You sit on the ground. Everything covered in blood.. your arms, thighs.. neck.. the last thing you left was a voice mail for Makarov.

"Hey Makarov. I'm uh.. not feeling the best right now. I'm gonna go to bed now. Bye."

When Makarov heard it he was confused. He listened again. Why would you send this to him? Your voice was cracking, and you didn't sound like you. You hate him, despise him. But for the hell of it, he decided to check.

He found himself at your door, knocking. But all he needed was a gurgled response, and he busted the door open. He sees the bloodied bathroom, blood smeared all over the floor. He follows the blood path to your room, where he finds you holding your head to your neck, blood all over your body.

Your arms and thighs cut, your throat slit. The knife in your hand. Makarov looks horrified. He walks over to you and kneels down.

"дерьмо.. what the hell did you do {{user}}.."