Page 2 of Shamrocked
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“Riann? Riann!”
I blinked, finally hearing her calling my name. “Hey, you. I thought you were going to work late.”
“Um, I did.” Viviana came closer. “Have you been painting all day?”
I looked at my phone, shocked to see that it was nearly ten o’clock in the evening. I’d started painting right after she’d left for work, so that must have been seven-thirty or eight this morning. I tried to remember what I’d done all day, but I’d come back into my room, thrown open the curtains, and dragged out my easel. I didn’t remember much after that, other than occasionally hurrying to the bathroom, or pouring cold coffee and heating it up in the microwave, drumming my nails impatiently on the counter.
“Did you eat anything?”
My stomach chose that moment to growl like a Tyrannosaurus Rex. “I was too busy to eat. What do you think?”
We both stepped back and looked at the canvas I’d worked on all day. I’d always been drawn to Gothic-style landscapes or fairy-tale settings with an edge. Like I’d paint a quaint cottage in the woods, but the trees themselves would have mouths and hands, or something whacked out like that. This time, my muse had come up with another dark forest with tall, huge trees that looked like they were trying to devour a crumbling ruin and wipe it from memory.
A large, ugly gargoyle was prominently centered on the canvas. The very same gargoyle I’d brought home from that bar, although in the painting he would have been at least seven or eight feet tall, not the miniature statue I’d woken up with this morning.
“Wow. Is that an old church?”
I leaned closer to the ruins, studying them like I’d never seen them before. In a way, I hadn’t. I hadn’t thought about what I was doing—it just happened. Sometimes it was like dreaming, only with a paintbrush in my hand. “Yeah, I think so. There’s a hint of a window here that looks like old, broken stained glass.” In the tall weeds, there were more stones. Some broken off from the church, but others looked more like headstones and there was a heavy Celtic cross nearly buried by debris. “I think this might be a graveyard.”
She knew my process well enough not to ask how I couldn’t know what I’d just painted. “He has a way of sucking you in. It’s really creepy. In a good way.”
The gargoyle definitely stared back at me with a strange compelling intensity in his stone eyes. At least he wasn’t leering in the painting like a lecherous old man. “I guess my muse was really inspired by the statue I brought home last night.”
“What statue?”
Without looking away from my painting, I pointed over at the nightstand. “That gargoyle. I remember seeing him at the bar last night. I guess the bartender gave him to me.”
“Um. Ri. You mean this one?” Her voice came from the other side of the room near the window.
I dragged my gaze away to find her reaching down to pick up the gargoyle off the floor. “That’s weird. I must have grabbed him for reference.”
“Well, it’s certainly the same ugly fellow.” She laughed and set him on the window sill. “Let’s go get a bite to eat. I’m starving, so I can imagine how hungry you must be.”
I didn’t want to stop. The back of my mind still itched and burned. Inspiration hovered inside me, a hungry beast that had been denied too long.
But it could wait. At least long enough for me to eat.
* * *
My eyes hurt so bad, tender and almost swollen, burning with exhaustion. I closed my eyes to get some relief for even a moment, but my hand continued to move over the canvas.
I couldn't stop.
A sob broke out of my throat and I dropped the paintbrush. Sinking down to the floor, I braced my head on my knees and cried. At least the tears soothed my aching eyes a little.
"Oh, honey." Viviana sank down beside me and dropped her arm around my shoulders. I hadn't heard the car drop her off, but I was so glad she was home. Though I had no idea what day it was. "Is it all catching up with you?"
"No. It's not the divorce. I'm glad about that."
"Then what's wrong?"
"Look around. What do you see?"
Her arm tightened around me and her voice sharpened. "You've done all of these? This week?"
I nodded and another sob cracked through my throat. "I can't stop. It's his fault."
