I nod, feeling even more depressed than I was before. “I started sketching after I saw you. For the first time, also.”

It sounds like we stopped creating at around the same time. Like when we said our goodbyes, we took each other’s muse and held it hostage. I understand what this is now. A barter situation. Give me my talent back, and I’ll grant you yours. Joe doesn’t want me. He just wants what I’m able to give him. His muse back.

“What do you think it means?” he grunts, looking annoyed.

I shrug, trying to ignore the fact his hand is still on my collarbone. “I don’t know. That we inspire each other?”

“It’s more than that,” he says tersely.

“That we’re each other’s muses,” I correct.

“Yes.” He nods, half-relieved, half-furious. “Which is fucked up.”

“That doesn’t make it any less true.” I prop one foot against my car. “But it doesn’t matter. We have Dom to think about.”

Sweet, beautiful Dom. Who asked me to move in with him. My biggest cheerleader. The man who liked me before I learned how to like myself.

“So what are you suggesting? Give up on our art? Turn our backs on our chance to create?” Joe looks appalled. Like we both have some huge duty that requires sacrifice. Maybe we do. When did I stop believing in myself?

On the day Mom died. On the day you caused it.

“Art?” I snort out. “You mean my doodles?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, exasperated. I can tell he is struggling with a hundred emotions right now. His loyalty to Dom, his desire to create. We’re messy. Not fiends, nor friends. I can tell Joe doesn’t hold a grudge against me anymore for what happened between us, and at the same time, he is mad. Mad like I’m mad. At the world. At this situation.

He reaches for his front pocket and pulls something out. A crumpled pack of tissues. He tugs one sheet and waves it between us.

“Let’s start over.”

“I don’t want to start over.” Maybe if I keep repeating this, it’ll be true.

“You have to. I raised a white flag. There are rules in this world, Ever. A white flag symbolizes an approaching unarmed negotiator.”

Too bad his presence is the very weapon I fear the most.

“Look, I don’t know why things happened the way they did.” He rakes his fingers through his dark hair. “I thought about it all week. Maybe I did something really fucked up in my previous life, and this is all karmic retribution.”

That’s what I thought too. No surprises there. He and I are too much alike.