MY MUSE

CHAPTER 3

Have you ever felt like the third wheel in a conversation? It's like you're observing while everyone is laughing and chatting, and you feel like you're not relevant.

This brunch is going well. These girls, Mia and Anna, are old friends of Jamie's from boarding school. My mother didn't want me to go to boarding school because she wanted us to spend time together. (That never happened.) Jamie went to Brookhouse International School, and so did Mia and Anna.

Mia and Anna look like models with their long hair, trim figures, and gorgeous smiles. They make me feel more aware of my flaws. I take a scarf I had carried and drape it over my legs so no one has to look at them.

"So, Nina, you are an artist? "What's that like?" Mia asks with a lot of enthusiasm.

The words dry up in my throat. My fingers dig into my napkin. I should say something. I should just answer. I look at Jamie for help, but she is busy showing Anna photos of the house she will be staying in.

"It's okay, um, excuse me?" I say, standing up and trying not to run out of the room.

I go into the hallway, rummaging through my bag. What is wrong with me? I could have just answered like a normal person.

Jamie doesn’t even notice I’m gone. Maybe that’s for the best—she won’t be around anymore. "I'm going to be alone. What am I going to do when I go to events? Who will I talk to? I need my medication...

I can't breathe. Where are my freaking pills? I just put them in... I need my pills... I... I... need to sit down just for a second.

"Hey! Are you okay?" someone asks.

I am sitting on the floor, my back against the wall, trying to catch my breath. My heart keeps beating faster and faster, and tears keep falling down my cheeks. Why is this happening right now? Jamie is in the next room!

"Please leave me alone!" I whimper, not daring to look up.

I just want the ground to open up and swallow me whole. Why can't I dissociate during times like this? My lungs feel like they are filling up with water, but my throat feels dry.

I bury my head in my legs so no one sees my face... when I feel someone start stroking my hair.

"Hey, are you okay?" the same voice asks.

I don't answer. I move my head away.

"Sorry, dumb question. I know we don’t know each other but just listen to my voice. Alright, slow breaths. In… and out. That’s right. Just focus on me."

Finally, I realize it's a man's voice, and subconsciously, I breathe in and out like he is saying. He continues stroking my hair as he speaks in a soothing tone.

I turn my head a little to look at him. I have never seen him before, but somehow, I feel better in his presence. This is new for me. New people make me uncomfortable.

He’s… handsome. Sharp jawline, dark brown skin like milk chocolate, and a scar on his forehead that makes him look almost dangerous.

"That's good, keep going. I'm right here, alright? Here," he says as he hands me a blue handkerchief from his pocket.

I don't lift my head completely. My makeup is smeared from my tears, and I don't want to feel more embarrassed than I already am. He gives me a kind smile and then whispers,

"Would you feel better if I turned around?"

I nod, and he obliges.

As I am wiping away my tears, he turns to look at me, which startles me.

"You looked so sad a second ago. I wanted to see if I fixed it."

I try to hide my face again, but his fingers barely graze my chin—just enough to tilt my face toward him. It should feel too familiar, too forward. But it doesn’t.

"Please don't hide your face from me. You'll make me sad," he says.

"I'm sorry if this is too forward, but you are breathtaking. I should look away, but I don’t think I can," he continues.

I nervously laugh. No one has ever said something like this to me before. Most guys look right through me. Next to Jamie, I look like a bag of potatoes. They never look my way or give me so much attention.

"I'm sorry. Here is your bag," he says, handing it back to me.

"Thank you," I answer.

"I'm guessing you're a friend of Jamie's?" he continues while helping me stand up.

"Yeah. I was actually on my way out," I say.

I notice the small scar on his forehead. I wonder how he got it.

"Oh, that's disappointing. I was hoping to get to know you better," he sighs.

I feel a pang in my chest. He sounds disappointed, which makes me feel bad about my answer.

"Parties aren't my thing. But you have fun," I say.

I try to sound cheerful, I guess to cheer him up. But the truth is, this is for the best. He is way out of my league and would get bored of me within a few hours. No one wants a girlfriend who rarely leaves her house and is scared of everything.

"It would have been more fun with you here. Could we at least have one drink before you go?" he asks with these soft puppy-dog eyes.

I think for a second. I mean, Jamie and the others are out in the garden, and her many, many guests haven't arrived yet. One drink wouldn't be so bad.

"Come on, I just found you crying on the floor—the least you could do is accompany me," he smirks.

I look down, remembering that he just helped me out, yet he doesn't know me. Why is he being so nice? What does he want? He must be a good guy, right?

"Alright, one drink at the home bar," I agree.

He smiles and says, "Great!"

"Before I go with you, though, maybe I should know your name," I ask.

His silence stretches just long enough to make my stomach tighten. I don't have much experience with men. Did I offend him?

"Josh. What about you?" he asks.

"Nina," I answer.

He looks into my eyes, which makes me a little uncomfortable and strokes my cheek lightly.

"Did you know that in Hindi, Nina means pretty eyes? It suits you. Almost too well. Looking into them feels… dangerous."

He smiles, like he knows something I don’t.

No one’s ever looked at me like this before.

A shiver runs down my spine—not fear, not exactly, but something close. Heat rises to my face. His gaze is steady, like he’s studying my face like committing every little detail to memory. I don’t know what to do with my hands. Or my breath. Or this unfamiliar flutter in my stomach.

I break the silence by saying, "Just one drink, then."

His lips curve into a slow, knowing smile.

"Just one," he echoes, leading me inside. He smiles like I just made his day.