There's a knock at door; she flinches. She looks over, hoping her roommate didn't see. She breaths a sigh of relief when she doesn't.
The sound of a knock reminds her of the people that showed up at her door.
A teacher calls her name; she tenses. Her head shoots up in a split second. She answers what he asks, and looks over at her fellow classmates to make sure no one is looking at her with a confused expression.
The sound of her name reminds her of the times she was called weak.
Someone sits down beside her; she pops up. She looks over to make sure they didn't notice.
The feeling of some sitting next to her reminds her lonely childhood.
So, who is she? She's the last person you would expect.
She'd never tell you the real reasons she did these motions, and the real reasons she would look over.
They're not because she had a lonely childhood, or because she was called weak, or because of the things and people that showed up at her door.
She wasn't afraid that all those horrible memories would come back.
She wasn't afraid that her childhood would be relived if she told.
She wasn't afraid that she might be hurt, or she might die, or she might see these people again.
She was afraid that all those things wouldn't happen