Page 239 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

He smiles down at me briefly before focusing back on the paintings. “I’m not sure. Nobody appreciated his art when he was alive. He dealt with a lot of mental health issues, and I think that made him unpopular with his peers.”

“Oh,” I frown, a self-portrait of Van Gogh with a bandaged ear popping up before us. “I can’t believe he did that to himself.”

Rurik sighs, his expression heavy with empathy. “Like I said before, mental health is no joke. They didn’t have the resources back then as we do now. Today, we can pay someone to talk about our issues, and we won’t feel judged. Back then? God, can you imagine what they went through? All those voices in their heads, with no way to cope except to push it all down and ignore it.”

I can sort of understand what Rurik’s trying to explain.

I mean, I still hear those stupid voices in my head. I ignore them and suck it up. I don’t need to pay some bougie professional to talk about my issues when I have books that can take me to another world. And… I look up at Rurik.

I have him. The man who has been defeating the darkness without realizing it.

I have my angel. I’m okay. I’m fine.

“Shall we continue?” I say, changing the subject.

Rurik nods and smiles, following me to the next room.

We spent the next hour wandering through the exhibit, admiring Van Gogh’s other paintings and chatting with the staff about his works. Well, Rurik did most of the talking. I mostly stood there, gazing around and browsing the merchandise they were selling.

Rurik's social like that. I’ve noticed he’s not really talkative unless it’s with me or our friends. But when it comes to art? He’s a little social butterfly.

I don’t know what it is about me, but people either stare and then look away, or I radiate a "GTFO of my face" vibe that makes them leave me alone. Is it my face? Do I have major RBF?

Probably.

I sigh, looking around some more, trying to look busy, when I feel my phone vibrating. I glance at Rurik, still in deep conversation with the staff, and quickly pull my phone out to answer the call.

“What up bitch,” I greet Nat, ignoring the offended look from the family in front of me. I give them a fake smile back.

“Hey,” Nay says. “How’s it going with Rurik?”

I glance at him, who is now in line to check out some stuff he picked. I had given the birthday boy my credit card and told him to buy whatever he wanted.

“Perfect, he’s having a great time.” I look away and lower my voice. “Is it done?”

“Great. And yes, that’s why I’m calling you.” Nat immediately says. “We managed to gather all the trains and cars in one spot and blew everything up.”

My eyes widen with surprise, “Holy shit.”

“Yeah, girl,” She muses. “We get shit done. Good idea having this done while keeping Rurik busy.”

I grimace. Okay, it’s not what it sounds like… I did not plan this whole thing so my friends could ruin Philips's work while I kept Rurik occupied in case Philip called him.

I didn’t.

It’s the opposite.

I already planned Rurik’s birthday. I bought the Van Gogh tickets in advance! But it was perfect timing that my friends were able to find the secret trafficking location and transportation we’d been looking for the same day of the event.

“Wait,” I ask. “What about any evidence? What if we accidentally destroyed any evidence about Philip’s involvement?”

“Have a little faith,” Nat scoffs. “I hacked into the security cameras in the vicinity and kept the previous recordings of all the victims, including conversations. One of the videos even shows our Senator walking and chatting to check in on his orders.”

“Disgusting man,” I shook my head. “Amazing. Thank you, Nat. Thank your dad, husband, and everyone else who helped.”

“We’re family, remember?” She says as if blowing up shit isn’t a big deal. “We’ve got your back.”

“Briar.”

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