THE ARISTOCRATS #1

00:17

Clementine held her wooden brush with one hand, raking it through her hair with slow, methodical strokes. She sat cross-legged on the floor of her dorm, her frilly socks tickling the insides of her thighs as she peered into her mini mirror that lay propped against her wooden nightable. Her makeup bag lay with its contents scattered around her haphazardly. She was trying something new, seeing what she could do with the small tube of red lip tint she had bought over the weekend.

Placing the hairbrush on the ground, she dabbed a little onto her lips with her ring finger delicately.

She tilted her head and smiled, flushing with pleasure.

She placed a few drops onto her cheeks, smudging it with her thumb, but she ended up looking like she had a wretched sunburn.

"Shit." She groaned out, pulling away to look at the clown spots on her cheeks.

"You're doing it wrong," Ronan said, trudging into her room as if it belonged to him.

She yelped and threw her brush at him, clutching her chest.

"Knock next time! I could've been changing!" She shook her head, looking over her shoulder. "God, Ronan. Little warning would've been nice."

"Maybe if you locked your door, I wouldn't be able to come in so easily. Besides, it's not like I'm interested in whatever you have," he grunted.

"Knocking is a common courtesy," she said in a pointed tone.

Ronan scowled as he walked over crumpled clothes on her floor, nudging a book with his shoe. His prosthetic made a soft metallic sound as he walked over to her.

"Your room is a pigsty. What if I fell and i broke my other leg? Do you want me to have two prosthetic legs?" he demanded, his eyes dancing with mirth.

"I don't know, you could be like the terminator or something," she snorted, using her finger to blend in the red tint on her cheeks.

"You're doing it wrong," he said.

Clementine rolled her eyes, handing him her red lip tint. "You do it then."

Ronan tilted her chin upwards, his fingers clasping her head still. She noticed how much shorter and thicker they were compared to Elijah's. She blanched, embarrassed to have thought of him so randomly.

"You put so much on, you don't need that much, otherwise you'll end up looking like a clown. Or like you've got shingles. You're kind of leaning towards the latter, I'm not gonna lie," he said, face screwed with concentration. "And don't smudge it downwards, always upwards."

"You know an awful lot about makeup," she noted, closing her eyes as he wiped her face clean and reapplied it.

"My sister taught me. We don't have another sister, so she used me as her experimental doll," his eyes twinkled.

Clementine watched as muted sadness flashed in his eyes, disappearing before she could get a closer look.

Whatever it was, Clementine knew not to ask further.

"Hey!" She exclaimed a little too loudly, all too ready to change the subject. "Look at that, it looks amazing! Much better than anything I could've done."

He tilted his head, examining her face with a self-satisfied nod. "Now you don't look like you have shingles," he grunted and gave a pleased smile.

She scowled, glaring at him.

"Anyways, Elijah wanted you to meet him in the courtyard for lunch."

Clementine turned back to the mirror, her fingers curling into her palm. The memory of his rough words and soft touch still lingered. She felt as if someone was squeezing her chest, wringing her out like a washcloth.