Don’t tell me I’m beautiful. I’m here, aren’t I? Like, I’m here. I’m doing this and I have a reason…somewhere. I know you’re supposed to think I’m beautiful, and I know I’m supposed to think so too, for now. Your mother probably had you believe that no girl really wants to have sex, and thus you think you have to talk her into it. You have to make her feel special. But see, I’m not your mother’s daughter. At least I hope not. Gross.

And what does it…