I grip the cool metal of the chair arm. It feels smooth and nice to my touch. I look up from my tattered jeans. The room is devoid of color. The only interesting thing is a stack of books that sit on a plane white end table in the corner. It is dim. Barely any natural light comes in from the little windows lining the walls, and half of the bulbs on the ceiling are burnt out. I try to keep my mind off my impatience. I listen hard, focusing on the drip coming from a pipe somewhere deep in the walls. 

Tip, tap.

 Tip, tap.

   Tip, tap.

     Tip, tap.

       Tip, tap.

The sound grows until it is all I can hear. It washes soothingly into my ears. It blocks out the nervous conversations of the people sitting around me. As I keep listening, its hypnotic melody begins to help me relax.

Tip tap.

No more loud children scurrying around the room.

 Tip tap.

No more scuffing feet from nervous women wearing squeaky sneakers.

   Tip tap.

No more anxious thoughts running through my head, causing me to scuff my own feet.

     Tip, tap.

I can only tell that I am crying because I can feel the warm tears streaming down my cheeks. But my mind is completely numb, listening only to the drip of the pipes. But the effect begins to wear off. I start to become uneasy again. I want to know the answer. But not yet, no. I am to be left in an abyss of worry before I get to know. It is terrifying. Crying would have, under any other circumstance made me feel vulnerable and weak, but that doesn't matter here in the waiting room. What I am waiting for is much more important than my shallow reputation. Plus, all the other people waiting here are too wrapped up in their own painful thoughts to worry about mine.

I try to pick up one of the books on the table. The top of the tower has a bright red picture book. Anything to keep my mind off it all, I think. Billy Bambos Happy Fun Adventure! reads the title in an obnoxiously bolded and loud font. I immediately set it back down. The title alone is enough to make me sick. Whoever picked the books obviously doesn't know how to read the mood of the room. How could you be happy waiting around in a place like this? It was an abysmal pit full of only pain and darkness. There is no one here who looks up to a happy, fun adventure, and certainly not me. Not here. Not now.

I sit back down on the chair in the corner. The waiting is driving me insane. I need to know the answer, and I need to know soon. I try just twiddling my thumbs, but I can't take my mind off unpleasant thoughts. I get so worked up from my distressed thoughts, I begin listening again. I notice that the clock on the wall is making a nice, quiet ticking noise as the second hand goes around and around, methodically counting each number off, mesmerising me.

Tick, tock.

 Tick, tock.

   Tick, tock.

     Tick tock. 

I let out a shaky breath. My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I can't bring myself to talk to anyone. I know I can't keep evading my uneasy thoughts, but I will still do all that is in my power to ignore them for the time being. The melancholy mood in the waiting room is more than I can take. So I keep listening.

Tick, tock.

Away with the paranoid thoughts swimming in my head.

 Tick, tock.

Away with the guilt wrenching my stomach.

   Tick, tock.

I can't convince myself it isn't my fault, so I shut thoughts out completely.

       Tick, tock.

But the horrible images keep swimming in front of my eyes. The scream of pain echoes loudly in my head. No. NO. Please stop. PLEASE, PLEASE. I can't take it. It isn't my fault. I swear it isn't! I couldn't have helped. I promise I couldn't have. So why did I keep having these thoughts? Get them out of my head! GET THEM OUT OF MY HEAD!

Tick, tock.

 Tick, tock.

    Tick, tock.

I take another shaky breath in. I hate this damn waiting room. I don't think I can stand sitting in it a moment more. I need to know the answer to the only question worth asking.

Suddenly, the revolving door swings open. I lift my eyes with whatever little bit of hope is left inside of me. A tall doctor in a white coat walks out. “Beldar, Ellie?” he calls, his voice echoing off the drab walls creating an eerie sound. My heart stops. The answer is finally here, but I am not sure if I want it any more. What if she wasn't okay? It will be all my fault. I could never forgive myself.

I sit for a moment in anticipation, just staring at the doctor until I can't take it anymore. I stand up and walk over to where he is standing, holding an official looking clipboard. I have to ask. After all, it is the only question that matters to me anymore. “Is she okay?” I stutter out. The doctor looks at me with pale blue eyes swimming with sadness, you could tell he has seen things no one should have to see. “I'm so sorry Ellie, she didn't make it. The crash was too severe. You were lucky your airbag worked. We tried our best, but she passed away just a few moments ago.”

I cry out. The world begins to cave in all around me. I feel my knees buckle as I fall to the ground, screaming. I want to drown in my own tears. She died, and it is all my fault. The pain is unbearable. My life is falling apart before my eyes. Tears blur my vision, streaming onto the carpet. Everything is as terrible as it could possibly be. But the pipe keeps dripping, and the clock keeps ticking, as though they are mocking me.

Tick, tock.

 Tip, tap.

     Tick, Tock.

         Tip, Tap.

           Tick, tock.

               Tip, Tap...