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I smooth primer over my face and don’t listen.

A minute later, he says something else.

I still can’t make out the words. I don’t care what they’re talking about.

I pick up my eyeliner and lean toward the mirror. My hand is steady as I draw the first wing. I make the line longer than yesterday and sharpen the point before starting the other eye.

Heather says something down the hall. Oliver answers. His voice is nice.

Jackass.

I finish the second wing and sit back to compare them. The left needs another millimeter at the corner, so I fix it and reach for the dark green shadow.

I’m not imagining what she’s doing in there. I’m especially not imagining whether she’s dressing him.

She dresses me.

My brush stops above the palette.

Fuck.

I press it harder than necessary into the green.

Maybe she isn’t. Maybe she’s standing at the door with the ruler or that little shock thing she keeps downstairs while Professor Beautiful Voice explains why kidnapping is morally inconsistent with whatever fucking book he teaches.

That thought helps for about three seconds. Then Heather laughs.

My hand stops again. I stare at myself in the mirror. “Oh, fuck you.”

I don’t know which one of them I mean. I put the brush back to my eyelid and start blending.

By the time I’m finished, the voices have stopped. I clean up the edges of the shadow, add mascara, and sit back to look at myself. The green came out darker than I intended, almost black at the corners, but I like it.

I reach for lipstick and stop with my hand over the drawer. She’ll probably have an opinion about that. She has an opinion about everything else I put on my body. I leave it.

My pajamas come off next. I fold the pajamas and leave them on the bed before sitting at the vanity naked.

The hairbrush is where I left it. I pick it up and turn it over in my hand. My hair still needs brushing. I could do it myself. I put the brush in my lap instead. She was supposed to do it.

I hear a door open down the hall and straighten. Heather’s footsteps come closer. Then pass my room again.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

She goes downstairs. By the time she comes back, I’ve convinced myself I don’t care.

The key slides into the lock. Heather enters carrying my breakfast. The pill sits beside the fork.

She closes the door behind her and looks at me. Her eyes move over my face first, taking in the makeup, before they drop to the brush in my hand.

I hold out the brush.

Heather sets the tray on the vanity before taking it from me. “Take your pill.”

I pick it up and swallow it with coffee.

“Eat.”

I pick up my fork.