His Muse

How to lose your mind in a swimming pool

Copyright © 2018. All Rights Reserved

Nic woke up in the middle of the night to the stray cat's paws batting at the window. He sat up a bit with a groan, disoriented by the noise, and by the fact that he wasn't in his dorm room. Kieran was facing away from him, arm flopped off the bed. It was definitely brighter in Kieran's room at night, so Nic could see the monochromatic shadows crossing over the walls and furniture, and catching on the cat pawing at its reflection on the window. He was just thankful that he didn't wake up to some godawful yowling.

He sat there long enough to realize that he wasn't going to go back to sleep any time soon. As Nic scrubbed at his eye, he crawled out from under the comforter and climbed silently to the end of the bed. He slid off, aware that the cat had stopped clawing at the window to stare at him as he crossed the floor to his backpack.

Without his phone, he resorted to his computer to help him pass the time his brain spent in between phases of his sleep schedule. He sat with his back against the wall, his feet over Kieran's legs as he scrolled through Tumblr, eyes half-lidded and growing dimmer. He thought about all his assignments that would be due, were due, and how he seriously needed to check his grades eventually.

He went to check his grades, and the comments his professors left in his emails. He silently cheered over the A he was getting in several of his more traditional art classes, including the figure drawing class. He settled for the C+ on his general education credit, since every college student had to comply to the inevitable C-level grade. He made a mental note to message his Ma to let her know that he was doing okay, and that... he needed a new phone. He seriously needed to settle that complication.

Nic went to his inbox, and started to clear out junk mail from clubs he subscribed to at the start of the year, and never ended up joining. In the midst of them all, he saw... an email from Ronan.mortem@ndenergy.com.

From: Ronan Mortem
To: Nicolas Sandoval
Subject: Would Love To See You Again

Hello Nic,

My sincerest apologies that we left on the wrong foot. I was so incredibly moved by your artistic capabilities—I hardly imagined any normal man could possibly produce such a striking portrait. I hardly seem worthy of it, which is why I'm putting it up for auction this weekend.

Love to see you there. I'll attach the location details below.

Love,
Yours.

Nic's face went pale before any other part of him responded to the email. As it settled into ever crevice of his tired body, it started to burn in his eyes again, and seep to his skull where all the dread settled and weighed against his brain. He blinked hard and reread the email before the hot liquid in his eyes seeped over his eyelashes and he bit out, "Shit. Shit shit shit."

He covered his mouth, breathing in shakily as he realized this meant his painting—his painting—wouldn't be his. It'd be some... prize Ronan puts up for who knows how much money to be bought off. Nic knew instantly that he was being ridiculous. Ronan paid for the painting, which meant he could do whatever the fuck he wanted with it. He could set it on fire, break it in half, do whatever he wanted.

But Nic certainly couldn't stop himself from thinking that... whatever profit Ronan made off of it would be passed off as "Oh, yes, Ronan owned it. It's a portrait of Ronan. Isn't it beautiful?" It wouldn't be seen or viewed as a Nicolas Sandoval original. It'd be on stage with all these other nameless paintings for rich, snooty people to get off to like it meant nothing to the artists what they cared.