There's some moments in time that feel so fast that if you blink, you'll miss it. Hours feel they go by in seconds, as you desperately grasp to hold onto the world as it whizzes past like the buildings on a train. You feel like you're spinning around and around, unable to stop as you feel you may watched your entire life go past in a heartbeat.

But then there's also other times that go by so slowly, it's like you're frozen. Unable to move, each second dragged onto an hour. There's years between each breath, between each thought, a frozen moment of time like a picture taken on a camera. Sometimes these moments feel like entire lives in themselves, each breath worth a million seconds.

That's what it felt like now.

I was facing a dilemma, torn between two choices. I part of me wanted to run up and throw my arms around him, to have him just hold me, even for a moment. In this chaotic world, I could pretend that I was home safe again, just coming home from another day of school. That this was all a bad dream.

That, even for just a second, it would be like the day I came home after Marie disappeared. Mom would make me hot cocoa, and because the chocolate rations were low, she used her secret stash of chocolate. She had called it heartbreak chocolate, saying that sometimes chocolate fixes everything.

Dad had held me in his arms as I told him about Marie, and we'd watched TV all night. Cartoons, news, before various sets of documentaries on different species. He always loved documentaries, even though Mom was the historical one.

But it wasn't as simple as that.

Because after March 3rd, you have to forget about them. You have to ignore them, like a stranger in a street. Because it's unhealthy to grow attached to people. It'd practically guarantee a therapy appointment, given my panic attack and distressed dreaming, I couldn't. I couldn't be like a little girl who had lost her best friend.

But I didn't care.

And I didn't care about Evan anymore, nor the therapy, nor the note I had from Jake crumbled in my pocket. All I cared about was him. He looked as if he was going to object, but I didn't give him a chance. I threw my arms around him, collapsing into tears.

My watch vibrated. Therapy appointment scheduled for tomorrow at 8:45 am.

But I didn't care. Each moment important, valued, and I never wanted to let him go. He gently wrapped his arms around me, no longer caring about the people around me, the looks I'd get. I didn't care about ruining my career. I didn't care about my responsibilities, how I had to pretend.

Because I just wanted to be a little girl again.

On March 3rd, when the first name was called out, I had remembered a book called Peter Pan; one we'd studied growing up. Analyzing paragraphs, memorizing quotes from it. I always liked it, and even after reading it several times, I always found myself enjoying it.

When I was younger, I wished to be old enough to work, to be mature. I thought that I could handle the responsibilities of being an adult. I felt like Wendy, surrounded by immature children. That Peter was just a kid who didn't realize how stupid he was.

But now, I felt like a lost boy.

Because I didn't want to grow up anymore. I didn't want to face this world, these choices, these decisions that I'd been forced to make. I didn't want to see anybody and wonder if they were secretly going to hurt me. I didn't want to fear going back to my own house every night. I didn't want to watch those I care about die every night in my dreams.

I just wanted to hold my dad.

"Hey..." his words were soft, and he seemed like he was going to cry as well. Hearing his voice made my heartbreak, not knowing how much I had missed him, "You know you shouldn't-..."

He was trying to be the mature one, the Wendy, but he held me just as tight as if afraid I may let go. He moved back, wiping his eyes, and kneeling down to face me. I smiled between tears, feeling like I was finally safe, finally home. It hadn't even been a month since I'd last seen him, but it already felt too long.

"How's my cowgirl?" he asked, wiping away some of the tears from my cheeks. I'd been too long since he'd called me that. I always said I was too old to be called silly names. But I realized now I shouldn't have tried to grow up. Shouldn't have wasted every bit of my youth going into a world I wasn't ready for.

It was funny. When you're little, all you want to do is grow up. You think that you'll have so much more freedom as an adult, be able to do so many more things. That you were mature enough for it. But as soon as you become an adult, you just want to be a kid again. Because being an adult if anything but freeing.

"Dad..." I was struggling with my words, choking on tears. I could feel Evan looming behind me, but he didn't say anything. Dad took me in his arms again, his own smartwatch beeping. I struggled to say in barely a whisper, "It's all- all too much..."

Back when I had been 9 or 10, Dad had brought out this large cowboy hat out to show me. It was almost falling to pieces, straw unraveling, a small hole in the head which he had claimed was a bullet hole, despite Mom saying that it wasn't. He had placed the hat on my head, beaming.

"A real cowgirl you are!" he had exclaimed, turning to my Mom. She had been making the bed when I had jumped on top of it, wearing the oversized hat with joy. She had seemed slightly annoyed that I'd messed up the sheets, but when she saw me, she took me in her arms.

"The cutest little cowgirl," she'd said, lifting me from the bed and placing me on the ground. I had put up my fingers like guns, making small shooting sounds as I ran around the room, bouncing over the bedsheets she had just straightened. She had sighed, giving a small laugh before she had turned to my dad, "Where did you get the hat Adrien?"

"It was my pa's," Dad had said, grinning like he was a kid. My Mom had given him a playful jab, as I ran around the room, proud of my new headpiece. I was still making shooting noises, giggling as I did so. As I ran past him, Dad had grabbed me and tackled me into a hug. He'd said, "Careful cowgirl. Did you know your very distant relatives used to be cowboys? Back in the city of Texas- isn't that right Jules?"

"Texas was a state back then," My Mom had responded with a smile, fluffing a pillow before placing it back down. I had tried to free myself from Dad's arms, as he continued to hold me in place. When he let me go, I ran to the bed, jumping on it right where she had just made it for the third time. My Mom had sighed, turning to my Dad, "Cowboy's weren't around in the 21st Century, that was long ago, before they even had states. It was where Texas, Arizona, and New Mexico states were, there were a few others as well. But they didn't have states when cowboys were around, that was back in the 19th Century,"

Mom was a historian, specifically the 21st Century. It always interested me how clunky their technology had been back then. It was funny to think of such a primitive time. Mom had told me it wasn't that different to our time now, and that there had been boys and girls just like me. I remember thinking how weird it would be back then, whether they ever thought about how devastating their actions were.

"Well, she's a cowgirl just the same!" Dad had said, grabbing me from the bed to stop me from messing up the bed any longer. He had carried me over to the chair in the corner, resting me on his knees, "Even when you become old and cranky just like your Mom, you'll always be my cowgirl,"

"Adrien," Mom had said harshly, and I had giggled. He winked at me as she threw a pillow at his head. He'd threw it back, and she'd caught it. She had responded, "Watch your mouth, I don't want her getting any ideas,"

Dad had always been more mischievous than Mom, which was ironic given the fact that Dad worked as a positional manager at the UNAO building in our city. He was supposed to be the strict and mature one, but he had been one of the few people that I told Charlie and Lillian about.

Dad had taught me that Lower's weren't really scary, just misunderstood. He told me how his best friend in school had become a Lower after his mother was caught with another child. Both parents were killed, and the baby died due to some health complications.

But Dad had visited him in the Lower City Region. Said that it's not their fault, it's just unfortunate timing. He always felt sympathetic towards them. But he never told Mom, and he made me promise not to tell her either.

"She wouldn't understand," he'd said to me, ruffling my hair, "It'll just be our little secret, alright cowgirl?"

And now he was here, I realized how much I had missed him, how much I'd missed his voice, his smile. How much I had missed having that support, that world that I could lean back on when everything else fell apart.

"I should be letting you get back to work," Dad sniffed, smiling, before he looked to Evan. He stood up, straightening his suit jacket, "Sorry sir, it's my daughter. I never meant to-"

"I get it," Evan said, interrupting Dad. I sniffed, wiping my eyes as Evan continued, "I have a little girl... still don't know how I'm going to let her go when the day comes,"

"Has my girl been keeping out of trouble?" Dad asked, and Evan nodded. I looked down at my watch to dismiss the therapy notification, already dreading tomorrow. But today was at least better, because even if I had a panic attack and thought I was going to die, even if hunger sent shooting pains through my stomach.

At least I got to see Dad again.

"She's a really smart one," Evan said, and my Dad beamed. He was proud of me, and I already felt so much better. Evan continued, "I get to mentor her. She helped a co-worker when he got hurt too, brought him to the hospital. You should be proud,"

"I'm afraid she got that all from her Mother, I'm the cold-hearted one," Dad said with a laugh, throwing me into a hug again. When he pulled away, he was beaming even more. He paused for a moment, before he said, "I have a meeting, you two take care,"

And just like that, he was off.

We began to walk again in silence, and even though I was starving, stressed, nervous and tired. I was happy. Because even if everything crumbled beneath me, I knew the world wasn't done with me yet. Because things were getting better, slowly, and I knew it would all end up okay in the end.

At least, I hoped so.