I enter the house and I see you. You sit in front of the TV and stare blankly at the screen.

Can you still see something? Can you see... me?

Or you stopped seeing me a long time ago?

I put shopping bags on the cupboard in the kitchen and start to unpack groceries to cupboards and fridge.

I feel anxious.

I'm always under valerian, melissa and other drugs, because my weak nerves can't stand up to what's going on in my own life. My own home.

I look at my vibrating phone, laying on the cupboard. Of course, my best friend. As always. As if he felt in some way that I don't feel good. As if he wanted to warn me about me...

Because it's only my fault. Only I can't escape this hell. Everybody tried to save me a long time ago, trying to explain to me that something is wrong with you.

And now bruises on my wrists and shoulders can confirm it. These on the neck too. And on the legs...

And all these scars left after your fingernails grew too long...

I take a deep breath as I straighten my shirt sleeves. I'm dizzy. I have to calm down. I need to not think about how you're killing my mental health, both physically and mentally. Especially mentally...

I put my phone in my pocket, finish unpacking my groceries and head to the living room. I sit in the armchair and start to watch this show about the world most expensive drumsets, pretending to be interested in it.

"You hate me, right?" you ask suddenly.

I trembled, because of fear. I look into your sad eyes which I have been looking with love into for a long time. And which, ironically, I still love.

"What are you talking about, darling?" I smile gently to you.

When you smiled for the last time...?

"You're lying" you say and stand up.

You won't punch me, you never did. But probably you'll grab my wrist, squeeze it until I start crying and lead me to the bedroom. And you'll show me who is the boss here.

I close my eyes, preparing for what is about to happen, but... You're leaving. I open my eyes and I see that you seriously left. What means only one thing.

You went for a knife again.

I go to the bedroom and, as I thought, I find you on the floor, cutting your wrist in amock.

Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut...

"Stop it" I say firmly.

You look at me, observing me.

You make another two cuts without looking on your hand. You're still looking at me.

"You're gonna hurt yourself" I come to you and put my hand on the knife. "Don't do it."

I try to take the knife from you, but I can't.

A phone is calling once again. You pull it out it from my pocket and look at the screen.

"You know, who's calling? Your best friend" you put a phone on the floor. "How typical. The knight has to protect his princess, even if she has her prince already."

I blink in confusion, not understanding what are you talking about.

I still hold that damn knife and its blade cuts my hand.

I try to take it out of your hand, but...

...I don't know if it was you who stabbed me or if it was my fault that the knife stabbed my chest by accident.

I close my eyes and drop to the floor.

It hurts. It fucking hurts so much.

Please, help me. Help me! I'm begging you!

I hear you say my name and feel you pull the knife out of my body. I can feel your hand on my cheek. You smear the blood on it, as you try to wipe my tears from it.

I'm afraid. I'm fucking scared. Someone has to save me. Someone help me!

The last sound I hear is that stupid phone ringing again.

I can't pick up the phone, my friend. Please, forgive me...

The end