Page 132 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

I called him after the last text, but it went straight to voicemail. I stopped texting him soon after the last text because I realized how pathetic I was being.

Rurik had set boundaries.

He said we weren’t friends or in a relationship, yet here I was, spamming his inbox like some crazy girlfriend. Am I crossing them already?

Fuck me, I am, aren’t I?

Why would he want you when you’re going to end up killing him? Just like you did with Amaura.

Oh, fuck. Not again.

It’s been a while, little demon in my head.

Leave him alone. You know he’s right. You’re a murderer.

I close my eyes, shaking my head to clear my thoughts. But that annoying demon voice in my head keeps talking, and I can’t shut it up.

You killed Amaura, and you’re on your way to kill him too.

Shut up.

He sees you for what you are — an awful person who uses a fake persona to hide.

The blackness I became too familiar with starts creeping into the corner of my vision, and I immediately bolt to the bathroom.

Control. I need to get back control.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, where is it, where did I last put it?!

Is he next on your murder list?

I found what I was looking for and suck in a deep breath, feeling the sharpness pierce my skin. The blackness slowly disappears as I watch the blood seep out of me again.

My phone buzzes, pulling me away from my thoughts and the sight of my blood.

Shit, it might be Rurik!

I shove what I was using back into the cabinet and stick my wrist under the sink — Wait… my wrist?

Fuck.

FUCK.

I didn’t even think. I didn’t mean to cut my wrist. I just… I needed release.

Fuck! The wrist is the most exposed spot, and Rurik will notice it.

My phone buzzes again, and I quickly dab the cut with tissue paper before answering it and putting it on the loudspeaker.

“Hello?” I sang, my hand shaky as I peel a bandaid to cover my wrist.

“Briar!” My best friend’s screams echo in the bathroom. Desperate and in tears.

I freeze, feeling my body locking up.

“Briar!”

I immediately grab the phone, “Nat? Nat! What’s wrong?”

---