The outside world appeals to me more and more every day. Too bad I'm stuck in a goddamn tower. Every morning, I'm greeted by the cold dark blocks that stare at me from all sides, taunting me unspoken spite. Even the curtains which sway and billow with the breeze make fun of me. They move every which way and I only move in the limited space that the room provides.

How I came to be stuck in a tower? I have no freaking clue. I just woke up here one day, dressed in clothes of regal colours and a crown-- that looks awfully real from the way the engraved jewels sparkled when the sunlight hit just right. It feels real too, but I'm sometimes tempted to chuck it out the window if it's the reason I was brought here.

Sometimes, however, I wear it, feeling its heavy weight and pretending that I'm actually what the psychopaths who brought me here think I am. Actual royalty.

It seems it's one of the only perks of being in this tower. That there is a slight possibility that I too, may be of royal blood. Well, aside the amazing bathrooms here. Every time I step out of the tub I can see my skin freaking glowing, and the acne scars I have-- well had, because they've all disappeared. I don't know what kind of products they put in those bottles on the sink but when I leave, I'm taking all of them.

But those are about the only things I like about the tower-- aside the food they bring. That one actually seems like it was made for royalty. But yes, aside those there's no other thing that would possibly make me stay. My phone was gone when I had awoken, it was the first thing I had checked for as soon as my eyes adjusted to the dim lights that night-- and I realized I must have taken one helluva drag from that blunt Jason offered me to be hallucinating this much. It's the last thing I remember doing before my life as a captive-- or "protected person" as they like to put it. But I figured it was really happening after I'd woken up surrounded by these same walls for three days straight.

I walk to the door and address the guard that is standing at the post I know is right behind it. There's a different one everyday and today, it's Bubba. Look at that, who'd use a dumbass name like Bubba?

"Yo, when's this savior of mine getting here again?"

"In a matter of minutes, Sire," he responds in the awfully nasal voice he has. I assume he's a dwarf with how his voice always seems to be emanating from quite a low height when my ear is pressed against the door.

According to the books I'd found on a table next to my bed-- which I'd only read because I don't have a phone and it's so dead boring here-- there's a prophecy that I'd be saved by a princess. Look at that, a princess.

But if these lunatics actually believe that I'm a prince, then it shouldn't be much of a surprise that I get saved by a princess. It kind of makes sense, a teensy bit. And so does their belief in my royalty, if that painting above my bed has a say. It bears a painfully accurate resemblance to me. The dark blond hair with darker roots. The aquiline nose that turns up a bit at the tip. Brown eyes the same colour as the honey they bring with my breakfast. If I didn't know any better, I would have believed that painting was actually of me and not any ancient ancestor. Imagine that. I, Ruben, a prince.

But the renaissance era type of clothes the guy in the painting wears, beg to differ.

Moving to the window, I look down at the bridge that leads to the woods behind the extremely high walls. There is a moat surrounding my wing of the tower that leads me to believe I really have no chance to save myself. Even if I had freakishly long hair like Rapunzel did and I managed to climb down the tower, there'd be no way I'd swim across the moat. I can't swim, and that thing's ridden with crocodiles. My only hope of leaving is this "princess" character. I'd be Rubenzel, with a short-lived happy ever after.

I've spent time imagining what she'd look like, since I have nothing better to do. Is she like any of those Disney ones? With delicate features and more grace and poise in her pinky than I have in my entire body? Or is she more like those badass princesses who wear armor and have fiery red hair that reflect their awesomeness. Or maybe, she'll be plain like the princesses I saw in the books, with thin smiles and bored expressions.

I hear the pounding of the hooves of horses approach, the same time the gate is being lifted open. Finally!

But as the princess-- who is on the first horse that gallops through the gates-- looks up at my tower, my breath gets caught in my throat and I have the sudden urge to drop down on the floor and cry hysterically.

No no no. Not her. It could be anyone-- anything-- but her.

But the wispy golden-brown hair that seems to always, always, reflect the golden sunshine and the piercing gaze behind her ocean blue eyes, tell me otherwise. And the grin that exhumes pure authority. Never forget the grin. Just looking at it makes me shudder.

This princess is "badass" alright, I can swear my life on that. But she's also the last person I could ever think would come and rescue me. At this point, risking it all and taking a free fall into the moat sounds like a far better option. That way, I know I'll get to die in a less cruel way and I might even get a couple of paintings made in my honour. Rubenzel, the crocodile battling prince who fought with all his strength until the very end.

If I die that way, I won't have to face her at least. I'll be forever known as one who sacrificed himself to taste freedom, at least that's what the note I'll leave behind will say. But I have a sinking feeling that she would see through it. Same way she manages to invade every aspect of my life-- even this whole likely-to-be-a-hallucination-from-too-much-weed thing. It's a thing she has.

And right now, hearing the clanging of armor moving closer and closer to the door, I know I'm fucked again. It's always her, never anyone else.

My ex-girlfriend.