Page 136 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

ME

-Oscar’s safely tucked away in his wife’s arms. Turns out it was just this random asshole for some petty revenge.

-Angel, where are you? Nat said you never showed up for your shift last night.

-Please call me.

-Is it me? Do you not want me to bother you anymore? I promise I won’t.

-I’ll stop.

-Just please let Oscar and Nat know you’re okay.

No texts from him yet.

I shouldn’t be this clingy this early on. We didn’t really do anything other than fuck with each other. Sure, we hung out before then. Well… By hanging out, I mean me stalking him and forcing my presence within his vicinity.

But still.

I’m going a little crazy here. Even more so than my usual craziness.

I can’t stop looking at his social media pages. He hasn’t posted anything, no stories about his most recent art project, no replies from his comment sections, nothing.

I called him again earlier when I came home. Again, it went straight to voicemail.

Fuck, either he’s laying it thick on him, ignoring me, or something’s wrong. The only reason why I’m not super freaking out right now is because Oscar told me he heard from Rurik’s mom an hour ago. He doesn’t tell me anything, only that Rurik is fine.

Fucking amazing.

Now, why won’t Rurik just reply? I’ll settle for another monosyllabic answer at this point. Should I text him again? Call him again?

No.

Why the fuck should I keep reaching out to him when it’s clear he doesn’t give a shit?

Sighing, I set my phone beside me on the couch and got up. I meant to walk over to the kitchen to make some late-night snacks, but I somehow ended up in my room. Now, I’m just staring at the painting Rurik made.

He calls it his slice of paradise.

Maybe that’s what I need—a place where the darkness can’t find me.

For a moment, I thought Rurik was becoming that. But if he keeps disappearing like this, the shit that’s happening in my head just comes back tenfold.

Like it’s threatening to do now.

What makes you think you have the right to be happy with him after what you did to Amaura?

I close my eyes, inhaling deeply to picture myself somewhere peaceful.

It’s not working.

Your fault.

Fuck.

She’s dead, and you’re alive.

I dig my nails into my palms, focusing on the stinging pain instead of that stupid voice in my head.

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