Do we know what it’s like for them at home? She doesn’t say much. Maybe that’s enough.
I feel like I say the same thing everyday. I literally am. Speaking from a script. Conforming. No originality. Like I’m just a shell.
He wants to protect them. Won’t hear a bad word said. You have to be careful. You know what he can be like.
Nothing ever really changes does it. It’s all the same. Yet. That’s comforting somehow. I know what to expect at least.
I’ll treat myself to a cocktail. Then I’ll be on the diet cokes and voddy all night.
You’re young. You’re allowed to treat yourself.
Hard life isn’t it. Imagine. Everyone running around after you. And you, never having to think of the consequences.