SubscribeStar Story: The Babysitter, Part 26

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Part 26

I honestly thought that the task would be worse.

However, I had already cut up a few of my bras. While this one was easily the best of my former collection, the motion of the scissors was the exact same. And, although it pained me to destroy my favorite bra, I was more or less at the point of no return. My driver’s license was right there in Paige’s hand, and the only way to get it back was to suffer through this first.

Since it was going to happen one way or another, I tried to approach the daunting task the same way I had done with the others. Ripping the bandaid off, so they wouldn’t get the added amusement of my hesitant and forlorn expression as I thought about what was to come. Instead of a deep breath that I very much needed, I just started cutting. I was sure my expression twitched a bit as I sliced through the first strap, to which I started making a more active effort to keep a straight face. Now that the damage was done, I made short work of removing everything else from the edges of the bra cups, finishing the job off by cutting between the two halves.

“There,” I coldly said. Dropping the lace tatters onto Violet’s lap, then setting the scissors down on the wide chair’s armrest, I fixed my gaze on Paige, “Driver’s license.” Not a question. She owed me.

“You’re so cute, Miley.” Paige stood up and circled around the table until she was standing right in front of me. “Ask nicely, sis.”

One last patronizing hurdle. I certainly couldn’t trip at the finish line, so I pushed through and said what she wanted. “May I please have my driver’s license, Paige?”

“Driver’s license? But you’re too young to drive!” She took a quick look at the card in her hand. “Oh, you mean your fake ID. So that’s where you got ‘Alyssa’ from.”

I was not in the mood to argue semantics where this ‘little sister’ game was involved, and I was /really/ hoping she wasn’t trying to spin this as a reason why I shouldn’t be given my license. “May I please have my fake ID, Paige?” I clarified, just going along with it.

“Typical Miley. Always breaking the rules. Fine,” she dramatically sighed, “Remind us all what you don’t have, and it’s yours.”

What I didn’t have . . . ? It felt redundant stating that I didn’t currently have my driver’s license, since that was right in her hand and obviously not quite in my possession. However, a bit of the phrasing was familiar from one of the degrading ordeals the girls had recently put me through. I knew /exactly/ what Paige was hinting towards. And, just like everything else, I had no choice but to swallow my pride for the umpteenth time and say it in order to avoid any last second complications. Resisting the urge to preempt it with a ‘fine’ that would sound way more teenage than Paige’s use of it thanks to my current situation, I echoed the humiliating words from before. “I don’t have boobs, hips, or an ass.”

“You really don’t,” Paige smirked, “Well, a deal’s a deal, little ballerina. Here you go.” She offered my license to me, barely holding it by the corner to show that she didn’t plan on making me play tug-of-war with it. Still, I half expected her to teasingly pull it away the moment I reached out. Sensing my hesitation, she rolled her eyes, “Go on, Miley. You’ve earned it, haven’t you?”

Damn right. Just in case, I swiped the plastic card from her as swiftly as I could manage from my seated position. The gesture must have looked ridiculous when Paige made absolutely no attempts to keep it from me after all, but I didn’t care. I had what I wanted. What I needed, really.

The second the ID was in my hand, I awkwardly squirmed enough to slip my arm out of Violet’s and got up from the chair we had been snugly sharing for way too long. Without a word to any of them, I made a beeline for the stairs. I kept waiting for one of them to call me back with a reason why I couldn’t leave yet. Or, less subtly, for Paige to pounce on me and wrestle the plastic card back. Her height alone would be enough to give her an advantage, and I was pretty sure she was stronger than me as well. Instead, she stayed true to her word. No tricks. I made it to the base of the stairs without any complications, and quickly ascended to the main floor before any of them changed their minds.

Noelle was sitting at the kitchen table, facing my direction. Her laptop was open, and she was clearly enjoying the perk that often came with babysitting jobs–getting to do her own thing when there was some spare time. I had watched a few kids myself over the years, and usually had a couple hours to myself after putting them to bed. This was a little different in terms of Noelle getting a break, as I had submitted myself to playing games with my sister and her friends, but she clearly was still taking the job seriously. There was only one inside door to the basement, and the brunette had placed herself in the perfect spot to keep a passive eye on it at all times.

“Done hanging out with the other girls, Miley?” she asked, “Or just grabbing some refreshments?”

The shift in her body position was subtle, but I noticed it. How she made space for herself between the chair and the table, on the off chance she had to get up in response to anything I might try. She /really/ didn’t trust me. Well, didn’t trust Miley. The actual Miley’s parents had obviously warned her how difficult this job could be, as nothing I did seemed to put her at ease.

Whatever. I was done being called ‘Miley.’ Stepping into the kitchen, I said, “I told you, I’m not Miley. My name is Alyssa, and you’re at the wrong house.” Walking right up to the table, I held out my ID. “Here. See? This is who I really am.”

She took the license and gave it a cursory glance. “Uh huh. It’s a convincing fake, I’ll give you that. What, do you have it to get away with buying mature games and seeing R rated movies? Or just to trick babysitters?”

Wait, what? “No, it’s real!” I insisted. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Paige and I are both seniors. Well, we were. Graduation was last week, and-”

“Enough, Miley. Your sister already showed me your fake high school ID, and we both know that this one is just as bogus.” She stood up and strutted right past me, opening the nearby drawer that was full of miscellaneous supplies. “Here I was, thinking that you were actually starting to behave. I really don’t appreciate being lied to, especially not the same bold-faced nonsense again and again.” Without wasting any time, she pulled out a pair of scissors and snapped them through the middle of my driver’s license, cutting it in half with a single slice.

“NO!” I gasped. Noelle obviously didn’t understand the horrible irony of what she just did. How I had already witnessed and participated in so many of my personal belongings being cut up, only to have my ‘babysitter’ round things out by doing the exact same thing to the ID I had ruined all my best undergarments for. “Noelle!” My eyes widened, as it also hit me that she had just destroyed one of the few physical things that could actually convince her of my real identity. “It wasn’t a fake! Just, like, look me up or something. I swear, I’m Alyssa!”

“Miley.” She set the two halves of my license down on the counter, along with the scissors. “I’m going to ask you this one time. What is your name?”

“Alyssa!” I repeated. Saying it made me nervous, considering what had happened last time, but I couldn’t just fold. I had survived all kinds of humiliation in front of Paige and her friends, and Noelle had seen my ID. After all that, I was determined to show the brunette before me that this wasn’t just some act I was putting on to convince her that I wasn’t the girl she was hired to watch. It was real. I was eighteen, not thirteen. I was Alyssa, not Miley! “Noelle, I’m telling you, this has all been a big mistake. Paige is just being a bitch about the whole thing and pretending I’m younger to embarrass me.”

“Language,” Noelle simply began, before addressing the rest, “So, if I’m understanding you correctly, that means that your sister /and/ her friends have been calling you ‘Miley’ all night and acting like you’re thirteen instead of . . . what was it, again? Eighteen?”

Well, yeah, it sounded absurd when Noelle put it like that. But Paige obviously texted her friends ahead of time to help set me up! “It’s true,” I said, although it was more difficult to assert the truth when it was being challenged with logical skepticism. “They just want you to believe it.”

“And instead of telling me all of this earlier, you decided to work on your summer assignments?”

I blushed at that reminder. “You spanked me! And you wouldn’t listen!” In retrospect, this did all sound really bad. But my ass had been sore, Noelle had been so intimidating, and I had still been trying to figure out how to convince her of anything. The schoolwork had merely been a stalling tactic at the time; now, it was working against me way more than it had originally helped. “Just- Like I said, look me up. If I’m lying, I promise I won’t bring it up again.”

Noelle’s laptop was /right/ there. It would be so easy for her to do a quick search and verify who I really was. Paige could steal my things, but she couldn’t undo my online presence. I had been involved in plenty of extracurriculars over the years, meaning my name would pop up in at least a few places. Instead of doing that, however, she slowly and pointedly folded the screen down until the device was closed. “I’ve met girls your age who are good with technology, Miley. And considering that your older sister is into games, I imagine you’ve picked up a few things. If you think I’m going to fall for some social media account or website that’s as fake as that driver’s license, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Noelle, come on! Just /try/!” I pleaded. I was a little taken aback at her outright dismissal. Was my promise not good enough for her? It sounded so fair to me. “Or let me take you to Miley’s house. You can literally tie my hands behind my back or something. I’m not going to run away!”

“I don’t think so,” Noelle said. She rose from her chair, towering over me even more than Paige normally did when she was violating my personal space. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Miley . . . ”

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