Page 41 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

For fucks sake.

Get the hell out of there. Leave, leave, leave.

“I’m not feeling well,” I blurt out, placing my palm on my chest. The sight of these two interacting will give me a heart attack.

Also, I fucking hate the perfume Barbara doused herself in. It’s giving me a headache. Possibly even worse than the breathing, walking, and talking migraine that is right in front of me.

“Oh, handsome,” Barbara gasps with worry. She places her hand on my back, and I want to bat it away. “Do you need me to take you home?”

“It’s no need,” I sigh, shaking my head. “I forgot I have to… pet my cat.”

Nice.

Wonderful save, asshole.

My creativity has no bounds.

“Um. Okay,” Barbara says slowly, looking confused as hell while I politely pull my arm away from her sweaty grip. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

I just nod.

“See you later, handsome,” Barbara waves as I turn around to walk the other way but freeze at the look on Briar’s face.

“Feel better, angel,” Briar purrs. The corner of her lips twitches when I glare at her.

I want to tell her to fuck off again, but Barbara is there, and I don’t want her to think I’m an asshole. I’m not. That’s not me. It’s Briar who’s bringing out that side of me.

Briar's voice drips with mockery as she whispers, "See you later, handsome," as I roughly brush past her.

I could have sworn she was wearing that stupid grin of hers again—the little shit.

*-*-*-*

I wake up with a start, gasping for breath, my body dripping with cool sweat, and the feeling as if someone has just sucker punched my chest. Sitting up, I lean forward, cupping my neck with my hands, feeling my pulse racing faster than I want it to.

I had the weirdest dream that involved... Feathered wings? Blood? The sound of a feminine whisper against my ear? I couldn't remember. The more awake I become, the faster the memory of what I had just dreamt slips away.

I glance at the clock on my bedside table and sigh. It's 5:00 AM. I should get up to work out soon, but I’m not feeling it today.

I grab my phone and swipe it open, furrowing my brows at the text notifications from an unknown number. I open it and feel my heart stutter.

UNKNOWN NUMBER:

-Hello, you ;)

-It’s me! Briar, AKA your future wifey

-I got your number from our mutual friend, Oscar.

-And by got, I mean I stole it. The loser shouldn’t have left his phone out randomly while I’m present.

I scoff, quickly saving her number on my phone and changing her name. I do this not because I want to keep her number but because I will know not to answer it whenever her name pops up.

CRAZY MIGRAINE:

-So. Let’s talk about Barb.

-WTF, Rurik. Seriously?

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