The Muse

by O'Brien, Meghan

  Kate huffed in disgust. “Like you don’t already know.” She steeled her gaze and took her own step forward, narrowing the distance between them. “Even if you can’t actually read my mind, I’m sure you’ve got some other way to figure it all out.”

  “Is this about Olive?”

  Kate closed her eyes and silently counted to ten. Her stark depression seemed to crave a more emotionally satisfying outlet in the form of abject rage, but whatever pleasure she took from lashing out would be short-lived. Nothing good could come of a knock-down, drag-out argument right now. “Let’s just say you don’t have to worry about me being distracted anymore.” She counted again to five, slowly, then said, “I don’t have anything left to be distracted about. I’m too complicated and untrustworthy, and your mere presence in my life is a deal-breaker. So…” Taking deep breaths, she opened her eyes only when she knew the sight of Erato’s stupid, pretty face wouldn’t undo all her careful self-soothing. “You win.”

  Erato stared at her with sad, baby-doe eyes. “I didn’t intend to upset you—or Olive, for that matter. My only objective—as I told you on the first day we met—has been to help you meet this deadline. Now I don’t want to say I told you so, but this is precisely why I warned you against pursuing a new relationship while we were working together. You swore that your fascination with Olive was only sexual, but clearly that’s never been the case. Things were escalating quickly, and I had to choose to end the self-sabotage you were about to engage in.”

  When Kate opened her mouth to object, Erato held up a hand and kept talking. “I know, you only asked to go out for one little dinner date, but believe me, it wouldn’t have ended there.” She finally took a breath, challenging Kate with fearless eye contact. “You know where it would have ended? Eventually, with you crawling back to that full-time job you can’t stand. It may not feel like it right now, but I’ve only ever acted in your best interest.”

  The beast inside her stirred, but she kept a tight rein and offered only a terse “Bullshit.”

  “I would never have chosen for you to have your heart broken. Certainly not while writing a romance novel.” Erato reached out to touch her hand but drew back at the look of warning Kate offered when she got near. “I tried to be extremely clear that you wouldn’t have room for anyone new in your life until you finished the book. You swore you understood. What you’re feeling now, you chose to feel.”

  How could Erato inspire such passionate and introspective writing about love when she obviously knew nothing about its genesis? “My brain understood. Unfortunately, my heart doesn’t work that way.”

  Offering a tentative smile, Erato said, “Well, if you and Olive are meant to be together, my interference can’t possibly be enough to keep you apart.”

  Kate scoffed. “Don’t be stupid. We’re not living in some silly, unrealistic romance novel. In the real world, sane, stable women like Olive Davis run away from toxic dating situations like the one you helped create, and I, for one, tend to applaud them when they do. So I can’t even tell you how offensive it is to hear you imply that if only we were ‘soul mates,’ we might have earned some sort of special protection against the cold-hearted, evil shit you’ve pulled to keep us apart.”

  Erato flinched, the color draining from her face. For the first time, she looked truly wounded. “I’m not evil.”

  “No? Well, it sure feels that way. I mean, come on. You’ve turned me into a prisoner in my own apartment. How do you justify that? It’s not like I was planning to shack up with Olive and bang her for a month straight without stopping to write.” Kate curled her fingers into tight fists, trying to control her rapidly building anger. “It’s not like I don’t take breaks throughout the course of the day, anyway. Mandated ones. What would’ve been the difference if I’d had a meal or three with her instead of you?” She shot Erato an icy glare, eager to cause pain wherever and however she could. “Except, of course, that you would have had to share me in some way other than sexually. Maybe that was the problem? Not enough control for you?”

  The mocking attitude that had been on display earlier was gone. Erato stared at her with cautious regret. “You know that’s not really the issue. At least I hope you do.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?” Kate glanced into her bathroom, suddenly craving the sanctuary and privacy of a hot shower. “Could you please leave? I want to be alone.”

  “I’ll leave the room, but I’m not leaving you. Not yet.” Erato paused, making Kate wonder momentarily if she actually expected a thank-you for that. Luckily, she kept talking. “Soon, but not yet.”

  “Not soon enough,” Kate muttered as she trudged into her bathroom, loud enough to make sure Erato could hear. She slammed the door behind her without looking back to check on the damage she’d caused. It pissed her off that Erato dared to act hurt about anything at all, considering all the crap she’d subjected her to over the past month and a half. Granted, the woman had also been responsible for some incredible highs—literal and figurative—and had also magically resurrected Kate’s writing career, but still. She had a lot of nerve to get her feelings hurt about taking some blame for Kate’s broken heart, basically, even if she had tried to warn her away from falling in love.

  Maybe Erato was right and an entanglement with Olive would’ve sunk her already flagging writing career. She would’ve much preferred to find that out the hard way. Especially because right now, from where she was standing—sobbing beneath the hot spray of her shower while cursing the entire concept of sex and romance—she couldn’t imagine how losing Olive wouldn’t do exactly the same thing.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Kate was able to write during the next three days only because her characters were still mired in their own pits of misery and despair. Their moods matched hers. That helped keep her moving, along with the dim hope that Erato would actually leave as soon as Kate typed The End on a manuscript fit for submission. Erato did her part by delivering a constant stream of snacks and delicious meals—including the best lasagna Kate had ever eaten, the insufferable bitch—while also seemingly imbuing her with the improbable ability to push through her depression just enough to allow for the translation of her parallel feelings into the voices of her characters.

  She was producing the most emotional work of her entire life. Even as she wrote, she wondered how she would stomach revisiting this part of the story, considering that she was attempting to grapple with her own sense of loss and regret perhaps even more than Rose and Molly’s. Now more than at any other time in her life, writing served as pure catharsis, a way for her to take everything painful and torturous and messy inside her and project it onto her characters’ lives. She had no trouble articulating how desperate they felt to go back in time and do things differently. Their misery was her misery.

  Editing was going to be a nightmare.

  Luckily for Rose and Molly, their change of fortune was fast approaching. Although Rose’s mother had assumed her daughter had taken advantage of Molly—never imagining her beloved nurse might be a lesbian—Molly decides she needs to have a frank conversation with her charge and correct her assumptions. Kate had been looking forward to writing this scene: a heart-to-heart talk between Molly and Rose’s ailing mother, where Molly finally takes off the kid gloves she’s used to wearing and confronts Rose’s mother with three simple truths. First, that she is a lesbian and has been since she was ten years old, having had an early and at the time inexplicable crush on Lilith from the television show Cheers. Second, that her daughter doesn’t limit her romantic choices based on gender, which was a quality Molly happened to admire—after all, it left Rose open to every possibility for happiness. And finally, that she has fallen in love with Rose and, while she’d love to have her mother’s blessing, she’s no longer willing to deny herself and Rose a chance at happiness to appease old prejudices or out of blind loyalty.

  Because romance novels demanded a happy ending, Kate intended to write one. Rose’s mother woul
dn’t experience a miraculous change of heart as far as her comfort with homosexuality (as her character repeatedly referred to it), but she would acknowledge that she has always adored Molly as a person, and her daughter could do—and had in fact done—a lot worse. After a little discussion, during which Rose’s mother tries to convince Molly that both she and Rose are more than pretty enough to win over a couple of handsome, single men, Molly convinces her that the time she has left with her daughter is too precious to spend arguing about Rose’s very nature, which hasn’t changed despite years of her mother’s overt disapproval. Molly is surprised but relieved when Rose’s mother finally agrees and gives her blessing.

  After that, she would have to write a reunion between Rose and Molly in which story problems are resolved and their relationship officially begins—topped off with some steamy, desperately needed sex. That chapter would be a problem. She knew it already. Hell, even the pivotal scene with Molly and Rose’s mother was proving to be a problem, and it was the part she’d longed to write since she’d conceived of the characters and their story. Unfortunately, despite falling into a natural groove while navigating the doom-and-gloom section of the tale, she was finding it much more difficult to switch gears and channel a spirit of forgiveness and reconciliation into her writing.

  If she wasn’t feeling it, she wasn’t feeling it. Period. Hadn’t that sort of been Erato’s point from the beginning? The reason she’d not only thrown herself at Kate, but also dragged her out for their ill-fated sexual adventure in the first place? Back then, Erato had understood that Kate was detached from her sexuality as it related to other people, and that the resulting emotional and physical deficit prevented her from truly connecting with her art. Now, however, she apparently thought it was reasonable to demand that Kate write the happy, emotionally satisfying conclusion to her fairy tale while drowning in an ocean of her own tears and regret.

  Overall, Erato’s performance as a writing coach had gone seriously downhill. Kate wished for a supervisor she could speak to—or maybe a performance evaluation to fill out. The thought made her smile a little, which was nice…even if it didn’t help her write any more words.

  A commotion that sounded like it was coming from outside in the hallway dragged her out of her silent musing. She heard a muffled thump. Then shouting. Another thump. Startled, Kate swiveled in her chair to face the doorway, unwilling to guess what madness lay on the other side. With Erato, who knew? Whatever was coming, she hoped like hell it wouldn’t derail her mood even further. She had only nine more full days to complete her manuscript before her deadline arrived, which didn’t feel like nearly enough time when she considered the arduous task in front of her. She was low on energy, patience, and inspiration, and she didn’t want to write a fake happy ending when she’d just discovered firsthand that it took more than a genuine connection, great sex, and good intentions to make even the most promising of meet-cute relationships work.

  “This had better be really good,” Kate murmured under her breath. Her stomach twisted in anticipation of the chaos about to erupt before her. Seriously, how the hell did Erato expect her to work? It was hard enough to tackle the seemingly impossible without also having to fend off random, rude interruptions from the person who claimed to want to protect her productivity above all else. “No distractions, my ass.”

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  Kate jolted upright at the very familiar voice right outside her office door. Oh, shit.

  “Please don’t make this any more difficult—”

  “Difficult? Bitch, this is kidnapping!”

  The sound of at least one—but most likely two—bodies slamming against the wall had Kate jumping to her feet, horrified by the fear and rage in Olive’s voice. Clearly she had been brought to the apartment very much against her will, through force. What the hell was Erato thinking? Was she a lunatic or just totally out of touch with human nature? The police would definitely get called now. If not by her neighbors, then by Olive, and with Kate’s blessing. As far as distractions went, being made to act as an accessory to the abduction of a woman she really liked—who no longer returned that feeling—was about as disruptive as it got. Certainly more disruptive than a few dinner dates would have been.

  As she listened to the tussle in the hallway, Kate knew one thing: in forcing Olive here, Erato had almost certainly sabotaged whatever chance Kate had of actually meeting her deadline. Which meant that everything she’d done—to Kate and to Olive—had been for nothing.

  That made her every bit as angry as Olive sounded. What an idiot she’d been to ever think Erato had some master plan, or that the torment she’d exacted like a malevolent child on a defenseless animal had a real purpose. With one bone-headed, impulsive decision, Erato had revealed herself as an impostor. No grand design was at work here. No deep psychological understanding of Kate’s needs as an artist, or even the seemingly supernatural ability to meet them. Whatever magic Erato had seemed to bring into Kate’s writing life had obviously been an illusion, a clever manipulation executed by a sexually available con artist with all-too-human imperfections. Kate no longer had any doubt about Erato’s true nature.

  A real muse would understand that this was just too much. Nobody could write through something this fucked up.

  Horrified that she was about to face a justifiably irate Olive while once again scandalously underdressed—this time only in pajama shorts and a skintight camisole—Kate circled in place and hunted for an escape while the knob on her office door jiggled. Her only option was the window, and she didn’t want to go that route again. When the door burst open and Olive and Erato tumbled into the room, she was still standing there. Still barely dressed. Completely mortified.

  Olive regained her balance before Erato did and lunged at her wildly. “Let me the hell out of here.”

  Erato dodged Olive’s attempt to grab her, slipping out the door and slamming it closed with a graceful pirouette. Kate’s heart stuttered when she realized that Erato was going to lock them in. Together. Olive had been charitable to her the last time they’d spoken, but Erato had just destroyed any goodwill she might have felt toward Kate or the time they’d spent together. This wasn’t going to be fun.

  “Bitch, open the motherfucking door!” Olive grabbed the doorknob and rattled it angrily before pushing away with a grunt of frustration. She raked a hand over her short hair, then turned and stopped as she seemed to notice Kate standing there for the first time. “Were you in on this?”

  “What? No!” When Olive took a step forward, Kate took a step back, bumping into her desk. “I had no idea she was bringing you here.”

  Olive abruptly halted in the center of the room. “Why did she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  No doubt coursing with adrenaline, Olive’s entire body had started to shake. “You know this is fucking crazy, right?”

  “Yes, of course.” Concerned by her obvious distress, Kate gathered her courage and moved closer, but stopped when Olive held up a trembling hand. The confrontation with Erato had obviously rattled her, probably even traumatized her—a woman who had already faced as much trauma as some of Kate’s most tragic characters. Even if she hadn’t known what Erato was going to do, even if she couldn’t control her muse in any meaningful sense, Kate still accepted that Olive’s pain was entirely her fault. “Are you all right? What happened?”

  Olive’s hand drifted to her chest, settling over her heart as though trying to keep it from pounding its way out. “She grabbed me when I was getting into my car in the parking garage at the mall. Like she was in a goddamn action movie. Just wrapped her arms around me and started dragging me over to the truck.” The anger that had started to recede flooded back full force. “A uniformed cop was standing right there! I called out to him for help, but she somehow managed to convince the guy she was just helping a drunk friend home. Despite the fact that I was clearly articulate and clearly begging for his assistance! I offered to take a breathal
yzer to prove I was sober, but instead he helped Erato get me into the truck. Even put plastic zip ties around my wrists so I wouldn’t put up as much of a fight.” Glowering, Olive paced back and forth while rubbing the aforementioned wrists. “That was either the most straight-up racist bullshit I’ve ever personally experienced, or else your girl has the ability to manipulate absolutely everyone she meets. Except me, that is.”

  “She’s not my girl.” Kate cringed as soon as the words left her mouth. Of everything Olive had just said, that was perhaps the least important point. To Olive, especially. “But that doesn’t matter. I’m absolutely horrified by what Erato did to you. I’m so sorry that cop fell under her spell, though I’m not surprised. He had absolutely no right to assault you like that, and neither did she. I swear I had no clue she was planning this. If I had, I swear I’d have tried to stop her.”

  “Could you have stopped her?” Olive studied her carefully, as though still trying to decide whether Kate bore any responsibility for what she’d just endured. “Based on the past half hour we spent together, I’d say Erato is used to getting exactly what she wants.”

  “That’s certainly true.” Kate considered her options, then sighed. She could be honest because Olive’s opinion of her couldn’t get any lower, even if the story she had to tell sounded absolutely batshit crazy. “You’re right about her ability to manipulate. At the farmers’ market, you asked if I’d thought about calling the police when she wouldn’t leave my apartment. What happened to you today is exactly why I didn’t want to. I knew she’d be able to convince the officers that everything was okay, somehow. Or maybe even that I was in the wrong.”

  Olive frowned. “How did you know that? I mean, who is this woman? What does she want from you? From us?”

  Although Olive had given her the perfect opening to delve into Erato’s dubious backstory, Kate still felt exceedingly silly. “I guess I should start at the beginning?”