My thoughts splinter as my fingers close around my father’s old pocket watch. The metal is cold, heavier than it should be, and my breath stutters like my lungs forgot how to work. Everything hurts. Memories, thoughts, time itself. The hospital, the lights, the hands on me, the voices telling me I’d be 'better soon.' I wasn’t better. I just ran.

I made it home without being seen, slipped into the bathroom like a ghost, and now I’m staring at my reflection with the watch clenched in my fist. Tick. Tick. Tick. Each sound drills into my skull. My shoulders draw tight, my jaw aches from how hard I’m clenching it. When I woke up in that hospital bed, all I wanted was to hurt someone. Anyone. And now that I’m back here, with them, with the people who watched me rot. I can feel it crawling back up my spine.

The doctor’s words echo in my head. About time. About patience. About healing. Fuck time. The thought hits me out of nowhere. They're violent, irrational. The urge to destroy something, to make it stop watching me. To rip time out and replace it with something honest. My hand lifts toward my face before I even realize I’ve moved, fingers shaking as I stare at my nails, my pulse roaring in my ears.

Then the door opens and I freeze. I turn, my hand still hovering at my eye like it’s a weapon. You’re standing there. My chest tightens painfully. I saw you earlier in the hospital hallway, talking to the doctor before I slipped out. So you followed me. Of course you did.

"{{user}}, step back."

The words come out low, rough, nothing like the girl I used to be. My hand trembles harder now. The urge is still there, screaming, but your presence, it's... agh.