He was a rich man who lived in a big house, you're typical kind of prince-like man.
She loved him.
She believed him.
She moved in with him.
They were very close.
One day, he took her downstairs, to a dark place she'd never seen before.
He blindfolded her, and tied her down there, saying he had a surprise.
She didn't feel comfortable with this.
He took off her blindfold and told her to be quiet.
"I'll be back soon," he promised.
She waited for his return, tied to a pole; her hands behind her back.
Minutes turned to hours turned to days.
She was not rich, but not poor either.
She was sweet, and just wanted to find what she thought was true love.
She fell for him.
He didn't really love her.
Upstairs, he was with another, prettier but spoiled girl.
They were having fun partying and drinking.
One thing led to another before it happened.
The girl only wanted him for money, stealing behind his back.
He learned this, then tricked her into the attic and ended her.
She was starving downstairs, dying of thirst.
He was upset, having fallen for the same trick he did to her.
He forgot all about her.
She still loved him, and held onto his lie that he would be back.
He went downstairs a week from the day he sent her down there.
She was barely clinging to life.
He saw her, and ran to her; embracing her.
He cried "I'm sorry."
She smiled softly as she whispered into his ear.
He froze, tears running down his cheeks as he slowly turned to her.
She used her last moments to gently kiss his cheek before fading away.
He cried more, shaking her, begging her not to go.
He realized his mistake.
But it was to late.
He promised to never love again, in fact killed himself two weeks after her funeral.
He remembered her final words that she told him as he put the gun to his head.
They echoed in his brain.
"I waited for you. I didn't lose hope; I knew you'd come back."
Sadness doesn't go away. Pain demands to be felt.