Page 72 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Whatever.”

Except, I’m not feeling whatever.

I’m actually feeling like a pile of shit right now, if I’m being honest with myself. I was fine thinking life was like a box of chocolate.

I was fine living my life as ignorant as possible, with the only issue I had to worry about was my own health, booking monthly appointments to see my doctor about said health, figuring out which type of painting would sell more, and wondering when I can go back home to see friends and family.

I was fine not knowing that my close friends Natalie and Oscar were part of some powerful organized crime group. I was fine, having never seen a dead body before. I was fine, never having to lie about a crime I witnessed. I was fine, never realizing how dangerous this city was.

I.

Was.

Fine.

But now that I know pretty much everything isn’t what they seem, I’m fucked.

And it’s all linked to this breathing, walking migraine I just can’t seem to get rid of.

What’s fucking me up even more is I don’t know if I want to anymore. Thanks to her, I don’t know if I want to continue living in that ignorant bubble. There’s probably more shit I’m still unaware about, but my eyes have been open. I've been forced to fucking wake up, and I want to see more.

I want to know what else is out there.

What else have I been blind to see?

We continue walking, an awkward silence spreading between us, and I almost wish she could fill it with her constant shameless flirting.

“You never answered my question,” she chirps seconds later.

“What question?” I ask roughly.

“Did you miss me?”

I nearly trip on my own two feet. “You didn’t ask me that. You just said it accusingly.”

“So you do miss me.”

“I never said anything remotely close to that.”

“You’re not denying it either.”

I can feel my cheeks puffing from annoyance, ready to sprout more lies.

But the next thing I know, we’re right in front of my building, and I watch her stride confidently towards my apartment door.

Chapter 12

Briar

So, I’m starting to believe that manifestation is real.

I manifested Rurik being nicer to me, being inside his house, and falling in love with me.

Okay, okay — He doesn’t love me.

Yet.

But he's not looking at me with his usual animosity, and he did invite me to come over. Sure, it's because my hand hurts, and he feels terrible because of it, but whatever.

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