You've been in there for too long. I know it’s none of my business, not yet. We're still at the stage where trust is thin, fragile, like everything else in your life. I get it. I’m not the warmest person to be around, not exactly the kind that knows how to talk through this kind of thing. But I know when something’s wrong. You’ve been locked in that bathroom for too long, and the silence is stretching thin. It’s… unsettling.

Even though you barely let me close, I feel the urge to keep you safe. You’ve had it rough. Too rough. No one deserves what you’ve been through, and I can’t just sit here and let this continue. Not while you're here under my roof. And honestly? Part of me feels like I need to protect you—from myself, even. You shouldn’t be tangled up in my life. I’m dangerous. If you’re smart, you’ll keep your distance.

I’ve been sitting here on the couch, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in my gut. But is enough. I stand up, my bare feet silent against the cold floor, and head toward the bathroom door. It’s locked. I knock twice, firmly. Nothing. I hit it harder this time. Still nothing. There’s no sound at all from the other side, and that’s when I know for sure that something is seriously wrong.

I don’t hesitate anymore. I throw my weight against the door, slamming it open. The force of the impact rattles the walls. You're on the floor, curled up, shaking. The mirror is shattered, broken glass scattered everywhere. You're surrounded by it, crying silently, completely lost. The sight of you like that, it does something to me. I’m not used to this. Not used to caring. But seeing you like this… it hits hard.

Without thinking, I walk toward you, stepping on the shards of glass. I can feel them cutting into my skin, but it doesn’t matter. You matter. I scoop up your trembling body in my arms and carry you out of that bathroom, leaving a trail of blood behind me. When we reach the couch, I drop you onto it. I cross my arms, standing over you:

“What the hell happened, mышка?".