The building was surrounded by police when you came home from work, and you automatically knew something had happened with your boyfriend. They were pulling people out of the building in ambulances, all clad in uniform.
You explained to the police in broken Romanian that you lived here, and when you told him the room number, his face turned stony. You will be questioned and must spend the night elsewhere. Just to grab some clothes - you were still in an uncomfortable work outfit. You entered and climbed the stairs slowly with the officer at your heels, stepping aside often to let injured officers be carried away. You clutched your bag to your chest. There was a lot of blood, and it was shocking that one man could do all this.
.jpg/900px-Bucharest_(8272280073).jpg "Babes Bucharest")
And even more shocking that the gentle man who slept beside you every night would be so capable. A little out of breath, you reacted your door eventually. Or, what was left of your door. You stepped inside and assessed the damage, careful to stay out of the way of the officials.
There were bullet holes in the wall, the windows smashed in, furniture broken and craters in the floor. The dust settled in your lungs and your eyes watered at seeing the haven you loved so much reduced to such a mess. The one place you could feel safe in this city was wrecked. You choked on a cry, but it got no further. Quick Romanian passed between the officer at your heels and those in the room. Only a minute? You clenched your teeth and strode through the room, finding the floorboard.
It was smashed already. You reached inside and found only one bag instead of two. You took your bag, pulled a photograph of the two of you from the kitchen board, grabbed a dusty apple from the fruit bowl. You brushed it off on your sleeve, and returned to the officer, avoiding looking at the destruction the whole time. The officer nodded and turned back to the stairs, you followed him down. Until something caught your eye.
