Simp for Me Pt. 01

"Do you want anything?" Madeline asked me casually, as she was about to head to the check out. She lifted a hand and waved it around near her shoulder. "You can have anything you want, it's on me." She dug her hand into her purse and fished out a load of hundreds.

My eyes almost popped out of my head. I'd assumed the guy in the alley had given her a load of twenties, but he'd actually offered up my cousin a bundle of hundreds for nothing? Just so he could kneel down, kiss her boot and get flipped off? I mean, I knew my cousin was a certified hottie, but still, that kind of behaviour was simply baffling to me. What the hell was the guy getting out of it?

Instead of responding, I just stared at my cousin in awe, my lips slightly parted and unable to fathom a word. In turn, Madeline stared back at me, her sunglasses now bedded into her dark hair. Her enchanting eyes, a captivating azure that shone amongst her pale skin, were fully focused on me. "What?" she asked, before she turned slightly on the spot and looked up and down her cream-coloured outfit. "Do I have something on me or...?"

"No, it's just..." Despite the curiosity prickling at my skin, I still couldn't quite find the courage to ask the question. "It doesn't matter."

Madeline's eyes narrowed. She was like a cat once there was something hanging in the air; she just couldn't shake the itch of finding out what was being hidden from her. "Come on, spit it out."

I stewed on the spot, shuffling from foot to foot and no longer able to look up into my cousin's accusing eyes. "It really doesn't matter." I reached out and grabbed at a random pair of gloves dangling from a nearby rail. "Could I have these?" I asked, hoping this would bring an end to the matter.

Madeline squinted at me again, then she took a step closer and reached out, gripping the gloves between her fingertips and giving them a tug. "Leather? You think you're a leather glove kind of gal, do you, Ellen?" There was pursed amusement on her lips, but she didn't feel rushed to stem my awkward shuffling.

"Not really," I mumbled with resignation. I really wasn't the sort of person that would wear those kinds of gloves, but they were the nearest thing to use as a distraction.

"I'm kidding," she said. "Geez, Ellen, sometimes you let people push you around too much. If you like these gloves then you can have them." She plucked them from the rail and slapped them atop the scarf she was already clutching. "Come on, I'll buy them for you. My treat."

I remained in silence, but the thought swirling through my head was that these gloves were really the treat of that strange guy in the alleyway. Still, I wasn't about to turn down a free gift, so I just followed my cousin's lead and headed for the checkout.

Once I was home, the curiosity was still bugging me so much that I opened up Madeline's Twitter account for a snoop, just looking for any clue that would offer a glimpse into the peculiar happening I'd spied that day. There was an endless stream of her modelling pictures, amongst various selfies she snapped while she was out and about. Maybe she'd gone for a coffee, which was my idea of relaxation; for Madeline, it was just another opportunity to share with the world how beautiful she was. Of course, every photo was dripping with likes and thirsty comments from hundreds of men. It was a pretty standard Twitter feed for a model, in all honesty, and I'd already looked through its content countless times in the past, filled with both pride and envy while doing so. She had more followers than I could ever dream of, but she was beautiful and popular, so it totally made sense.

I actually enjoyed perusing her feet and reading the comments. Especially the way other women would respond as if they knew her, agreeing with whatever caption she'd tagged to the photo. I'd roll my eyes and beam to myself, knowing that these people were her desperate fans, whereas I actually knew Madeline. I got to share in her company and see her in person. I was filled with a sense of self-satisfaction as I moved between each tweet, smiling to myself at the desperation of these strangers begging to be a part of her life.

However, something did catch my attention that I hadn't noticed before. There were so many photos of Madeline's shoes in her feed. If she was at a café, the post would usually comprise multiple photos: the obvious selfie of her flawless face, a photo of whatever she was eating or drinking, and then, surprisingly, a photograph of whatever footwear she was wearing that day. This was the photo I found most fascinating, as she'd usually take it while looking down at her feet beneath the table, sometimes with her legs crossed. There were a variety of different styles too, from flats, to boots, to high heels, to sneakers, to sandals, even flip flops: everything was included.

I pouted as I scrolled through her feed, noting that her feet were as perfect as the rest of her: expertly pedicured and even occasionally wearing a ring or an ankle bracelet. I'd never really paid attention to her feet before. I mean, why would I? Things like that just didn't interest me. My own fingernails were chewed down to hell, a bad habit of mine that I did whenever I was stressed. I didn't even bother to paint my fingernails and I certainly didn't wear rings or bracelets as I didn't want to draw attention to my hands. Yet, my cousin, effortless in her beauty, had prettier feet than my bloody hands! Each photo of her pampered feet further twanged at the jealousy within me, and though I loved my cousin, it was painful to admit that she surpassed me in every way. Still, as curious as her feed was, and the number of photos of her feet it included, it still didn't answer the question of that odd occurrence in the alleyway.

I logged off and figured I'd just forget about it. It did kind of make sense; Madeline was the sort of girl that men would literally throw money at. I'd noticed her receive all kinds of discounts and extra assistance while in her presence. Sometimes, she'd even go to pay a bill and find that it had already been covered by a nearby admirer. Sometimes they'd reveal themselves and attempt to start a conversation, which Madeline would swiftly swat down. Other times, they'd remain anonymous, perhaps paralysed with fear at the impending rejection. On one occasion, my own meals and drinks had been covered in that same generous act. Though, even though I enjoyed the freebies, I knew the generosity was aimed entirely at Madeline.

I focused on my studies for the next few weeks, and gradually, all thoughts regarding that odd encounter disappeared amongst the endless material I was expected to learn and revise. I still kept an interest in Madeline's feed, and the jealous pangs continued to stab at me. While I was locked away in my dorm with my myriad of books; my cousin was swanning from restaurant to bar, enjoying her life and the delicacies on offer. I liked the posts along with everyone else, leaving the occasional comment while hoping it would prompt Madeline to reach out and arrange another meet-up. However, other than hearting the odd comment, I didn't hear from her.

This little voyeuristic game kept up, until on a random Friday afternoon, one post in particular drew my attention. There were the usual three photographs accompanying her visit to a café, but then, Madeline included a fourth photo: the receipt for her lunch.

Instantly, that piqued my interest, and my thoughts were drawn to that day we'd gone for a drink together. When it had come time to pay the bill, Madeline had snapped a photograph of the receipt, and then, inexplicably: a photograph of her feet. Why the hell had she done that?

I looked at the Twitter post again, and there were the standard photographs. Madeline had clearly just finished up a delightful lunch, evident with the beautifully coloured photograph of a fresh salad. Alongside was a photo of my dear cousin pouting into the camera, her face, as always, requiring no filters. Then, there was a photo of her shoes, a pair of lace up gladiator sandals reaching to the knees. There was a gold toe-ring on each of her feet, and her nails were painted the same white from all those weeks ago, though, clearly having been touched up. It was taken at a similar angle beneath the table to the day I had met up with her and she'd photographed her foot.

Finally, there was the photo of the receipt, covering my cousin's salad and a couple of drinks. Apparently, she was dining alone, which made my heart sink. Why wouldn't she have called me? She would prefer to eat alone than hang out with her own cousin? I liked the post in the hope that Madeline would see the notification and feel bad for not inviting me. I heard nothing back in response.

Every few minutes, between a couple of pages of my books, I refreshed her feed just to check any new comments that had been posted. Of course, a load of thirsty guys were all over the post, declaring their love and stating how hot Madeline was. Though, something strange happened when I refreshed the page one more time: the photo of the receipt disappeared. Madeline must have deleted it, but why?

I was scratching my head, puzzled, as I thought back to that day when she'd photographed her foot and the receipt on our table. Barely five minutes later, she was stood in an alleyway with a guy on his knees, before he leant down and kissed her boot. There were so many strange things happening with my cousin, and they all seemed to involve her feet. I scrolled through the comments again, and my heartbeat quickened as one stood out to me:

footboy69: sent goddess i hope you had a good lunch your feet look incredible

I read the comment back again and again, paying attention to take in every detail. There was so much being communicated in so few words. First of all, the username jumped out at me. Footboy? Who the hell would call themselves something like that? It was clear from the comment about my cousin's feet that this guy had a foot fetish, and from his username, that was something he was apparently proud of. It was strange, but I wasn't ignorant, I knew there were people with foot fetishes out there. The part that really got my attention was his mentioning that he had sent something to her. What had he sent? A message? Perhaps, but then I thought back to the receipt and it having disappeared. Had this guy actually covered my cousin's receipt?

I gasped and had to cover my mouth. Was that what had happened when I was with her? Without even telling me, she'd posted a photo of her feet and the receipt, and then some guy like this foot guy had come along and paid for our drinks. As she'd said, don't worry, it's covered.

I wondered if this had happened every time that I'd been out for a catch up with my cousin. Since Madeline always paid, I'd usually head off to the restroom while she was settling the bill. Did she always take a photo of the receipt along with her feet? She'd been posting photos like this for a long time, but it had simply never before occurred to me that there were so many feet and shoe pictures on her Twitter. I was about to heart the foot guy's comment, just as a subtle way to let Madeline know that I had seen it. However, an error popped up saying the comment didn't exist. Maybe the guy had second thoughts and had deleted it. Another possibility came to me though: maybe Madeline had deleted it to hide her secret.

I was fascinated by the whole situation. Madeline was participating in this whole other world in broad daylight, right on her Twitter feed. But then, I realised that I'd been caught up in this too. Not only had this foot guy paid for Madeline's drink, but he'd paid for mine too, even if he hadn't realised. Is this something that actually happened? Guys would pay for stuff because they liked a girl's feet?

I scooted back from my desk and looked down at my own feet, spreading my toes and looking at them in a way I never had before. They weren't pretty like my cousin's, but that was because I never took care of them or went for pedicures, the way she did. Madeline was always so finally pruned and cared for. I'd neglected my feet because they didn't really matter, did they? Feet were there to walk on and nothing else. I wiggled my toes a little and shrugged. They really weren't that bad, in terms of feet, I guess; Madeline and I did share the same genes after all, even if hers had been way kinder. My toes were perfectly aligned and I didn't have corns or bunions or anything. If I actually painted my nails then perhaps they might be a little pretty. Maybe some guy might even pay for my next lunch if I sent him a photo of them.

I did a bit of searching online and couldn't believe the world I stepped into. There were apparently so many guys, all over Twitter, paying to see photos of girls' feet. Just like Madeline, there were girls posting pictures of their receipts and then there were these guys paying their bills. I almost had a heart attack as I saw some of the numbers these guys were sending to girls. Suddenly, all of this was becoming very exciting and I needed to know more.

I picked up my phone and scrolled to Madeline's contact. I'd usually text her to arrange a meeting, or message her on social media. Talking on the phone was something I was never comfortable with. If my phone was ever ringing, I'd feel nervous and uncomfortable, even if I was close and familiar with the caller. Every instinct in me was telling me to drop Madeline another text, but, she'd already ignored so many that I knew I had to call her up. If I spoke to Madeline on the phone, she couldn't blow me off, could she? Taking a deep breath and steadying myself, I pressed call.

It rang for a few cycles before Madeline picked up. "Ellen," she said in an agitated tone. "What's up?"

"Ummm..." I had to lick my lips and take another deep breath. "I just wondered if you're free tomorrow for lunch--"

"I'm kind of busy tomorrow, dear," she said, before I heard her talking to someone else. "Can I call you another time?" she added.

I was about to give in and accept that Madeline didn't want to see me, but then I had an idea. "There's just something I want to talk to you about is all."

"What is it?" she asked in a serious tone, and I knew I had her. Madeline may have been busy and way more put together than I was, but she was as curious as every other girl out there.

"I'd rather tell you in person."

I heard her sigh. "Could you just tell me now? I really don't have time for this, darling."

"It's okay," I said, playing the only hand I had. "It's doesn't matter. You do your thing." The trap had been laid. Perhaps I was way more devious and manipulative than I realised.

There was a pause on the other end, and then I heard Madeline sigh again. "Fine, I can spare you half hour around midday. Do you know Antonio's? Don't be late, please, because I have so much to do tomorrow."

"Great," I said, hardly able to stop myself grinning. "See you tomorrow."

"Yes, yes," she said while returning her attention to whatever she was doing. "This better be important though, Ellen, or I'm not going to be happy."

I'd been punctual in my arrival at the restaurant and had already been shown to my seat. Stupidly, I had forgotten to book a table, but as soon as I name-dropped Madeline, I was ushered to the finest booth next to the window. That was just further proof that Madeline was a doorway to a world that I usually wouldn't be permitted to enter. I'd never been here before as it was high-end and out of my budget. Evidently, Madeline was a regular.

I'd ordered myself a water when my cousin came strutting in. As usual, all eyes immediately turned her way and the hostess was welcoming her in. My eyes followed everyone else's and I instantly felt the pangs of jealousy as I took in the sight of my glamorous cousin. Madeline was wearing a soft, pink jacket that hugged her figure tightly. White flared pants lead down to a pair of pink wedges that matched her upper body. Completing the look was a white beret that hung from her silky, dark hair. Obviously, she was a sight to behold, and despite loving her, my immediate thought was that life was unfair. Why did she have to look so good, whereas I was below average? Couldn't some of her beauty been shared around with someone like me?

"I'll have a virgin Mai Tai," Madeline said to the waitress as she slinked into the booth opposite me. She cleared her throat before looking over at me impatiently. "So, what is it, cuz?"

"Thank you for coming," I said with a smile.

Madeline clicked her flingers. "Come on, spit it out. What's so important that you had to drag me over here? I'm so busy today, you wouldn't even believe." She was frantically responding to someone on her phone.

"I just wanted to talk to you about something."

Madeline gave a sarcastic, prolonged blink before she rolled her eyes. "Ellen, you're killing me. Come on, just say whatever it is. I don't have time for this. I have a shoot this afternoon and I have hair and make up to go through."

I looked over her face and it seemed ridiculous to think that she had to go through a hair and make up regime, considering she looked completely flawless while sat opposite me. She tilted her head slightly and I could tell she was getting annoyed by my hesitancy.

"It's about your Twitter," I said, while breaking eye contact due to my waning confidence. Suddenly, just saying what was on my mind didn't seem like such a good idea. I glanced beneath the table towards my sandaled toes, naked and unimpressive. In contrast, Madeline's white-painted toes with her gold rings looked pretty and inviting in her cute wedges. I thought about a guy kneeling between us right now and having to choose which he preferred. Suddenly, the idea of even suggesting that I deserved the same treatment as my cousin seemed ridiculous.

"Ellen," she said with another snap of her fingers. "What the hell has got into you? What about my Twitter? Just say it already."

I gulped, then committed to just splurging everything I'd discovered. "I know about what's going on. The foot photos and the receipts. I saw you with the guy at the bank." There was silence after I'd confessed my snooping, and I apprehensively peeked up, convinced I'd silenced my cousin for the first time in her life.

However, Madeline was barely listening, instead fully focused on her phone. After a few more seconds of silence, she looked up and encouraged me to speak with a gesture of her hand. "Is that it?"

My head shook in surprise. "You're not bothered I know?"

She shrugged. "Why would I care? You're my cousin."

I was aghast that Madeline was so nonchalant about her seedy secret. I thought this was going to be a big scandal that she would be desperate to cover up. What if her agent or some of her employers found out that she was partaking in such strange activities?

"You're not embarrassed about this at all?" I was more embarrassed apparently, for simply raising the subject.

"Not at all," she said while glancing from her phone. Her face then scrunched up with annoyance. "You won't fully understand, darling," she said while rolling her eyes. "But just let me say, there are guys willing to pay for everything for a girl like me."

"But...but why?"

Madeline raised an eyebrow at me, then she waved up and down the length of her body. "I mean, look at me, are you that surprised?"

I too looked up and down my cousin's body. Despite the bitter taste her arrogance left, I couldn't disagree with her. In that matching outfit, she looked pampered and luxurious, especially along with the pair of high-heeled wedges that showed off both her toned calves and pedicured feet. She was a sight to behold, for sure, and this wasn't even considering her flawless face settled beneath that pruned and voluminous hair. She was expertly detailed in her grooming, in a way that I lacked neither the commitment or knowledge to achieve. However, even if I did look after myself to the same level that my cousin did, I still wouldn't be a patch on her. Madeline looked beautiful in a way I never could. Without make up, she'd still dwarf me when I was fully dolled up. Our roles in the world seemed to be laid out beyond our control: Madeline was to be worshipped and adored, whereas I was to look on from the sides and try to excel myself in other ways. Ways that didn't involve my non-existent looks.