The Study Arrangement: Pt. 02

I watch my work carefully as I paint the line under my eye.

"Subtlety is key..." I say as I finish and pull back to admire my work, "Some makeup is to be noticed, and some is meant to blend in."

I watch my younger sister attempt the same maneuver as me, but without as practiced a hand. "Like this?" she asks uncertainly.

"A little too thick but not bad, you are better than I was at your age. I didn't have as amazing a teacher as you," I say and nudge her with my elbow.

"Yeah lucky me," she rolls her eyes with a smile and then kisses at the mirror, taking in her full makeup. A little sloppy, a little clownish but that's always the first step.

My phone lights up on the counter as if on cue. Mark.

MARK: Hey I think the essay is all set. I shared it with you

ELLA: What would I do without you? ????

I can't help but smile at how quickly it comes to me, as this is a game I've played for years. My sister is applying even more color to her lips and I glance at my own face, decorated entirely too much for a Monday night at home. A real contrast with the oversized, stretched out shirt I'm wearing as pajamas.

I take a mirror selfie of me making a kissy face to exaggerate the lip stick, making sure my shirt is slipping off my shoulder just enough and caption it "Makeup tutorial with the sis" and send it to Mark. That should send a current through him.

"Okay, enough practice for today, time to get ready for bed. And make sure you clean it all off or you'll have your pores clogged," I instruct my sister who is taking pictures in the mirror too. Maybe I've been too good a teacher. I see my phone light up, of course he's quick with a response. Eager as he should be.

MARK: We're both tutors then. I bet you're way more helpful than I am though.

All of those periods, I can picture him overthinking every line.

ELLA: Oh I don't know about that You're like, dangerously helpful

I start to wipe my makeup off in the mirror and pause after a moment, my mascara a smeared mess down my cheeks and smirk at myself. Another photo, this time my makeup a runny mess and a pout on my lips. Caption: "always a waste to have to ruin my own makeup." Send. Maybe subtle is overrated.

I finish cleaning my makeup off and look again at my unadorned face, my faint freckles showing under the foundation and my eyes glowing but seeming to lack a certain brightness not ringed with the dark liner. A couple minutes and still no response. Tick tock Mark, figure out what to say.

MARK: Yeah I hate erasing good work

Oh Mark. I can't help but smirk at myself, this almost feels unfair. I leave him on read and finish my night time routine feeling that all too familiar rush of control. Is there any better feeling in the world than to be wanted? To be able to offer something that to me is a bottomless resource and to them is precious in the extreme? So precious they can't believe it's actually being given. I appreciate an A on an essay but validation is just as sweet.

Thursday again and I take my time arriving to the library for tutoring which has so far been a great relief for me. No longer stressing about passing Lit and a little side project wrapped up all in one. Even if it feels like I'm a pro stepping into the minor leagues, success is still success. My striped sweater hangs loosely off of me, giving just the proper suggestions of what's beneath. Llacking a bra gives just the proper suggestion of bounce with each step. I catch the eyes of so many as I walk through, as I see them watching as if they're being allowed to see something they shouldn't be. Which of course is what makes them want to watch so much in the first place.

Mark is no different, he pretends to be casually lounging in the study room instead of gluing his eyes to the door, and I let him continue as if it's working. But his shoulders go tense as soon as I walk in. Cute. I plop into the chair opposite him to deliver another bounce and his eyes dart to my chest as expected. As orchestrated.

"Oh hey, hi. How's it going?" Mark says while trying to form a natural smile.

"Oh been a boring day but I'm good. I turned in that essay you 'helped me' with yesterday, it looked really good," I say having only looked at it long enough to put my name on the top.

"Oh good well, you know. I like to do my best."

"Of course you do. You're the best," I smile at him and let my eyes crinkle up to really show him warmth.

"Well that's um... what you deserve," Mark says like he's excavating each word from solid stone.

"Oh gosh you're so sweet," I roll my eyes still smiling, "I love that." I see him visibly redden.

"So, what do we have to work on this week?" asks Mark, while making intense eye contact with the wall a foot to my right.

I slide my history assignment to him and smirk, "I know you'll impress." I get up and leave the study room; I like tutoring.

That night I'm in bed, doomscrolling my way passed a reasonable bedtime when my phone buzzes again.

MARK: Done. MLA format and everything. You're welcome ????

I smirked. He was proud. Like a puppy who brought back a stick twice his size.

ELLA: You don't waste any time, way to make me a priority

MARK: Time management is one of my hidden talents

Hidden talents. Adorable.

I glanced at myself in the tiny mirror clipped to my desk lamp. The gloss caught the light just right. My lashes looked ridiculous--too long, too flirty. Perfect.

I slid off my bed, stretched lazily on the rug, and took a selfie. Not the whole face-- the curve of my mouth, a sliver of throat, the strap of a tank top just off the shoulder. Casual. Careless. Calculated.

I sent it with:

ELLA: Payment received?

A pause. No reply.

I couldn't help but grin picturing him frozen, phone in hand, trying not to freak out.

Buzz.

MARK: Holy shit.

I laughed out loud. Rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling and its Rorschach pictures.

MARK: Yeah. Received. Fully.

I waited. Let him sweat.

ELLA: You earned it. I'm a generous employer.

Another minute passed. Then:

MARK: Anything else you need help with?

I rolled my eyes. God, he was easy.

ELLA: I'll let you know ????

I tossed my phone aside and lay there, flushed with power and something else. Not guilt and not regret. Almost like a high of getting away with something, and knowing how quickly it could turn. I hadn't touched him, hadn't even promised him a thing. I offered him the hint of a promise. And he was mine.