I’m dying, I’m dying!
I choke, gasping for air, coughing into my fist because I’m not an asshole spraying my s**t all over the place. As I fight for air, my cheeks heating up because everybody’s starting to look now, Michael’s standing in front of me, effectively shielding me from people with his giant-ass body, his eyebrows pinched together in something like concern.
I can’t give it too much thought now while I struggle for air, and with a final, hard cough, I’m able to breathe again, putting my hands up against my burning cheeks, hiding away.
I don’t thrive under the spotlight, it’s not where I want to be, not ever.
My game has always been behind the scenes.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” I croak through my hurting throat, glancing to the left and to the right, people going back to their ow
