Page 18 of The Man in the Painting

Why does such a prolific artist want me as his muse, though?

Maybe this is some kind of punishment for sleeping in his bed.

Something doesn’t feel right about the whole thing. Or maybe it’s the way he kept looking at me like he’d eat me whole.

Even now, thinking about how his eyes had roamed my body slowly and boldly makes me feel hot all over.

Men don’t look at fat girls like me in that way.

I can’t seem to figure out his real intentions.

I sigh softly and lean against the kitchen island.

I glance at my watch and realize I’ve been intentionally stalling. This is my last house for the day, and I’ve scrubbed the kitchen counter more than twice.

I’m torn between taking Abram’s offer or…. I shake my head vehemently.

I can’t go back to my apartment.

Who knows what Jack would do next?

I can’t afford to immediately get a new place as I recently just paid my rent.

I feel my stomach curl up in anger at the thought of Jack.

That bastard, I should march right into the police station and file a report, except the case would be ignored just like every other petty crime case from neighborhoods like mine.

I sigh for the thousandth time in the same minute.

Abram proposed two weeks... That should be enough to gather some money for a month’s rent in another shabby neighborhood somewhere far away from Jack.

Besides, I did promise to do anything to make up for my unprofessional act.

All I need to do is sit still for a few hours while he paints.

How hard can it be?

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