He slides his hand over my cheek, one finger anchored behind my ear. Then he tilts his head down and kisses me, sending a warm ache through my body. I wrap my hands around his arm, holding him there as long as I can. When he touches me, the hollowed-out feeling in my chest and stomach is not as noticeable.

Sometimes I feel like there is so much to be afraid of, and sometimes I feel like there is nothing left to fear.

Out of my peripheral vision, I see Four shove the door open and walk out. Apparently this fight isn't interesting enough for him. Or maybe he's going to figure out why everything's spinning like a top, and I don't blame him; I want to know the answer too.

I feel like someone is pressing me into a mold that does not fit my body, forcing me intothe wrong shape.

Don’t worry about me handling the pain," I say. "I’ve had a lot of practice.

The Candor sing the praises of the truth, but they never tell you how much it costs.

Sarcasm is always at someone's expense.