The Muse's Undoing

“I’m doing my best.” And I add a soft, “I love you, too,” out of habit. It feels like a betrayal the moment the words leave my mouth, and I hang up after that.

I try sitting. Gavin’s hand lands on my lower back to hold me up. I’m weak, dehydrated, starving with no appetite. He hands me the glass of water on my nightstand. I take a sip. As it threatens to settle poorly once again, Gavin says, “Breathe through your nose.”

I do everything he says, so I try this, too. My will strengthens as I manage to keep it down for a full minute, and I take another, longer sip, testing my limits.

With Gavin’s coaching, twenty minutes later, I finish the glass.

By evening, I’ve had some of his soup and two more liters of water. I’m staying upright, pacing the floor, stretching my arms, legs, back, and neck. And I need more.

With more energy comes anger. It starts small as irritation, an itch, and then it builds into a ball of fire in my chest, demanding fuel.

All my rage at the circumstances that brought me to this place needs an outlet. I’m furious with myself. For wanting too much. For letting him go. For falling in love with the one person I knew would hurt me more than anyone else possibly could. For not being able to shake him loose from my soul.

I wish I had the nerve to call him up and yell at him for not fighting for us. For not making things right with Nicole. For his shitty text message followed by radio silence. But here’s what’s sick—so fucking sick—I don’t want to make him mad at me. Like I literally don’t think I could take it. I’m trapped inside this ferocious love I have for him, and I have no desire to tear my way out of the cage. Without him, I’m chaos.

I only make sense with him. Things I never thought I could piece together—my creativity and my desires. My attention span and my shyness. For him it’s one tidy package made to please and entertain him, and he loves it. He loves me. I wish I could believe anything else—that if he cared about me, he’d be here, that he’d fight for me, but I know exactly how he feels about me, and that hurts the worst.

Because I’m not Vaughn. I’m not his flesh and blood. And I may need him so fucking much that not having him almost kills me, but my heart’s still beating. Vaughn deserves a dad, the same way Fischer did. I can’t imagine the pressure he feels right now to stay in his son’s life. The broken glass he would crawl through to get there.

But I can’t bring myself to initiate a breakup or even give him the opening to break up with me officially. Right now, we’re in limbo, and he may be just as unsure how to handle what’s next as I am.

“I think I’m gonna be okay,” I tell Gavin after about an hour of pacing the loft.

“I think you are, too.”

“Will you make sure he is?” I ask.

“You two are so fucking sweet,” he says from the couch, shaking his head, a soft smile on his face.

I resent that. There’s nothing sweet about this. My glare doesn’t deter him from elaborating. “I still mean what I said when I got here. It’s gonna be okay. I don’t know how or when, but there’s no way you don’t end up together.”

“You’re a romantic.”

He gestures at the tree. “Aren’t you?”

“I’m a disaster.”

“He loves his kid. But he’s not gonna let you go without a fight.”

“That explains why he’s been blowing up my phone.”

“Can you forgive him?” Gavin asks.

I scowl. “What’s there to forgive? He’s doing what he has to do. I get it.”

“What I don’t think you get is what you mean to him.”

“The reason he’s gonna lose his kid, you mean?” I ask, so fucking bitter.

“He may be reeling, but he’s not stupid, Matthew. And neither are you. You’re both re-grouping. Fine. That’s great, actually. It’d be ideal if you could do it together, but for whatever reason, he feels like staying away is the right move. For now. I don’t think he’s gonna last though.”

“How would you know? You’ve been here.”

Gavin holds up his phone. “He texted me last night asking how many times I’ve seen Ravenna at the club.”

“And?”

“More than the one time she told him about.”