The screen that opened remained dark. But the voice that spoke was completely unknown to me. "You are searching for a song?" It was a female voice, yo...ng but somehow sounding old at the same time."Yes, it's called the Song of the Morning and it's vital that a girl I have here can listen to it." I started the tracer program."How can a song help a girl? What is the matter with her?" The unknown woman asked."The song is a key; it will help her to keep her sanity!" I said, keeping it slightly. I didn'tknow what compelled me to obey this boy I had only met and known for a fewshort hours, but something in me said I had to.I don't know how long I had been standing there in the corner ofthe kitchen. I needed to pee badly but was afraid that if I left, Max, mysitter and tormentor, would come in. I wanted to laugh but was afraid Iwould pee where I stood. "My Sitter". Here was a boy two years youngerthan me being placed in charge of me by his dad who just started dated mymother. And I. You know, I’d do her. And, knowing that I had nothing else to do, I thought I’d start the day on a high note. I wiggled down the length of the bed so I was sat on the edge, directly opposite the mirror. “Hello, pretty,” I said to myself.You have to love yourself. I learned that early on. If you don’t love yourself, you can’t expect anyone else to love you. That’s not to say I think I’m perfect. Far from it. I’m really critical of my appearance; but working in theatre requires confidence, and. The way her nipples tented her sweater, and advertised how high her unsupported breasts stood, suggested younger. Her face was timeless, I couldn’t find age in it. Yet despite the skinniness and her height, she didn’t look coltish or girlish, but womanly. I met her ice-blue eyes.“Done. You said it yourself, she fucked up,” I said. “My life isn’t your problem. Your managerial skills are.”“You’re brave enough to place this on my shoulders?” The lower unit didn’t shake like my second-story.
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