In my last story, I told you guys about how The Prince threatened to kill me. But maybe it wasn’t fair to leave it that way, because one time he actually saved my life.

We had been friends for a long time before our relationship became sexual. Once we started sleeping together the dynamics completely shifted.

We spent about a month and a half having weekend date nights, becoming sexual increased my bond to him significantly. However it was the opposite for The Prince. I didn’t realize it at the time, but for him it had been about the conquest.

I’m pretty sure after he accomplished what he was after, he grew bored of me. He began to cancel plans to hang out on a semi-regular basis. Friends visited from his home country, and he didn’t invite me to meet them. Later on he even admitted to having another girl stay the night.

I was hurt by his dismissive behavior. It takes a lot for me to trust someone, but once I do, having that trust annihilated can have devastating consequences. I was still in denial, and was trying to figure out what had gone wrong and how I could fix things between us.

Princy Poo couldn’t have cared less. He wanted me on the back burner from then on, only to pull me out when it suited his sexual needs.

He was still driving around on that suspended license, and I knew he couldn’t keep it up forever. Eventually he would have to face the consequences for his actions. I had the gut feeling that things would be catching up to him very soon.

In the weeks that followed, I made plans to go out with friends, and was doing my best to get over him, but failing miserably. The Prince feared nothing more than exposure and had warned me multiple times never to Write about him.

“I’m a writer, that’s what I do. I write about my life, it’s how I heal. If I were to write about you, it wouldn’t be about YOU. It would be about my own life experience. Nobody would ever recognize the character you’d inspire. Besides, you bought the book I wrote after breaking up with my ex!” I had reminded him, during one of our previous conversations.

“You will not write about me!”

“Oh yeah? Well, what are you going to do about it?” I asked.

“You won’t do it because you are an adult and you have respect,” he countered.

“I never write about the good ones. Don’t hurt me and I’ll have nothing to say,” I replied.

The pain from his discard lingered deep. One afternoon, I decided to make a promo video for my books. Although the Prince had asked me not to write about him, he never said I couldn’t make a video. I decided to go ahead and throw in some jabs while I was at it.

Knowing he still couldn’t drink due to the terms of his probation, I made sure to have a sixer of his favorite brew available, and used a word from his first language so he would know I was talking to him. I even threw in a punch about him going back to jail. Once it was published, I sent him the link.

He didn’t respond.

I waited a week or so, and then decided to text him again. Even though things had been rough between us for a while, it was unlike him to ignore me completely. I waited a few more days and tried texting again.

When he still didn’t respond, it finally occurred to me to check the local jail’s website. I went to the inmate search locator and put in his last name.

Holy shit!

There it was! He had been arrested two days after I published the video.

I went into shock. Although I had been angry at him for the way he had been treating me, I honestly didn’t think he’d get arrested. Although I knew it was a probability, I didn’t necessarily see it happening so soon.

His Majesty was going to blame me. I knew he was going to think I turned him in. I had just been trying to get a rise out of him.

I looked up the visiting days and hours and with my tail tucked between my legs, decided to go see him. As you can imagine, he wasn’t happy to see me.

I’ll never forget the blackness that consumed his eyes when he saw me standing by the Phone that day. If he could have killed me right then and there, there’s no doubt in my mind, he would have.

He was hesitant to come to the phone, but he did. Although he picked it up, but he didn’t sit down.

“Why are you here? What do you want?” he asked.

“I was so worried about you.”

“No, you aren’t worried about me! You came here to laugh. This is what you wanted, to see me suffer!”

“No…” he cut me off.

“Bullshit! You are an actress! You are a liar!”

“No,” I shook my head. “I’m so sorry!”

“Sorry! Why? You did this?”

“No! I would never do anything to hurt you!”

“I saw your video! You make fun of me, you come here to see me suffer! You are an actress!” He gave me an evil smirk, “I had people who I was waiting to see today, now they can’t come! I only get one visit a day, you ruined it!”

I watched in desperation as he flung the phone down and left the room.

My heart was racing and I felt consumed with guilt. Though I hadn’t turned him in, I still shouldn’t have posted the video. I cried the entirety of the drive home.

I went back to see him on the next visiting day, but he refused the visit altogether, and stormed out after catching site of me. I left $40 on his books anyway.

My life had been in shambles for the majority of that year. I lost my high paying job six months prior and had been scrambling to makes ends meet ever since. I was working jobs that were both draining me and not cutting it financially.

The Prince had been the spark that kept me going.

I decided that I needed to do anything I could to fix things, and despite all the negative that had happened between us, I wasn’t going to let him serve his time alone. His family was out of the country and I knew he needed someone. Anyone.

So I started writing him letters, I sent one every single day. I apologized for the video, I told him how amazing he was. I wrote him stories about my day to day life. In the letters, I begged him to call me, just to let me know he was okay. I asked him if he needed help emptying his apartment. I offered to help pay his bills, I sent him my phone number in every letter and made sure to set up an account with money in it, should he decide to call. I even sent him books.

A month had gone by and he had yet to respond. My depression had worsened as my financial situation continued to decline. I was feeling emotionally depleted and hopeless. I didn’t want to live anymore. I was beginning to think even my kids would be better off without me.

It was a Friday night when I decided to break my six months of sobriety. My kids had gone to their father’s for the weekend. After work, I brought home two bottles of wine. I finished them pretty fast and decided that I needed more.

“Fuck it. I’m calling out of work tomorrow,” I thought to myself. Then, I canceled all of my appointments for the weekend. I walked into my son’s room and I emptied out a backpack. After, I wandered into my bathroom and removed the entirety of my medicine cabinet. I found bottles of old anti-depressants, anxiety medication and most importantly, the pills I used to lower my heart rate. I knew an abundance of those alone would definitely do the trick.

I lined all the bottles up on my coffee table and strapped on the backpack. I went into a cupboard and dug out an old weed pen.

I left my apartment and headed to the liquor store, vaping the pen along the way. Once to the store, I loaded the backpack up with as much booze as I could carry home.

It was a long two miles back to my apartment, I figured the walk would give me time to think about what I was planning to do. Unfortunately, it only confirmed my decision.

Once home, I poured myself a tall glass of wine and I dumped the pills onto a pile on the table. That was it, I had made my decision to no longer live in pain.

I downed the glass of wine as fast as I could and refilled it, deciding it would be the one I’d use to swallow the medications.

Now, I shit you not, just as I was reaching for the first handful, my phone began to ring. My caller ID said it was from the jail.

I couldn’t believe it. My heart began racing. I put down my drink and I answered that fucker.

I sat through a good 3 minutes of automation before we were finally connected.

“Hello,” I answered with a whisper.

“Hello.” His voice was as cold as a Chicago winter.

“Hi.”

“I’m calling because you asked me if I was okay. I just wanted you to know that my brother took care of my apartment. Everything has been handled. I don’t need you to worry about me.”

“Okay.”

“I thank you for the letters, and money you put on my books.”

“Of course. I just…”

“That’s it. Goodbye.”

I sat there paralyzed for close to an hour. Yet, for the first time since he had been locked up, I felt hope.

I decided not to kill myself that night.

So you see, despite the fact The Prince was only using me, and the horrible way he ended our friendship, he did actually save my life once.

Je suis plus heureux sans toi.

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