Page 139 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

“Yeah?” I ask, “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a nice day out.”

“You’re right. Do you want to go for a walk with me?”

“Yeah, we can do that. Lead the way.” But she just sits there, frozen like a statue.

Unmoving and still fucking staring at me like I’m not actually here.

“Briar?”

“Yes?”

“Want to help me find something to paint?”

“Sure. There’s plenty of scenic options.” She continues in a monotone voice.

It’s like she’s looking through me instead of at me.

“Briar?”

“It’s so nice and sunny outside.”

“Uh-huh. What are you staring at?”

“I see you.”

“You keep looking at something else.”

“The flowers.”

“What about them, baby?”

“They’re pretty.”

“They are.” I hesitate briefly before asking, “Do you want me to pick one for you?”

She blinks. Then I see it.

A little spark comes back to life in those eyes before it disappears again, but I saw it.

“A gift?”

“Uh, yeah. Of course.”

“Okay.” She says, never tearing her gaze away from mine.

I find myself unable to look away from her either. I’m hypnotized by her eyes, even in their current emptiness.

“Okay, Briar, I’ll find the prettiest flower for you,” I say softly, releasing her momentarily as I rush over to a nearby bush and pluck the biggest white flower. Returning to her side, I take one of her hands and guide it to her palm, allowing her fingers to fold around the stem. “Do you like it?”

“Thank you, angel.” She says, and I feel like I’m about to cry because of that nickname. “Thank you for the gift.”

I look at her and feel hopeless when the blank look returns seconds later.

There’s something wrong with her. But I can’t figure out what it is without her help. Feeling frustrated, I cup her cheeks again. She’s still staring at me, so that’s good.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” I ask gently.

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