Page 93 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

I don’t even want to be here.

These monthly appointments are a reminder of how bad my heart has become as I've gotten older. I've had this issue since my teenage years. My heart would beat irregularly fast, sometimes causing me to pass out. Which really sucked because I used to be an athlete. I still can exercise, but not to the level I used to do.

If I remain healthy, moderate my heart rate, and avoid things that can cause my heart to jump out of my chest — AKA Briar — then I should live a long life!

Well.

As long as anyone with a bad heart can live.

To be honest, my heart had been fine up until a few years ago. My heart condition was one of the reasons why my mum decided to move to New York with my stepdad. He promised that healthcare here would provide more opportunities and that I’d be looked after better than at home. I didn’t quite notice that much of a difference, to be honest.

I sigh, looking down at my chest to find that device moving around at different angles. I glare at it. Earlier, when the doctor approached me with that gel, I resisted the urge to swat his hand away.

I don’t want anyone to touch me.

The last person who did was this irritating woman I thought I couldn’t stand—the woman who might literally be bad for my health. Yet, the thought of someone else touching me, even if it’s for medical purposes, annoys the shit out of me because it’ll mean she’s no longer the last person to do so.

I don’t even know why it annoys me.

Who gives a shit if someone else other than Briar touches you? Your mum hugged you this morning.

Yeah, but that’s different.

And so is this.

I scowl like a fucking child.

“Almost there,” the doctor chuckles, mistaking my face as discomfort.

I am uncomfortable, though. I’m lying down with my chest bared out in the open as he stares at something on his fancy computer machine thing.

“So?” I grumble, breaking the silence. “Is my heart still shitty?”

“Rurik,” My mum quietly reprimands me.

But the doctor told her it was okay and continued explaining his actions. Minutes later, he and my mum discussed my condition, his advice, and anything else that might ease her anxiety about my health.

Tuning them out, I pull out my phone again to read the ongoing texts from Briar throughout this morning.

CRAZY MIGRAINE:

- I feel like I know the taste of you (fucking delicious, if you ask me. Which you won’t, so I’m letting you know now. You, sir, taste fucking delicious), but I wanna know more about you!

-What’s your favorite dish to eat?

-Other than paint, what do you like to do?

-What’s your favorite movie?

- I’m going to assume you’re busy AF, that’s why you’re not responding to my texts. So… do I get to be lucky again and talk to Rurik’s Phone?

She stopped texting after that. I look at the time and see the last text was sent over an hour ago. I can still hear my mum and the doctor chatting as if I’m not there, literally on display.

So, to distract myself, I message Briar back.

ME:

-I thought I asked you to leave me alone.

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