The Muse's Undoing

“Suicide bomber,” I say, dropping the truth like a grenade.

“Oh my God!”

“If you’ll excuse us, I need to introduce Fischer to the artist.” Raven whisks me away in as much as she can with me on a cane.

“This is fun,” I grumble.

“It’s just another hour. Were you serious just now?”

“Did you think I tripped on the stairs?” I ask.

“It’s more likely than a bomb.”

“I figured it might have come up with Nicole.”

“Well, to be honest, my friendship with Nicole is a little one-sided. It’s a lot of her listening to me go on and on about myself. At least I can admit it.”

I don’t disagree. “So are the Marches into art?”

“Absolutely. They never miss an opening. Also, Stef and my mom are besties from way back.”

“Hm.”

“There’s my artist. Bianca! Let me introduce you to my date.”

Jesus.

Everything about this night feels wrong. I should be with him right now, not her, even if we’re just watching a show or sharing a pizza. I don’t know what I thought coming here would accomplish.

It’s safe to say I haven’t stopped thinking about Matthew. About touching him. Even passing him in the lobby gives me filthy thoughts. Talking to him would be a step in the right direction, but I’ve been so overwhelmed with how badly I want him—and how awkwardly I handled him.

I’m not sure I can go back to being his friend, and God knows, we’ve burned the brother bridge. I feel fucking paralyzed.

“Fischer Elliot, this is the artist, Bianca Garcia.”

I scowl at the introduction, shaking my head. Elliot isn’t my real name. It’s a stage name. A pseudonym. It’s fake. Even as I shake the woman’s hand, I feel like a fraud whose only blood relative is uptown with his mother and her new boyfriend probably sleeping blissfully and not thinking about me at all.

I can’t describe Bianca Garcia except to say she’s wearing white. My vision shudders the moment we’re introduced. Sudden onset dizziness turns sharply into acute vertigo, and the room tilts sideways. I grip my cane even as I lose sensation in my lips. I close my eyes, mentally stretching my hand behind me and searching for the one thing I need. But his hand isn’t here. He’s not here.

“Fischer?”

Raven’s voice is muffled, drowned out by the pounding of my pulse in my ears.

I’m in SoHo. My phone is in my pocket. I’m in no danger. Nothing is wrong. I shake her hand off my arm.

When I can manage to string a few words together, I apologize and ask her to call for a car. My hands are trembling too badly to do it as quickly as I feel like I need to. “I’ll reimburse you.”

“Are you all right? Are you in pain?”

“It’s not pain, but I’m not feeling well.”

“Would you rather I call an ambulance?”

I promised I’d call him first…

“I’m not dying, I just need to get home.”

Saying it out loud helps. Gives me some faith I’ll make it out the door on my own two feet. In the time it takes the car to arrive, I’ve regained sensation in my face, and Raven has turned the rest of her show over to her assistant, determined to see me home safely no matter how many times I tell her I’m fine.