Page 5 of A Virgo’s Muse (BLP Signs of Love #12)

“You’re looking at me like that again,” I said, not even glancing up from the glass of wine I swirled between my fingers.

Sade plopped down beside me on the couch, her knee brushing mine. “Because you’re doing that thing again, Des.”

I sighed. “What thing?”

She gave me that look, the one that cut through all my walls like butter.

“That Virgo thing where you convince yourself something real isn’t real because your brain won’t shut up long enough for your heart to feel it.”

I groaned, letting my head fall back against the couch cushion. “It’s not that simple, Sade.”

She tilted her head, her curls bouncing against her cheek. “Then explain it to me. Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like a man walked into your life, saw you, like really saw you, and instead of letting that unfold, you’re spiraling into your ‘what ifs’ like you always do.”

I stared at the ceiling, lips pressed tight. My house was dim and quiet. I’d turned on one low lamp and played an old-school Erykah Badu record earlier while I cleaned, but now it was just the sound of our breathing and the faint creak of the couch every time we shifted.

“I don’t even know him, Sade,” I fussed. “He disappears for days… weeks. He talks like he’s known me in another life, but he gives me nothing about his. What if he’s dangerous? What if I’m a fool for even letting him near me?”

Sade raised a brow. “What if he’s exactly what you prayed for, but it didn’t come in the package you expected?”

My lips parted. The words caught me because I had prayed, not out loud, not in the knees-to-the-floor, Bible-on-my-chest kind of way. I prayed in the still moments when the house was too quiet. I’d brush paint across a canvas and whisper in my head, God, send me someone who gets it… who gets me.

And then Onyx happened. He was like lightning—quiet, intense, and undeniable. He hadn’t tried to take over my life. He hadn’t forced anything. He just appeared, saw what I didn’t want to show, and left me reeling.

“I’ve spent my whole life carrying things,” I whispered. “My parents. My work. My emotions. My expectations. No one ever told me it was okay to set any of it down. And now… someone wants to help me carry it, and I don’t even know how to let him.”

Sade put her wine down and turned to face me fully.

“You don’t have to know how, Des,” she said softly. “You just have to want to. That’s it. Because this man? He’s showing up in ways that matter. That sculpture? That wasn’t just art that was him studying you, seeing your value when the world tries to make you forget it.”

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. Her words were a mirror I didn’t know I needed.

“Des,” she said, brushing her hand over mine.

“You’re the kind of woman people come to for healing.

You hold space for everybody. But who holds space for you?

When you cry? When you unravel? You deserve someone who doesn’t get scared by your softness or your strength.

You deserve someone who applies pressure because he wants to see you blossom. ”

I closed my eyes and breathed in deep. The smell of lavender from the diffuser, the faint citrus from the wine, the leftover heat from the meal we shared earlier… it all engulfed my senses and warmed me in ways words couldn’t describe.

“I’m scared,” I admitted.

Sade nodded. “Good. Fear means it matters.”

We sat in silence for a while. She didn’t push me.

That was the thing I loved most about Sade.

She let me be without demanding that I be fixed.

She understood me. She knew that as a Virgo, I didn’t give my trust easily.

That I kept tabs on every behavior, tone, and even words unspoken.

That I’d analyze something a hundred times before even letting it live in my chest. But she also knew that when I loved, I loved hard.

“I don’t want to be the one always figuring it out,” I said after a moment. “I want someone who just… shows up for me.”

Sade smiled gently. “Then let him.”

I turned my head toward her. “What if he breaks me?”

She gave me that sister-girl shrug, cool but wise. “Then we put you back together. But, baby… what if he doesn’t? What if he’s the one who teaches you how to live without holding your breath?”

I blinked, and the tears that had been threatening finally spilled. I didn’t even wipe them right away. I just let them fall and let myself feel for once without filtering or perfecting.

Sade reached over and pulled me into a hug. “Des,” she whispered into my curls, “you don’t have to be the strong one all the time. Take the damn cape off, sis. Let somebody love you soft for a change.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever… I wanted to.

After Sade left, I sat alone in the quiet for a long time. It was the kind of quiet that made the walls echo with thoughts you tried to silence all day. Her words played back in my head on a loop.

“You deserve a man who applies pressure, not one who leaves you questioning everything.”

And she was right, even if I didn’t want to admit it, even if my overthinking brain wanted to run scenarios and “what ifs” until I didn’t trust myself anymore.

That night, I didn’t paint. I didn’t think about color schemes or brushstrokes.

I sat on my couch, knees tucked under me, watching shadows from the streetlamps stretch across my living room wall.

I was tired of always having to be the strong one, the one who carried it all without complaint. For once, I wanted to just… feel.

The next morning, I gave myself permission to pause.

No alarms. No open signs. No art classes.

I flipped the door sign at My Desires to Closed for Mental Health and turned off my phone.

Then I packed a small bag, brewed a cup of tea I wouldn’t finish, and headed to Willow Grove. That place always made my stomach flip.

The nursing home smelled like lemon disinfectant and something sweet that clung to the air. Maybe it was hope, maybe heartbreak. The halls were too quiet. The walls were too beige. But Room 109… that was home in its own way.

I stopped just outside the door and gathered myself before gently knocking. My dad’s voice greeted me before I stepped inside.

“There’s my baby girl,” he said, folding the corner of a newspaper with a tired smile.

He looked good today, worn but well. He was dressed in a neatly pressed button-down with his hair combed back like he was expecting someone important.

“You dressed up for me?” I teased, leaning down to hug him.

“I dress up for my girls,” he said. “And your mama asked me to play that vinyl that she loves this morning. I figured I oughta show some respect.”

I looked toward the bed. My mother was resting, eyes halfway open, staring off at something none of us could see. Her frame had grown smaller, her skin paler than I remembered. She looked fragile, like one deep sigh would make her disappear.

“Hi, Mama,” I whispered, walking over to her side.

She blinked slowly then turned her head a fraction. Her eyes never quite focused on mine, but her fingers twitched beneath the blanket when I brushed her hand.

“She’s been quiet today,” Daddy said, coming over with a warm cloth. “Didn’t eat much breakfast. I think she’s tired, but she waits for you, you know?”

I swallowed the knot in my throat and sat beside her. Gently, I took her hand in both of mine and pressed it to my cheek.

“I missed you,” I whispered.

Her fingers moved barely, but it was enough, enough for me to hold on to.

We sat in silence for a while. The only sound came from the low hum of the air vent and the soft instrumental music my dad always played through the little speaker near her bedside.

It used to be jazz. Now, it was old soul and R&B, the kind of music that made you feel every lyric even if no one was singing.

“I don’t know if she’s holding on for herself anymore,” I said softly.

Daddy looked at her then at me. “She’s holding on for us.”

“I don’t want her to feel like she has to.”

He nodded, his voice low and heavy. “I think she’s just waiting to make sure we’re gonna be alright.”

I looked back down at her, my thumb tracing the lines of her hand like it was a map I hadn’t memorized in years.

“When the fire happened… when the house burned down,” I choked back a tear, “I didn’t think we’d survive it. Everything was in that house—memories, paintings, her favorite records.”

“She’s still here. So are you.”

I closed my eyes.

“And when she’s not?”

“You keep going. You create. You love. You live. That’s all she’s ever wanted for you.”

I stayed the entire afternoon. I helped spoon feed my mother what little soup she could stomach. I read aloud from one of her old journals and listened to Daddy talk about how he met her, as if I didn’t already know every detail.

“You know… she told me once,” he said as he sat back in his chair, “that you’d fall for someone who didn’t just see your beauty but understood your silence.”

I smiled faintly.

“She said that, huh?”

“Mmhm. Said it would take someone who doesn’t flinch at your walls, someone who doesn’t get scared off by your strength.”

The image of Onyx flooded my thoughts again. Dark eyes that saw through me, steady hands that never rushed me, a voice that poured into my soul like honey over wounds.

“I think I met him,” I whispered.

My father looked at me with a knowing smile. “Then don’t push him away because it feels unfamiliar. That’s where the good stuff lives.”

When I kissed my mother’s forehead before leaving, I swear I felt her lean into me just slightly. A faint hum passed from her lips so quiet I thought I imagined it, but I didn’t. That was her way of saying she remembered, even just for a second.