for you to start all over again. He never really went to church before being captured, a part of him wishes he did, so he could hold onto the lovely thoughts they had about the afterlife. Instead, he could only hold on the questionable future of what would happen to him when he dies.

When he dies in here, no longer a question of if, will the man simply throw him out like trash? Perhaps bray him and grow a bush above him as a way of preserving his secret. Would he be thrown to the side of the road and he will finally be discovered?

He hoped for the latter option, at least with that he could hold on the fact that his parents have found a sense of peace. They would no longer have to wonder about their boy who went missing at the age of nine. They must have given up by now, with it being ten years later the search must have gone cold.

Throughout the days of his captivity, the thoughts of his parents often crept into his mind. Wondering if and when they exactly gave up. How much pain had they gone through during this time? They were great people and he wished they found some peace. Hopefully, they reunited in later life.

It was a few more days later when he heard the front door open, he had returned, soon than he expected. Not a drop of food had passed his utterly dry lips, he was prepared for anything to come.

"Dad?" That voice, it's more mature, rather husky now. The boy looked up and noted how she walked above him as the feeling creaked. "Are you home?" It's been such a long time since he's heard it that he didn't expect to be filled with such warmth. "Well then I guess you won't mind if I go find my stuff," she muttered to herself, well aware that no one else was around, that she knew about at least.
The sounds soon faded as she moved further into the house. The boy didn't expect to be flooded by the thought of finally escaping. She was pure, the angel of his life, she could rescue him. This new feeling of hope was surely foreign and for the first time, he felt a surge of happiness, no matter how small.

He sat up straight and went to call for help, but nothing came out. He hadn't spoken in ages, it's like all memory had faded on how to talk, his throat became evidently clear on how dry it was. He reached out for the water on the floor and took it all soothing the aching pain in the back of his throat.

He took a moment before trying again, he didn't know what to say so he just said whatever word came to mind first.
"Hello," his voice thin and wobbly. "Please, hello," There was no reply, he wasn't sure where in the house the girl was, in fact, he didn't know how big the house was, he's only been in this room.
He tried a few more times but there were no answers. He wanted to give up, he wanted to start believing that there was no hope in this world. How he wished that the girl hadn't shown up, it only hurt a lot more. Not mention he drank water, meaning his end of suffering would be prolonged.

The creaking on the roof came once again, and with whatever hope he had left he spoke one last time. "Hello?"

"Dad?" Her voice rang out, had he been a dog he would have his ears perked up high by now. "is that you?"

"Please." He answered instead. She froze, he could tell. Why would she not? A strange voice was speaking to her, a voice she had never heard before, of course, she would be scared, who wouldn't be scared?

"Who's here? This isn't your house!" She called out. Yes, it wasn't his house and that was the point of this all. "Where are you?"

"Help me," Was all he could say, he was having trouble with his words, having trouble looking for the right things to say.

"Where are you?"

"Down here," But where exactly that was he couldn't say. The only way he could talk to her was because this house was held, the creaks between the floorboards were poorly put together. The girl moved over to where he was, she was literally right above him.

"Who are you? What's your name?" That was a good question. He couldn't remember his name, no a clue. He let go of the knowledge of his name years ago. It was a bit odd.

"Please help me, get me out of here," He repeated instead. He needed to get out of captivity now before anyone, like the man, came into view. "Call for help."

"I don't know how to get to you." She admitted. "I didn't even know we had a basement." Her voice was scared and low, she was freaking out which was the last thing that he needed.

"Just help me!" He cried. But the girl didn't respond, she didn't move. She wasn't freaking out as he thought she would have. Instead, she let out a small soft laugh. His eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"I've always known my father is anything but normal." She laughed. "How I didn't think he would be caple of this. How old are you?"

"Nineteen maybe twenty," He let out. "Please help me please save me."

"Save you? Yes, that would be a logical thing to do. But then I'd lose my father, I've already lost someone very important to me, I've lost my mother, I can't lose my father too. No. Not like this." His angel wasn't an angel after all.

"Please," tears formed into his eyes, no. This was his only hope. His angel was not an angel, she was refusing to help him, she was acting as if this was normal.
He'd always imagined her as the epitome of perfection, but it seems as if she was just another illusion. A trick placed upon him to give him false hope. The world was cruel, cold, heartless, and he came to believe no one on this earth was good, that they all hid behind a mask in order to properly take the trust of someone else and snap out the good.

"I ask you go back to whatever hole you are in but I guess it won't matter. My father will not be too pleased with you when he returns." She said, her voice no longer the angelic and hypnotizing as it once was, it was replaced with a flat dead one.

"Why are you doing this," He asked, slumping against the cold wall, allowing the darkness to swallow him whole.

"I'm making my place in this world, I don't need to be dragged down." to put it simply, he understood how she was related to her father now. The course of the conversation was dying down, his hope of seeing the sky, feeling the wind, eating real food died with it. He was forever going to be cemented to this house. "I shall keep you in my thoughts."

"I don't want to be in your thoughts," He spit out. She didn't return another sentence instead she left, the sound of the floor followed her, and then the door slammed shut, shutting him away and forcing him away. She created a distance between them as if to solve the issue, but it seems as if from here on out, his issues were just getting started. 

His last light was snapped out. He's angry at himself for putting such trust into the girl who only broke his heart. But at the very least it's true what they say, even the devil was once an angel.