The Muse's Undoing

“Jerusalem. I’ve never been.”

He nods, then turns and leaves the kitchen, goes back into the bedroom, and lies down.

Fuck.

I put the kettle on the stove but don’t turn on the burner. Following him, I sit on my side of the bed and reach out to give his shoulder a rub.

“Try not to get hurt again,” he says before I have a chance to try and figure out if he’s upset with me, or he just feels like shit.

“I won’t. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“You’re worried about me?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

That makes sense. “I’m gonna be okay. And I’ll be back every few months so you can see for yourself.”

“Cool. You don’t have to explain it to me, Fischer. You gotta work. I’ll let you know about the apartment.”

“Am I dismissed?”

“I don’t want to get you sick.”

That’s a yes. I leave the bedroom and go back to my laptop, feeling a lot like shit myself.

I wake up to Matthew calling my name. My shirt is soaked, my heart feels like it’s trying to squeeze itself from my chest, and I’ve got his hand clutched tightly in mine, his arm strapped like a seatbelt to my chest.

“I’m awake—I’m awake.”

“That was rough,” he says.

“Yeah?” I’m shaking—freezing—but his warmth is seeping into my back, and that’s how I know I’ll be okay in a minute. I am not looking forward to being alone in a hotel room on the other side of the world the next time this happens.

I let out a deep breath and bring myself back into the present moment. I count his breaths instead of mine. I focus on his steady hand instead of my trembling one. I focus on feeling his heartbeat against my back instead of the thready rushing of my own. Fully grounded in him, I let my body relax.

I feel his head land on the pillow behind me. His hips shift away from me, and I want to chase the contact, but I figure he has his reasons, and I may or may not want to know them. But since I’m leaving tomorrow, I leave this alone, too.

“Sorry,” I say.

“You all right?” he asks.

“Probably stressed to travel. Customs is the worst.”

“Right.”

I give his hand a squeeze. “Tell me what you’re gonna do tomorrow.”

“I’ll make you coffee, help carry your bag downstairs, make sure you don’t hit your head when you get in the cab, and then I’m gonna go to work.”

“Who are you working with?”

“Greta and William.”

“Do we like William?” I ask.

“We think William tries way too hard.”