If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse: A Dark Grumpy Sunshine Romance

Chapter 11

Rurik

I wish Today had given me a heads-up that it would be the day I”d find myself entangled in a crime scene.

When I was a child, I always dreamed of being a superhero. I dressed up as Spider-Man every Halloween, running around pretending to gather all the bad guys to protect the neighborhood from criminals.

Apparently, adult me did not share the same dream.

As soon as Briar escaped, it”s like what happened during the last ten minutes finally slammed into me. I felt my shoulders drop, and my heart starts to beat abnormally again.

Shit, shit, shit!

I stumble back until I nearly trip over an office chair that has fallen over. I throw my hands out to balance myself before massaging my chest in circles.

It’s then I notice the body lying in a puddle of blood in the middle of the room.

A dead body.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dead body before today.

Should I be freaking the hell out by now?

Oh, I am. Judging by how my breathing is coming out as erratically uneven, I’m freaking out so bad that my chest is threatening to drop dead along with this dead guy. What the hell am I supposed to be doing now? Call the cops? Pretend as if I didn’t just see a corpse and act as if I’m having the time of my life.

I just sold three of my paintings, so I should be fucking ecstatic, right? I even went back to call my mum and tell her the good news.

But instead of hearing the sounds of my mum screaming with joy, I heard the horrific sound of a grown-ass man screaming with fear and pain. Then, when I went to investigate, who did I see that was the reasoning behind those screams?

Fucking Briar.

My fucking migraine is in human form.

The girl I met years ago at the airport with her stupid pink duffle bag.

I knew Briar looked familiar. It wasn’t just from my stepdad’s emails. It was because I had met her in person before. It finally hit me that Briar was her because she was wearing a mask covering her whole face except for her eyes.

Those eyes.

When she removed her mask to reveal her face, I almost had a heart attack, confirming what I already knew. What were the odds that the first girl I met all those years ago was also the woman I couldn’t stand today?

I could still feel her lips lightly pressed against mine when she tried to calm me down. She tasted like the forbidden fruit, an intoxicating blend of danger and temptation. Instead of pushing her away and calling her a fucking murderer, I kissed her back.

I’m fucked.

I hate her. Her and her fucking pink duffel bag and her stupid caramel-colored bright eyes.

What was it that she told me to do? Not tell the cops anything? Well, fuck that. Of course, I have to tell them everything. Someone was just murdered.

And I’m pretty sure I know who did it.

*-*-*-*

I lied.

I didn’t tell the authorities shit. I walked out of that room, called my mum about the good news about my paintings, pretended to walk around, and puked my guts out when I walked into that room again. The man’s body was getting paler by the minute.

By then, I figured it would have been the perfect time to face the cops while my voice was shaky from barfing and my adrenaline was shot up.

As soon as they arrived and questioned me, I lied. Sort of.

I told them I called my mum, heard screaming, noticed the door was slightly ajar, and walked in. Luckily, they didn’t suspect me. Why should they? I didn’t do anything.

Oscar did an upsettingly good job of spinning the lie that the man — I found out his name was Charlie — was deeply troubled and drunk. Surprisingly, they brushed it off as an accidental suicide. How, I don’t know. But I could have sworn I saw the chief and Oscar subtly nodding at each other as if they had some sort of understanding with one another.

Which got me thinking: What the actual fuck? Why the fuck did I leave my home country for a place that is deeply corrupted by influential bad people? Who can I trust when those who are meant to be heroes are revealed as villains all along?

If I want to continue being a good person, does that mean I must also embrace the bad?

I can’t even look at Oscar and Nat the same way again. Were they there all those years ago attacking my stepdad?

I feel a heavy hand on my shoulder, making me jump. I whirl around and back away immediately, seeing Oscar staring down at me with an unreadable expression.

“Are you good, Rurik?” he asks, keeping his hand on my shoulder despite my attempts to step away.

I can”t help but let out a disbelieving chuckle.

Am I good?

And then it hits me. Holy shit. I am good. Briar and Nat could have killed me right then and there. I could have ended up like that Charlie guy. From all the warnings my stepdad told me, I knew Briar was dangerous in some type of way. I just never realized how much. They could have killed me and made it seem like an accident.

But no, they chose to trust me.

Briar chose to trust me.

“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat because of how rough it sounds. “Are you?”

His lips twitch, his eyes swimming with amusement. “Yup.” After squeezing my shoulder, he finally lets go. He downs down and sighs, “Listen, Rurik. I’m not going to pretend and gaslight you. You saw what you saw. I can only thank you for… you know.”

“Not ratting you guys out?” I can’t help but bite.

Oscar smirks, “For protecting my family.”

I stare at him, unsure what to say next. Then I ask, “Did he deserve it?”

His brows furrow as if he”s contemplating an answer. “If someone barges into your life with the sole intent of causing malicious harm to your loved ones, would you think it’s safe for that person to continue living among us?”

He walks away with a casual shrug before I can answer him.

*-*-*-*

It’s been days since a living nightmare of mine happened. Days since Briar and Natalie left me in the room with a dead body. Days since I was forced to cover for them. Days later, I feel like my heart is about to give out, and I”m spiraling into a puking mess.

And not once has Briar texted me to ask how I”m doing.

Not that I would have texted her back. I haven’t even replied to any of her ongoing texts before this shitshow.

I should. I open my inbox and finally reply.

ME:

-Can you stop texting me? Leave me alone.

I stare at my response and wait. But I don’t have to wait that long because she immediately responds:

CRAZY MIGRAINE:

-Angel? Um, I haven’t texted you in weeks, lol

-You’re the one reaching out to me!

-Wait. Awww… You miss me!

-Come on, don’t fight whatever this is between us ;)

Like the grown, entirely composed adult I am, I respond in the most mature manner possible whenever I encounter something I disagree with—I snarl at the text messages I receive and hurl my phone across the bed.

I shake my head and sit up to retrieve my poor phone. How dare she respond as if I didn’t just break the law for her? What the hell is wrong with her? Is this something she does regularly?

Not wanting to think about it some more, I force myself to get out of bed and go on about my day. Since the murder that happened during the Masquerade of the Arts, Oscar closed the gallery down to avoid unwanted attention and gossip. To be brutally honest, I think that”s a bad idea. Not because I want to spend my time working there instead of at the grocery store, but people foam at the mouth for that kind of shit, right? They’re intrigued by the idea that a building could be haunted because someone died there. We could have garnered more foot traffic just by people coming in because of what happened.

I told Oscar that, and he looked at me like I was crazy.

ME.

Okay.

Hours later, I am now bagging groceries instead of engaging in conversations about art. I glance at the clock and feel relief wash over me when I realize I only have 30 minutes left until I’m finally off. I guess all the bitching happening inside my head helped make time go by faster.

Once I finish my pre-closing duties, I sneak into the back and pull out my phone. I can’t help but feel a drop of disappointment when no notifications are waiting for me.

What do you expect, asshole? Should she keep texting you when you haven’t replied at all? Do you think she’s that desperate for you?

No.

Yes.

Feeling annoyed, I stuff my phone inside my pocket and continue with the rest of my shift. I should feel happy that she’s finally leaving me alone, right? Or am I used to her unwanted advances, and now it feels kind of off without them?

After locking the door behind me, I wave goodbye to my co-workers and head home. Like every night after my shift, I put my headphones on and start blasting music. It helps me keep walking without thinking it’s quite a distance between here and home. I check my inbox, and the disappointment comes crashing in again like an annoying visitor.

Fuck you, Briar, for messing with my head.

I exit my inbox and find myself browsing Instagram. I see a post by Natalie in which she uploaded a picture of herself, Oscar, and Briar. Without thinking, I click on Briar’s name and am greeted with colorful pictures of Briar Reyes.

Pictures of her sticking her tongue out at the camera.

Pictures of her sticking the middle finger at the camera.

Pictures of cats.

Pictures of ice cream.

A picture of her and Nat kissing Oscar on the cheeks — For some reason, that specific picture leaves an unsettling feeling in my stomach.

I blame the cheese I ate.

It was just a bunch of random pictures. I shake my head at the randomness of her profile and scroll back up, my thumb accidentally clicking on ‘Follow.’

Shit.

Panic seeps through my veins, and I feel like I was drowning in fear. I didn’t mean to follow her. I immediately click ‘Unfollow’ and groan. Hopefully, she never got a notification about a new follower.

Suddenly, I feel something roughly grabbing the back of my sweatshirt, making me stagger backward. I whirl around in time to see a couple of massive bodies dropping like flies on the floor and…

What the fuck?

I remove my headphones and watch Briar sock a third guy in the face. As soon as the three guys lay on the floor, moaning and groaning in pain, Briar lets out an exhausted huff and tosses her hair out of her face as she straightens up.

“What the fuck?” I repeat, this time out loud.

Briar turns to me and glares, “Uh, why are you pissed at me?”

I gawk at her, my mouth falling open.

She stares at me and rolls her eyes, muttering, “The audacity of this man, I swear.” She sighs as if she’s annoyed with me and snaps. “You shouldn’t be blasting your music super loud and not paying attention to your surroundings, angel. Especially in this neighborhood. Do you have any idea how many times you”ve come close to getting your ass beat?”

What the fuck?

Her eyes narrow, “Do you have anything else to say besides that? I know that’s your favorite thing to ask me, but still.”

I close my mouth, not realizing I said that out loud again.

She stares at me again, her eyes blazing with anger. The gold specks in her eyes shimmer with ferocity, adding an extra layer of intensity to her already crazed gaze.

Beautiful.

She’s fucking beautiful, and I don”t know what to do with that.

And she just rolled her eyes again and is now walking away. Without thinking of my actions, I take a few steps after her and grab her wrist. She lets out a surprised yelp and whirls around to face me again.

“What are you doing?” She snaps as I stare at her hand. She tries to pull away, but I tighten my grip as I inspect the skin. Her whole hand looks grossly red, and there is a cut on her knuckles with blood seeping out of it.

Did my vision turn red just now?

An annoyed sound escapes my mouth, causing her to look at me in confusion. I lightly press a finger on the cut, and she hisses.

I glare down at her, “You hurt yourself.”

She makes an unbothered sound, “It’s just a scratch. I’ve had worse.”

But I just shake my head, “Are you okay?”

Her eyes widen with surprise before a teasing glint shines in them. “Awww, Rurik. I didn’t realize you cared about me this whole time.”

“In your fucking dreams.”

“Oh, I dream about more than just fucking you.”

I let out an exasperated growl, but my thumb carefully caresses her bruised knuckles. Her brows furrow as she glances down at our hands, her lips parting slightly.

Yeah, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing either. Nor do I have any idea what I was thinking when I blurted out, “Come to my place. I have a first aid kit to help you wrap your hand.”

Fuck it.

It’s the least I can do for her saving my ass just now. This can be my way of saying thank you, right? That’s it. Just a thank you. I should probably let her know that so she doesn’t get that crazy mind of hers even more insane ideas.

“Then you can go about your business,” I add, clearing my throat.

A sly, evil grin spreads across her beautifully monstrous face. “Rurik. Are you inviting me over to your house?”

I scowl, dropping her hand. “Not in that way, Briar. So that I can help with your hand, it looks bad.”

“Aww,” She purrs, lifting her uninjured hand and tapping the tip of my nose. “I love that you worry about me.”

“Fuck you, Briar,” I growl, smacking her hand away from my face. “I don’t give a shit about you.”

She continues grinning like an idiot. “Keep talking dirty to me. You know how much it drives me crazy.”

“You’re seriously exhausting.” I sigh, turning around, knowing she’d just follow me. “Do you ever just turn it off?”

As I expect, she quickens her steps until she walks beside me.

“Kind of hard to do that when you always turn me on,” Briar says, as if that”s a normal thing to say during a normal conversation.

I just shake my head, giving up. After a few minutes of walking, I can”t help but steal glances at her. She must notice my attention because her lips twitch occasionally, and she just raises a brow as if to challenge me.

Fucking brat.

“Why haven’t you texted me?” I can’t help but ask.

She frowns, “I always texted you.”

“I meant, why didn’t you text me after…” I trail off. After everything that happened that day. Do you not care that my life has turned upside down ever since?

A flicker of regret spread across her face, but it was instantly gone. She glances at me and shrugs, “Well, why have you never texted me back?”

I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Whatever.”

Except, I’m not feeling whatever.

I’m actually feeling like a pile of shit right now, if I’m being honest with myself. I was fine thinking life was like a box of chocolate.

I was fine living my life as ignorant as possible, with the only issue I had to worry about was my own health, booking monthly appointments to see my doctor about said health, figuring out which type of painting would sell more, and wondering when I can go back home to see friends and family.

I was fine not knowing that my close friends Natalie and Oscar were part of some powerful organized crime group. I was fine, having never seen a dead body before. I was fine, never having to lie about a crime I witnessed. I was fine, never realizing how dangerous this city was.

I.

Was.

Fine.

But now that I know pretty much everything isn’t what they seem, I’m fucked.

And it’s all linked to this breathing, walking migraine I just can’t seem to get rid of.

What’s fucking me up even more is I don’t know if I want to anymore. Thanks to her, I don’t know if I want to continue living in that ignorant bubble. There’s probably more shit I’m still unaware about, but my eyes have been open. I”ve been forced to fucking wake up, and I want to see more.

I want to know what else is out there.

What else have I been blind to see?

We continue walking, an awkward silence spreading between us, and I almost wish she could fill it with her constant shameless flirting.

“You never answered my question,” she chirps seconds later.

“What question?” I ask roughly.

“Did you miss me?”

I nearly trip on my own two feet. “You didn’t ask me that. You just said it accusingly.”

“So you do miss me.”

“I never said anything remotely close to that.”

“You’re not denying it either.”

I can feel my cheeks puffing from annoyance, ready to sprout more lies.

But the next thing I know, we’re right in front of my building, and I watch her stride confidently towards my apartment door.