Rose's Point Of View
My fingers were twitching so violently that I had to interlock them in my lap just to keep them still. I stared down at my knuckles, watching the skin turn ghostly white as I squeezed. Every ticking second on the living room wall felt like a drop of cold water hitting the back of my neck, each one dragging me closer to a moment I dreaded with my whole being.
The clock's steady rhythm seemed almost cruel, indifferent to the way my entire world balanced on the edge of what was about to happen. I wanted to scream at it to stop, to give me just a few more minutes of ignorance, but time, of course, never listens to the desperate.
Today was the day. The meeting. And I was nowhere near ready.
