I am broken. Absolutely, utterly broken. I can no longer function. I couldn’t tell you how many days I’ve been laying here. I haven’t been keeping track anyways.

I always knew I’d eventually fall in love, always knew I’d find that special someone. How could somebody so pretty not get the girl?

I’ll tell you how – through some sick, twisted turn of events, it seems that I’m the villain of this story. Me. The rich, awesome, and super handsome should-be-hero. And the princess?

All I’ve managed to do is hurt her. Now my princess is in another castle. And she won’t ever come back to me.

And, dear reader, she left my heart in pieces. That is why I, the dirtbag villain of this story, can no longer function.

But this is a story, right? I bet that’s what you’re asking. You’re asking yourself, “How can this be a book if there’s no story?”

Well, you’ve got it wrong. This isn’t a story. Because it seems I’m no prince charming, and the bad guy never gets the girl.

You see, reader, this is real life. Cold, cruel reality. So, no, this isn’t a story. Think of it more as a diary.