A young man sat on the cracked doorstep of an abandoned house. He didn't seem to notice the overgrown lawn that stretched before him, nor the condition of the building he had chosen to rest at; instead focusing on the stone pathway leading to the sidewalk. His breaths were strangely cold against the midnight air, in a way that would suggest he was sick. But instead of seeking warmth in the interior of the house, he huddled into his jacket, pulled his legs to his chest, and continued to sit.

Even the boy himself didn't know why he remained out in the cold. It had been years since he'd last seen her; why did he still hold onto the hope she'd come back?

It's pointless, but still I endure.

Suddenly weary, he closed his eyes and hoped that something would happen. The boy was positive that she would return eventually -- and was willing to die sitting on a broken doorstep waiting for that day.

For that would be a fate much more satisfying than being subjected to living a life of torment.

This is the meaning of true love.

That was the thought that lulled him into a deep sleep. A slumber from which he never awoke.

It was early the next morning that a couple walking by the abandoned house found him. The two had been taking their dog for a stroll when it had started to tug on its leash violently. The woman holding the rope had looked up, noticing an old house on the side of the road for the first time since she'd began going on morning walks with her beloved.

Furrowing her eyebrows at the dog's unexpected curiousity, she tapped the shoulder of the man walking next to her. He stopped and glanced at the dog, then her.

"I'm going to see what Max is after, okay?" She stated, turning towards the house's splintered, off-white fence. Following Max's lead before the one beside her could protest, she made her way up the stone walkway. It was only moments later that she saw the body. Limp and pale, the corpse was held upwards in a sitting position, making it seem as though he had died in that very spot.

The girl's mouth dropped, and the hand holding her dog's leash moved to cover it. Max's inquisitive nature took hold of the little dog, and he was upon the body in a matter of seconds.

"No! Bad dog!" the girl exclaimed, trying to grab the leash but instead pressing a warm hand to the corpse's leg. Releasing a silent scream, she drew the hand back and held it in front of her as though it were a dead rat. Max's paw soon found its way to the boy's rigid head, pulling it backwards with a slight crackling sound.

The girl didn't have time to be disgusted before she saw his face. She knew who it was instantly. The hand that had only moments before been touching his leg was brought up to support the first hand covering her mouth. It was too much for her to take; this was supposed to be a simple walk, not... what it had turned into. A flashback overtook her suddenly, one of a time she had been trying to forget.

It was the night of a high-school dance. The girl had been hard at work preparing her makeup and hair, enthralled by the fact she had a date. Yes, Rosalie had been asked to the dance by a boy. Of course she had accepted, because the one who asked her was also the one she'd been admiring from afar the entire school year. Things were going great for her... right up until the moment she arrived.

For in the center of the ornately-decorated gym room, her date was dancing with someone else. At first, she passed it off as a strange accident, and approached the two slowly. When there was a break in the music, she had asked him why he was with someone else. And instead of giving her an answer, he had pretended she didn't exist. She was quickly made the laughingstock of the party.

She'd run out of the gymnasium with tears streaming down her face, any makeup that had still clung to her skin beginning to run. She had sat down beside a brick wall just outside of the party; the upbeat song that had just begun emanating from the gymnasium bringing her tears down freely. It was then she'd heard someone clear their throat, then politely ask why she wasn't dancing.

"I-I was tricked by some jerk." She'd replied, not daring to show her face to the speaker. It was probably some parent chaperone trying to usher her back to the gym. She felt a soft wind brush her hair as someone knelt beside her.

"Now why would someone as pretty as you be tricked?" The voice replied. It was then Rosalie looked up, surprised by the speaker's words. Even though it was the first time she'd seen his emerald-green eyes and mussed black hair, she felt as though she'd seen him before.

He wasn't wearing a tuxedo like some of the other boys who'd attended the dance, but his faded jeans and grey hoodie looked better than any suit would've. Rosalie didn't reply immediately; she wanted to pick her words carefully. She grazed her wet cheek with the fore of a hand.

"I'm not pretty," she began after a moment, glancing down at the black mascara that had rubbed off onto her palm. "Look at me." The boy laughed, then took the stained hand in his gently.

"Well, I think you're pretty," he smirked in the dim light. "In fact, I'd be honored to dance with you." Rosalie tried not to smile, but ended up with a grin across her face. The tears that had so profusely flowed moments before had stopped entirely, and the two stood, arm in arm.

A slow song began to play inside of the gym, and they started swaying to the rhythm. Their careful movements were illuminated by the dull glare of a streetlight hanging above them.

In the three minutes the song was playing, Rosalie couldn't think clearly. Her feet moved without her conscious directing them, allowing her to fully take in what was happening. She could feel the warmth of his chest against hers; the consistent beating of his heart beginning to match hers. It was under that streetlight that Rosalie had her very first kiss. And it was beautiful.

Until they came.

'They' were the three ringleaders of the jerk squad -- the boy who had originally asked Rosalie to the dance, and his two cronies. The trio walked down the steps, wobbling slightly as they approached the couple. It was clear they were drunk; someone must have spiked the punch. Rosalie felt her heart speed up, but kept a calm expression.

"Well, looky here, boys! It's Rosalie and that freak Max!" He elbowed the guy to his left a little harder than he'd intended to, sending him stumbling off ten feet or so.

"Leave us alone, Austin," Rosalie stated, not allowing her voice to shake. "Go back inside and drink some more alcohol; if humanity is lucky, you'll overload your liver and die." A look of fury crossed Austin's face.

"Oh, I won't be the one to die tonight," his threat was spoken in a low whisper. Speaking to his friends now, "let's get them, shall we?" Rosalie's stomach dropped. Her body froze as the realization of what they were going to do to her -- Max, too -- if they caught them had hit hard.

"Go!" She heard Max's frantic command a moment before she was shoved away from where Austin and his goons were. She stumbled, then began to run. She tried to bring Max along with her; but pulling his hand proved ineffective as he was already being pulled in the opposite direction by the three boys."Let go," he whispered. "I'll meet you by that abandoned house up the street -- it's impossible to miss."

Rosalie nodded, tears beginning to glisten on her face once again. She hesitated for a moment, not wanting to release his warm hand, but eventually let go and broke into a sprint. She didn't stop until she was safe at home. Her parents were asleep, but Rosalie stayed up for the rest of the night. She would go to the abandoned house in the morning.

She never got to.

Her parents, worried by the bruises she had received the night before, put her under house arrest. She was allowed to go to school, but only with one of them walking her to and from it. They certainly wouldn't let her near an abandoned house of any sort.

And that was the way it was until she graduated high school. College was different, to say the least. Slowly, Rosalie began to forget about her old high school love. A piece of doubt remained in her heart, however, and she just couldn't shake the feeling that lingered there.

So she adopted a dog from the shelter and named him Max. His black fur and green eyes had reminded her of the boy she'd met the night of the dance; it was almost as though she was looking at him again. And she was content for a time.But after a while, she began to long for a relationship with another human.

It was then she met Alex during one of her class' orientations. He was nice, but lacked the kind of fire that she had seen in Max. So she stayed in a relationship that was neither bad nor good. Just mundane.

And now she was here, holding the corpse of the one she had truly loved -- no, still loved with all her heart. Alex had come running up the walkway by this point, a look of mingled concern and curiosity playing on his face.

"Are you alright, Rosalie?" He asked, worrying about her sanity. Was that a corpse she held in her arms? The girl shook her head, unable to form clear thoughts, let alone intelligible sentences. She gestured for him to go after a moment; speaking her first words softly.

"Go. I can't do this anymore." Perturbment seized Alex's heart, but he did as Rosalie asked. He walked to the other side of the road, waiting for her to come to her senses. He stuck his hands in his jean's pockets, and instead of finding them empty, his hand touched a phone softly.

He quickly withdrew it and dialed the three-digit number he knew so well -- 911. It was then he heard a scream.

Dropping the phone in surprise, he turned towards where the sound had come from -- Rosalie. Not caring about the condition of his phone, he sprinted across the road and down the walkway. His eyes were greeted with the ruby color of blood splashed across the dying grass.

But the grass wasn't alone in that trait. For laying face-down was Rosalie; a stream of blood flowing from large gashes in both her wrists. The key that had only moments before been tucked away in her purse now lay on the doorstep, its tip bloodied. Alex's hand went up to cover his mouth as a low cry escaped his lips. The dog licked her face, not aware that she was fading.

Rosalie could feel her body shutting down, but she knew she'd made the right choice.

It was there, on the cracked stone doorstep lying in front of an abandoned house, where Rosalie died. But she was happy, in another world with her true love.

They could dance for all of eternity now.

The End