Note: I meant to post this yesterday, but I lost track of time. So, Happy late Christmas!

I screamed and screamed and screamed. Blood. It was everywhere. The floor, Takashi's clothing, my hands. I couldn't take it.

My mother ran into the kitchen a few seconds after the fall. She still wore her nightgown and slippers. She gasped in horror as the sight met her. She screamed before dashing to the phone on the wall. I distantly wondered why I didn't think of calling someone, but it quickly escaped my mind as my body shut down.

I had stopped screaming after a while, but I couldn't find the strength in me to move. My attention had returned to Takashi and I stared into his face. Pain, gasping, fear. Emotions playing behind the haze in his eyes.

Suddenly, I was pushed back off of him. I grunted as I landed on my back. I had landed on Takashi's foot and it felt like I had been kicked in the back. As if the push had kicked my senses into high gear, I scrambled back away from his body. My back hit a cabinet and I curled in a defensive position. I watched through fingers as my mom tried desperately to stop the bleeding. I watched as the medics rushed in and started messing with his body. I watched as they picked him up in a stretcher and carried him out.

The police came in after a little while and my mother stood in front of me. Protecting. As if I was next to be stabbed. I buried my head in my hands and suddenly it was all too much. I fainted.

Waking up in a hospital was a bit of a shock. I had opened my eyes and I thought I was blind. I, of course, felt stupid two seconds later when I put on my glasses and everything came into focus. At first, I couldn't remember why I was in the hospital, but then it came flooding back as if a dam had broken. And with that dam came the tears. I sobbed gently and tried to stop crying. Suddenly, it seemed as if I couldn't get any air into my lungs, even though I could feel I was. The room spun and I gasped for breath.

It took me a few seconds to figure out I was having a panic attack. Remembering what my mother told me to do during a panic attack, I looked at the instruments around myself. Focusing on them, my breathing slowly went back to normal. My mother always told me that if you focus on the things that are real and firm, then you could always calm yourself down.

Calming down after the attack took a while, but eventually I became more in control of my emotions. Remembering when I was last in the hospital, I looked for a call button of any kind beside the bed. I found the little device on the table. Grabbing the remote, I pushed the button.

A nurse came in a few minutes later. She informed me that I had been out for an hour because of stress and that I was free to go. I got out of bed, happy to see they hadn't put me in those nasty outfits. Exiting the room, I walked to the front desk.

I was informed of Takashi's whereabouts and I arrived at the right room in less than five minutes. A hospital room wasn't an unfamiliar sight for me, but I wasn't expecting the sight that greeted me. Takashi lay on the bed, unconscious, surrounded by friends and family. The machines. So many machines stood around him, hooked to him. Beeps, buzzing, crying. So many sounds. I decided right there and then that I hated hospitals.

My mother was among the ones in Takashi's room. The moment she saw me, she leapt from her seat and rushed toward me. Enveloping me in her arms, she hugged me with all her might. She whispered to me her fear and anguish. Slowly, so slowly, she calmed down and held me at arm's length. She took a deep breath and very gently explained that Takashi was okay and that the doctors said that he'd make a full recovery. The knife had missed his spine and any major organs. It had sliced a little of a rib, but he was alright.

Relief flooded my senses and I crashed in her arms. She rocked me for a few seconds before helping me out of the room, away from prying eyes. I figured that it was a good thing. Takashi would blame himself if I didn't pull myself together fully.

It was in the hallway that the police spotted us and pulled us into an open room. I felt nauseous as I retold the story of what happened. I explained the games, the kitchen, and the knife. I saw the accusation in their eyes and knew they didn't believe me. But they didn't say much else and let us leave them.

I turned to my mom. I needed reassurance.

"Mom, you don't believe I stabbed him, do you?"

She didn't answer. Not exactly the reassurance I would have liked.