The minutes ticked by slowly.

Too slowly. Nancy felt her head spinning, rushes of something so dangerously close to the feeling of a panic attack, that she had to hunch over her knees to take slower, more deliberate breaths. No one dared speaking, bringing it out- the way not even her could conceal her own racing heart and anxiety. It wasn´t like anyone could blame her, truly; her parents were at the other end of the wall, being surgically treated over a supposedly bear attack- or something similar was that was said to the paramedics.-

It killed her. That Holly was gone, that her mother had almost died -that she had thought she had, the first second she held her in the kitchen floor, bleeding and so, so weak, until she found the force to sequeak out Holly´s name trough a slit throat- and her father. That she had been late, out. Away. Unable to protect them -as if she had been able to, anyways.- It made her feel utterly useless, that the role she had assumed as her own, the leader, the resilient, assertive one, was suddenly over her head.

And then there was the blood -her mothers- , coating her hands and soaking her clothes. She felt like puking. So it wasn´t a surprise, when she suddenly pushed herself from the wall as if she had been burned, and rushed off to the nearest bathroom. The door was shoved harshly, and the rest of you were left behind in silence, sharing worried and anguished looks.

The only sound left was the nervous bouncing of legs against the floor, and the damn ticking of the clock. Your gut twisted as you waited, because it didn´t feel right to leave her alone. Not when you knew she would be blaming herself.