Page 65 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

Shit, maybe I am fucked up. Am I the problem? Is it me? Perhaps that’s why Rurik keeps running away from me — Oh, for fucks sake. There I go again, thinking about that beautiful asshole.

Nat, however, covers her ears. “Charlie! Shut up!”

But Charlie goes for it. I gotta give him mad props, though. Two against one? Yet he still tries to fight us both? The dude’s got balls. Sure, they’re probably all shriveled up and stinky, but he’s got them.

It’s too bad I want to cut them off, though.

“Fuck you!” Charlie screams at us.

Okay, I’m bored now.

I lift my hand, holding the dagger lightly. I draw back my arm, my muscles tense with determination, and let the dagger fly. I watch as it slices through the air with a sharp whistle, aiming straight at the target.

He gasps as he staggers backward, his hands immediately grabbing the handle now protruding from his chest above his heart.

“I still got it,” I grin at Nat, giving myself a little clap. “I should have been born into a fantasy world where I can defeat dragons and fight people with my awesome blade.”

“Or you could just use a gun like the rest of us?” Nat says, rolling her eyes.

“I have a gun,” I complain. “But I can’t let my gun fly like my dagger just did!”

A wet gulping sound followed by a loud thud interrupts us. We both turn to see Charlie sprawl on the floor, his back against the ground. I approach cautiously, hearing his breath quickening as if he’s trying to capture as much oxygen into his lungs as he can before it vanishes.

“Shit, Charlie,” I sigh, “You shouldn’t have screamed like that.”

“You probably gained us a bunch of unwanted attention, you idiot.” Nat hisses, kicking his feet.

Charlie gurgles and twitches.

“That’s gross,” I wince before turning to Nat. “Tell Oscar what happened so he can ward off people in this area. I’ll deal with Charlie.”

She sighs, “I’ll let dad know.”

Once I hear the door close behind her, I turn back to Charlie, who is staring back at me. “For what it’s worth, I hope you burn in hell, motherfucker.”

But he continues to stare at me.

“Hello?” I frown, bending down to poke his shoulder.

Still no response.

“Oh. That was fast.” I straighten up and look around.

I just notice the state of the office. Office chairs are thrown on their sides, and books are scattered everywhere. When did that even happen? And now the ground is pooling with Charlie’s blood.

I grab the handle and pull it out, groaning at the blood dripping from the blade.

"Damn it, Charlie," I grumble, using his suit to clean it up. Glancing around once more, I began to assess the scene before me.

Hmm, the man was fucking wasted earlier… What if he fell and accidentally landed on this beautiful sharp trophy Oscar got for winning Best Small Business reward years ago?

I bite my bottom lip, staring at Charlie and the trophy.

Nah, it's too much effort.

I could make it look like a suicide. Maybe find a random kitchen knife and rail it back to his chest with a sloppy suicide note? Maybe have Oscar write it for me because his handwriting is atrocious.

Fuck it.

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