It's four in the morning, and you're not home yet, and of course I'm worried.  Why wouldn't I be?  I've been watching the news from our bed for most of the night, and there are reports of people being randomly attacked all over the city, and I can't help but think that maybe you are one of them, maybe you've been attacked, or possibly even killed, just like these people on the TV.  I keep waiting for your picture to come up on the screen, but it never does, and that doesn't stop the knot from tightening in my stomach. 

    I look at my cell phone, just like I have been the whole night, waiting for you to call, to tell me that you're okay, that you were just out with some friends and you lost track of time.  I wouldn't be mad.  Not now, after worrying so much about you.  I would just be happy to finally know that you are safe and coming back home to me.  I've already been through my anger stage, thinking of all the things that could've happened to you, thinking of all the things I would say to you when you got home.  Sleeping on the couch, with-holding sex...but none of that seemed worth it now.  It didn't matter that you stayed out late, that you didn't call me, just as long as you came home safe.

    Now I realize there's nothing I can do but wait, hoping I'll hear your car pull up into the driveway, your keys jingling in the door as you unlock it and walk up the stairs before greeting me with apologies that I will furtively accept before taking you into my arms and diminishing my worries over the last few hours with lingering kisses and longing touches.  And as soon as I think these things, I hear your car, or at least what I hope is your car, pulling up to the house, but I'm thrown off by the screeching that it makes.  Drunk is the only word that runs through my mind, and a new wave of anger sweeps through me at the thought of you driving home drunk because you could've been hurt or killed someone and then been sent to prison and then where would we be?  I'd be alone without you and I don't think that my life would be worth living if you weren't in it.

    The pounding and wrenching on the front door startles me, and I start to think that maybe it isn't you at all.  It certainly sounds like someone is trying to break in, slamming themselves against the door in an attempt to bust through the lock, and the crashing sound lets me know that they have succeeded.

    I remain still, because I'm afraid of what will happen if I move.  I hear footstep tripping and fumbling up the staircase, and I'm thinking about the gun in the nightstand but I still make no move to get up and get it.  When you finally come into view of the open doorway I am scared and shocked.  There is massive amount of blood running from the gaping wound on your shoulder that I can see even through your blazer.  Your eyes are clouded over with gray and it makes me mourn the look of lust and love that usually adorns them, but then you are walking, no, staggering towards me, arms reaching for me, mouth open and emitting sounds that my human ears have never had the grace to hear before, and all I can do is shake my head as the tears start to run down my cheeks and tell you to stay away from me, because as much as you look like him, I know you're not.  Not now, anyway.

    But you don't listen, and I'm not sure you're able to.  I don't know if you can understand anything that I'm saying to you because there is this blank look on your face as you follow me to the other side of the bed where I am huddled in the corner.  You're still coming closer and I think I see your eyes flicker to my hand that is now in the drawer of the night stand, gripping that cold metal that is supposed to save me from intruders, but never you.  There is no confusion on your face, however, when I point the gun steadily between your eyes, but there might have been some in your cloudy gray eyes, and it makes me think that maybe, just maybe you do understand what I'm doing, and I hope that maybe you can forgive me for this.

    I'm sorry, I say, over and over again, hoping you can hear me although I can barely hear myself over your unnatural moans.  Your arms are still outstretched, reaching for me, and my own tears are blurring my vision, making it hard for me to aim the gun, but I take a deep breath and pull the trigger because there is no way that I will let you hurt me, and I like to think that you wouldn't want me to.  Your body stands still for a moment, the blood from the bullet hole in your brain leaking down your nose, mingling with the blood now pouring from your mouth.  Finally, looking at me, you drop to the floor, your body making a loud thudding noise that causes me to cringe and wonder how things ever ended up this way as I slide down the wall that I had been leaning on, hugging my knees to my chest and rocking back and forth, not knowing what to do.

    I sit there for some hours, staring at your dead body.  The sun has already risen, but the only noises I can hear from the outside world are them.  They are coming for me, and I briefly think about the front door that is probably open wide, welcoming and inviting them into my home, but I don't care about that anymore.  I meant it when I said that my life wouldn't be worth living without you in it, and now that you're not, there's something that I need to do.

    I drag myself from my position over to the bedroom door, shutting and locking it in a vain attempt to keep them out, then crawl over to your body, laying down beside it and pulling your arms around me, sniffling a little as the tears run harder and quicker from my eyes.  Taking the gun from the floor, I hold it up to my temple.  I can hear them now, in the house, knocking around the dishes and things in the kitchen, looking for something to sate their cannibalistic hunger.  It's only a matter of time. 

    I kiss your cheek, the only one not covered in blood, before laying my head beside yours and looking into your open and vacant eyes.

    It's not your fault.  I forgive you.

    Those once beautiful eyes are the last thing I see before I squeeze the trigger, because I will not become one of them, and I'll never let them hurt you.