Muse. | Fionn Whitehead

2. "Still Feel" by Half•Alive

"Just do your thing," I tell Fionn and he rolls his eyes in annoyance. I've been dragging him around Wingston Park just so he can do his thing. Even if he's a modest a guy — in the span of two hours I have known him — he's really good with the camera.

"I have been doing my thing. Look girl, I don't even know you."

Ca-click!

Another shot and he groans.

I laugh. "Fine, we're done for today."

"Excuse me? If this is going to be a frequent thing might as well pay me."

"Might as well pay me," I imitate his English accent.

"Haaa. Fuck you." He shakes his head and glances at his watch. "It's getting late, shouldn't you be home?"

"Uh huh," I say under my breath as I look at the pictures I took. I'm actually satisfied.

Photos of Fionn, a stranger. He can make fresh eyes question who he is, where he's from, what he does in life. All that is known is he smokes Marlboro and his eyes are a sapphire color, more prominent when it hits the su—

"...Earth to Lola. Are you listening?"

"What? Sorry." I place my camera in my cross bag and give him a smile. "Well, see you around I guess."

"Let me take you home."

"Um? I'm okay, I don't live far from—"

"If by the next day there's a flier going around about a missing girl it would be on my conscience." His lips form into a thin line, adamant about his statement.

I smile. "But what if you're the reason I go missing?"

"There's no reason for abducting a girl if I have a girlfriend. She wouldn't be so happy."

"Fair enough," I shrugged.

His car is sleek, shiny, and expensive. I expected something like a Chevrolet and not a Range Rover. I buckle my seatbelt. "I'll be honest with you Fionn," I tell him.

"Okay, be honest." He starts the quiet engine.

"This car makes me nervous."

"Why's that?" He chuckled.

"I've never ridden in one like it before."

He responds with a sheepish smile and shrugs. He takes his phone out. "What music you feel like?"

"Whatever is fine."

"I don't think I've ever heard that before," he sarcastically mumbled under his breath. He settles on 'still feel' by half alive.

A groovy beat blasts through the speakers. "Nice one."

"Thanks. I work hard on my playlists."

Pulling out of the park I point him the directions to my street. During the ride, I learned it's his second year in law school. He was raised by a cop and lawyer so he was always inclined to that environment. He lives in an apartment with a dog named Bagles. He's intrigued at the fact that I have split parents and I have 8 half-siblings. I mention I'm doing a folder for my Visual Communications class.

"You'll be the first page on the folder," I winked.

He groaned. "Why? Why can't I be on the last?"

"Oh don't be dramatic. Besides. . ."

"Besides?"

"You're kind of my muse. . ." My cheeks heat up and I turn my head toward the window so he doesn't see. I mean, it's true. I like the pictures I took of Fionn a.k.a, the guy I just met at Wingston Park.

"I'm your muse," he says. I look and he's smiling.

"Yeah," I shrug. "Can you be?"

"Maybe. Just buy me a box of cigarettes next time and I'll consider it."

"Alright."

I make a mental note to get him a box of Marlboro the next time we meet.

. . . or if we ever do.

•••

I imagine Lola with an Olive skin tone and dark brown hair. I think of Nicole Gale Anderson, but with brown eyes. You can imagine her as/ whatever you like! x