My anxiety always made sure I was on guard, even when there was no danger.

Sam forced the thoughts away because even though she had been certain the situation couldn’t get any worse, her mind wanted to make sure there was always a way it could.

I’ve always preferred moths to butterflies. They aren’t flashy or cocky; they mind their own business and just try to blend in with their surroundings and live their lives. They don’t want to be seen, and that’s something I can relate to.

I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. Feeling as I have a spotlight on me, I forget how to speak and look down at my shoes. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s being the center of attention.

Frustration wells in me, and I want to cry as I back away from the thing of lighters, but somehow, I don’t. I just stand there, watching him laugh and trying to not let the moment cut me down completely. No part of this is funny, and I try to be rational—maybe he isn’t even laughing at me at all and just has the worst timing in the world—but I’m paranoid and take offense to it anyway. Using my hair to shadow my face, I turn away from him and pad back over to Camilla.