She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, nails digging into the fabric as the clock tick-tick-ticks in her ears. She’s purposely turned her back to it, but it’s more than just being able to see the numbers. To see time ticking inevitably forwards.

Her nails match the autumn red of her skirt, filed and shaped to perfection, though she fears that if she tightens her grip any more she’ll break one of them. That wouldn’t… that wouldn’t… 

Deep breath. 

Tick-tock.

<You don’t have to do this.>

Tick-tock.

“Yes I do.”

Tick-tock.

<Jake…>

Time’s up, Jakey-boy.

“It’s Rachel, now.”