When the man asks me a question, I answer quick.

I tell him what he wants to hear, and nothing more. I duck my head ’cause otherwise I get hit. For being too forward, or too smart, or too uppity.

It’s to remind me of my place, so he says.

Inside, my hate is a furnace. But I let nothing show.

Some days I think I’ll explode.

Match the story (and the number) to the face at Mirrors.