Capturing the Muse

by Madison Avery

  * * *

  As the party began to wrap up, Gavin having left the tent for more interesting conversation, Piper crawled from the canopy of table cloths. The harsh light was bright in her eyes as she stood, adjusted her top and stumbled toward the elevators.

  A few people still milled about, half-empty glasses of amber liquor in their hands, as they struggled to stay upright. She waved to a few friendly faces as she passed by, but her steps slowed as a familiar rumble of laughter made way to her ears. Her attention perked as another strange wave of tingles fluttered in her stomach.

  Her eyes danced around the occupied chairs and couches until she was able to find the source.

  Gavin.

  He was sitting with a few women, hands gesturing wildly.

  Piper came to a stop, just as his eyes found hers. He nodded with a warm smile that grabbed her attention further, pulling it towards him, just as he reengaged in the conversation he was having.

  In the brighter lights of the hallway, Piper was able to see Gavin for all he was.

  Suddenly, and without warrant, Piper was mesmerized. The feeling odd as she took a hesitant step closer to him, her eyes sweeping up his length, starting at his polished black shoes, the slacks that covered long, lean legs; the jacket, button-up shirt and now undone tie. Piper took another step forward as she continued to appraise him.

  Gavin looked older than she initially thought, than the tone his throaty laughter let on while they were inside the darkened fort. Instead of being put off by it, her attraction deepened. The nearly black hair salted with gray of his mustache goatee combo. There was a name for that, but it eluded her. Either way, it suited him well. It drew attention away from the hint of lines that creased his forehead and at the corners of his eyes; a shade of hazel, with flecks of green in them. They carried an intensity that Piper had never seen before. Yet, a gentleness that tugged at her heart.

  His head was shaved to the quick, taking away from the severity of the receding hair line he might have had had he worn it longer. A harsh edge to him that went well with the softness of those eyes. Another feature that suited him well, she thought as she tried to picture a swath of longer, salt and pepper hair on him, but couldn't.

  It was then that he cleared his throat, pulling her back to reality. A fresh wave of crimson spread over her cheeks at the realization he’d caught her staring.

  With their eyes locked, Piper had to make a decision. She could drop her gaze to the floor and desperately try to escape. That didn't feel right. She couldn't reason with running away like a child. Instead, she closed the last bit of distance, almost joining the small circle of people, but yet, still an outsider. She swallowed thickly and said apprehensively, "I heard somewhere that you're a good hugger. I think you owe me one.”

  That was a little more direct than she had planned, but there was no turning back now.

  Without hesitation, and a broad smile with gleaming white teeth, Gavin stood, motioning for her to come even closer.

  Piper was suddenly swallowed up in his arms. Gavin was tall, and he dipped down slightly for a better hold. All too soon, however, he was pulling back. She wanted to grab hold of him, keep him pressed to her body, continuing to feel his strong muscles flex beneath his shirt.

  Gavin stepped back, still grinning. "Did it live up to the expectation?" he asked.

  Piper wanted nothing more than to have Gavin’s arms around her again, the warmth that he exuded and the gentleness that comforted her, and he’d just given her an opening.

  Though she feared for his ego, she shrugged nonchalantly. "It was alright. I mean, I've had better." Hoping he'd fall for the ruse and envelope her again.

  A flicker of hurt pierced his gaze, pinching the lines of wrinkles at the corners, but another of his trademark smiles said the bruised ego was short lived. The frown lasted only a second and was gone in an instant. "I’m sorry.” He frowned. “Maybe we should try it again. I really am a good hugger, I swear."

  This time, Gavin pulled her close, even tighter than before. Piper inhaled deeply, her nostrils flaring at the tart scent of alcohol, sweat and aftershave that filled her nose. Her eyes fell closed as she pressed her head into his chest, gripping him just as tightly back; their bodies connecting in all the right places in an almost perfect fit. It was a safe feeling. Like she could have spent hours tucked within his grasp, feeling protected by his presence.

  The embrace drew to a close. Though it had lasted twice as long, when he began to pull away, for Piper, it hadn’t been nearly long enough. She swore she began to hear the barest of a whisper that tried to beckon her back towards him. By hug standards though, it broached scarcely on the scale of crossing between friendly and intimate. After all, they'd only just met, any longer would suggest otherwise to the now prying eyes of the group around them.

  "There. Was that better? I really gave it my all."

  It was perfect. Maybe the best hug of her life, she wanted to say but didn't. "That was a great hug."

  He seemed satisfied with her answer, settling into his seat on the couch. Piper stood for an awkward second before turning on her heels, leaving Gavin to his friends. She headed the rest of the way towards the elevator, ready to call it a night.

  * * *

  Once she got to her hotel room, Piper was no longer tired. Something about the evening’s events continued to rattle her. Something about Gavin further grabbed her attention. The attraction she felt still warming her insides.

  She pulled her laptop from her bag and tossed it onto the bed. Next, she kicked off her shoes, stripped away the day’s garments and replaced them with silky shorts and a sports bra. She washed away the makeup still caked on her face, then propped a few pillows up on the bed.

  Settled against down-filled pillows, Piper opened the lid on the computer and connected to the internet. She told herself she would only look at Gavin's profile for a moment. When she Googled his name, she was surprised by how many results popped up. She clicked the top one, his website, and began to read with rapt interest.

  A few moments later, she backed out, clicked on the next link, and kept reading, inhaling as much information as she could. If she saw Gavin tomorrow, at least this time she'd know who he was and what he wrote. It wasn't stalking, not really, but more... research. As an author, she knew it was perfectly acceptable to browse one's sites. They were out in the open about who they were. They had to be. The world often wanted to know the person behind their favorite books and these days, it was that information and interaction that played such a huge role when it came to sales. Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, blogs, and websites, authors had it all. Not only did they bleed their hearts onto the pages of the books they wrote, but within the interaction they shared with their fans. Connecting with one person led to connecting with more, and each reader that knew an author's name was a potential sale of a book.

  From Gavin’s website to his Twitter, to a Wikipedia page, Piper read it all. His age popped up on one of the sites. She glanced at it briefly, making a mental note, subtracting the numbers, but not being bothered at all by it. It was insignificant. She was attracted to him and wouldn't let a number be a deciding factor if she were to get the chance to talk to him again. In fact, the more she thought about Gavin, the more certain she was that she wanted to get to know him. There was something there that she had to discover. That tickle in her tummy, that pitch of energy that drew her to him, almost summoning.

  Inside her, coming out of nowhere, causing Piper to close the browser, shutting away the images of Gavin, a familiar whisper could be heard in the deepest corner of her mind. Barely audible but came with a surge of inspiration that could have only come from her muse.

  Piper gasped, and opened up a blank document, the cursor blinking rapidly, waiting for her fingers to press the keys. She closed her eyes, inhaled a deep breath, the smell of Gavin materializing in the air around her as she let the whisper grow louder.

  A character formed in her mind, the voice suddenly telling h
er what to type. Before Piper knew it, she banged out a few sentences, and then a few more. She felt exhilarated as more words leaped onto the page.

  As the images of Gavin began to dissolve from her brain, the smell of his cologne no longer lingering in the air, and the warmth of his touch had completely turned cold, the whisper faded. Inspiration slipped through her, disappearing just as quickly as it had come until she was left with silence. A complete and utter feeling of despair.

  Highlighting the words she'd typed, Piper then pounded her finger against the delete button. She turned the almost-filled page of black words back into a stark white screen of nothingness. A flash of anger gripped her heart as she slammed the lid of her laptop closed and shoved it off her lap.

  Taking a pillow from behind her, Piper covered her face and screamed furiously into the feathers until her throat burned. Certain she was done, she pulled the pillow from her face, blinked back the fireworks that flashed in front of her eyes, and wiped at the tears that had formed.

  What happened, she wondered? It was there, if for only a moment. Her muse had come back, but why couldn't it stay? That was the reason why she'd come to Northern Write Con in the first place. Hoping she could find it again, relish in the inspiration that poured from the other authors that surrounded her. Maybe she could have stolen a muse from someone else, welcoming it with open arms.

  An idea, almost absurd, came forefront. Was that why her muse had left? Had she unknowingly neglected it, giving it a reason to pack its bags and move on? Perhaps finding another host, another soul, that would treat it better, listen to it when it spoke, telling the stories it wanted to be written?

  Piper laughed out loud. It was impossible. It had to be. She hadn't turned her back on her muse, had she? She thought about the past, recreating the last year’s events in her mind, playing the movie that was her life. There were so many changes that had taken place. A move, a crumbling relationship, and a job she had taken to pay her bills... Before that, she'd sat at her computer, struggling to adapt the latest ideas her muse had shared with her. She had fought back hard, unwilling to change her genre, despite the urgings of her muse.

  Piper wrote strictly Young Adult. Sensual love stories, coming-of-age novels for every reader. Female characters that finally discovered who they were, and how to maneuver through adolescence. Piper kept them clean, free of the clutter that had begun to take over the market, where boundaries were often pushed. Sex, drugs and alcohol seemed to sell, and Piper’s muse knew that, pushing her in that direction—an older target audience, where it would be able to unleash its innermost desires.

  That's when things started to go wrong. Piper suddenly forced her characters into awkward situations, only to leave them hanging inside unfinished stories, because she was averse to change. She didn't want her characters to shed clothes, morals, and become just like every other book out there, even if she was absorbed with those kinds of novels herself.

  The need in her own life was to spark the fire when it came to her sexual desires, desperate for something that would make her feel alive. Books did that. When she felt her own libido waning—which may have been the cause for her break up—the mention of a nipple, the stroke of a hardened cock, or the illicit moans of an orgasm awakened her. Filling her with that lust she had long since lost. It warmed her to the core. Yet, she refused to use that newfound love of erotica and channel it into her own writing.

  More, perhaps, she couldn't. She didn't know how. Even as she read the books that caused a twitch between her legs, a swell of wetness that caressed her panties, she felt she could never find the right words. Piper worried her readers would see through the facade she'd have to create. Worse, call her out as an inexperienced shrew who didn't know how to tell a story filled with romance, strong characters, and sex that created orgasmic release through a collection of well-written prose.

  But that had been what her muse wanted. An exploration of something entirely different, and new. Ideas that might break way for novels that would actually sell. Piper wouldn’t give in. She wouldn't let the muse control her.

  She pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes, pushing away the tears. It was her fault. Losing her muse had been by her own doing.

  Although, that still didn't answer why it had come to her that night. Whispering in her ear just loud enough to create that sense of urgency, the unbearable need to write words onto the page. And why so swiftly it went away, taking with it the hint of the character it began to form in her mind.

  Then, as if to answer the question she silently asked, the night’s events tumbling back, she swore she understood. That innate urge to write had been fuelled by the presence of a stranger who suddenly came into her life. It was the only difference. The connection of their skin, the flutter of butterflies in her stomach, and the yearning to be wrapped in his arms, to pick his brain and learn the knowledge he held there.

  Gavin.

  He was the one who stole her muse. He had to be. Or maybe, hadn't stolen it, but welcomed her muse into him with the acceptance of what it wanted to share. His bibliography was long, books coming out recently, and many more in the future. He seemed to have no trouble weaving words together to create remarkable, unforgettable stories. Piper even read somewhere, that many of his works of fiction contained the very erotic element her muse had tried to push her towards, yet she refused it.

  So the question now begged, if Gavin had her muse, how was she to get it back?

  * * *

  The sheets were tangled tightly around Piper when she awoke with a start. Her head craned to see the clock, the flicker of numbers telling her she overslept. More than overslept, yet she felt exhausted. A restless night caused unwarranted dreams to take over. She felt damp with sweat, threads of short mahogany hair plastered to her face, her eyes barely willing to stay open. All she wanted to do was draw the curtains tight and remain in bed for the foreseeable future.

  But she couldn't do that. She had a mission to carry out; one where she'd take back her muse, forcibly if she had to. Piper refused to leave Northern Write Con without it firmly reattached to her soul, and she was willing to do whatever it took to make that happen.

  Spending the better part of the morning, Piper poured over the day's programming schedule. However, it seemed just as fate and her muse had brought her and Gavin together, now it was doing everything it could to tear them apart. Her schedule was nearly full with her own panels, that—annoyingly enough—seemed to be when Gavin had time off from his.

  After making a few deep red circles in her program, Piper began to get ready for the day. She spent extra time on her hair, smoothing down the unruly and out of place strands. She swept on concealer, eye shadow and even lipstick—something she rarely did, relying more heavily on the tube of green chap-stick she carried with her everywhere. This wasn't just a regular day; she needed to pull out as many stops as she could.

  Once her makeup was done, hair in place, Piper rummaged through her suitcase and scolded herself for the rush pack job she had done. Back then, she hadn't cared about what she brought, more concerned with comfort over style. What she really needed now was a low cut, skin-baring top, tight pants and some heels. Something that would make her the bombshell she often craved to be, but knew she never could. Her head shook at the thought, knowing that even if that kind of outfit had found its way into her suitcase, she'd never have the courage to wear it. Not in public. Not where people would see and be forced to look at the flaws she hated. She wasn't fat, per se, but she'd packed on a few extra pounds she could stand to do without, making her less desirable to most of the men out there. Her skin wasn't clear, but rather held blemishes, rosy cheeks, and a few wrinkles creasing her forehead. The kind of flaws that no amount of makeup could ever really cover up.

  Slipping on another pair of jean capri's, a graphic t-shirt with the barest of lace revealing a small amount of her back, and her sneakers, Piper chanted a mantra in her head. She needed to work up the courage to leave the hotel r
oom. Even more as she walked the same path she was sure Gavin would take to and from his panels, desperate to see him again. She was nearly five minutes late to every one of hers, taking the long way around, but as the day drew to a close, she hadn't caught the slightest glimpse of him.

  Piper’s attention wasn't where it should have been; immersing herself in conversations about books, and writing, and how to create compelling scenery, realistic dialogue, or trying to gauge the next big trend. It was on her muse, and Gavin. She knew her panels had suffered from her inability to stay focused, but didn’t care.

  At the end of the day, when the conference was winding down, Piper was drained. She half-heartedly waved goodbye or hugged her fellow authors, bidding them farewell and safe travels. That sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach was back. She had searched the crowds that spilled out of the ballrooms, until she realized she'd missed out on her chance to see Gavin again, and get her muse back.

  Sluggishly, she headed towards the elevator as the last of her friends left. Her hotel room, booked for one more night, was calling her name. The down-filled pillow, the soft blanket, and the idea of a dark room, begged for her. She'd go upstairs, shut herself away, and maybe drown her misery in the lonely bottle of beer still left in her fridge from the night before. In the morning she'd head home and begin to face the reality that she was never getting her muse back. She’d written the creativity right out of herself. From the world's perspective, she'd become that author who wrote two books, only to never write again.

  Piper wasn’t watching where she was going, and yelped in surprise when she collided with a hard body, nearly toppling over. Strong arms held her upright as she muttered a thanks, self-consciously smoothing down the hem of her shirt.

  "You're still here," the voice spoke to her.

  That familiar surge found its way into her body as she looked up through hooded eyes. Trying to remain calm, Piper replied, "You're still here," putting on a smile she hoped didn't give away her excitement.