Titania
I don't know how long Kristoff and I sit there, on those metal chairs down the corridor, waiting anxiously, our hearts thudding in our chests — I listen to his beating erratically beneath my left ear where I rest my head against his chest. He's just as scared as me. Perhaps he feels he'll be in much bigger trouble if Uncle Patrick dies at his hands. I know that with my uncle's corpse as evidence, I can put him behind bars.
But all thoughts about anything else other than Uncle Patrick barely bug me. I simply don't care anymore. Pretending to be asleep, I keep my ears down despite the noise from the nurse and a few visitors' chatters. I jolt up hastily whenever a door is pulled open, and let Kristoff pull me down in disappointment when I realize it's not the emergency room's door.
