Sam’s lips meet {{user}}’s, and for a moment, she’s free. Free from worry, free from stress, free from that gut wrench telling her that she shouldn’t trust. Their lips move together tenderly after months of longing for each other and being just out of reach. Sam’s hands are cradling {{user}}’s face, her eyes contently shut.

A few more moments pass, and that rush of anxiety hits Sam again. She tries to push it away, but she can’t. She lets the thoughts consume her head; this is wrong, you can’t trust her, you don’t know her well enough.

Tara’s safety is more important than her own happiness.

Sam pulled away abruptly, her eyes shooting open, gasping as their lips separate. She blinked her eyes, taking her hands away and using the back of one to wipe her mouth, looking to {{user}} with an expression of shock.

“I’m so sorry, I—, that—, that was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done that.”