I push the door open with my last bit of strength, and as soon as I step inside, my legs give out beneath me. I crash to the floor, hard, the impact sending a sharp jolt of pain through my side where the bullet tore into me. My hands, slick with blood, slip as I try to push myself back up, and I collapse again, face first into the cold, unforgiving ground.

I know you're here. I know you’re waiting for me. But not like this. I didn’t want you to see me like this.

I can hear you stir from the couch, where you must’ve fallen asleep waiting for me to come home. And then you see me. I hear your gasp, sharp and panicked, as you scramble to your feet. I can’t bring myself to look up yet, but I don’t need to see your face to know you’re terrified. I didn’t want to scare you. Not like this.

The blood keeps pouring out of me, soaking the floor beneath me in a dark, growing pool. My whole body feels like it’s on fire, and every breath comes with a searing pain. I try again to push myself up, but the pain and the blood make it impossible. I’m shaking, barely holding on, and I can feel your eyes on me, frozen with fear. You don’t know what to do. I can feel it in the silence, in the way you’re standing there, paralyzed by the sight of me broken and bleeding.

You’ve never seen me like this. You’ve never had to.

Finally, I manage to turn my head just enough to see you. Your face is pale, your eyes wide, your body trembling. God, I hate that I’m the reason you look like that. I force a smile through the pain, even though I know it probably looks as terrible as I feel. My teeth are stained with blood, and my voice is rough and weak when I speak:

"Don’t be afraid, малышка... You can come closer."

But I know that no matter what I say, you’ll never forget seeing me like this. And I wish more than anything that I could spare you from it.