Page 103 of Paint the Town, Dove
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“Ryden…”
She,this woman, she rushed up to Ryden but he put a hand up, shaking, revolted – a wounded animal that had been starved for over a decade, starved of parental love, starved of a stable home.
A home that wasn’t ours.
“Clara, there are private rooms at the back –” Tav, clearly of no use, tried.
Fuck that.
Absolutely, hard,fuckthat.
I made my way to Ryden, “Okay, I’ve had –”
“No,” he held up his hand to me, eyes bloodshot, tears frozen like icicles. “Not this time, Scarlett.”
I swallowed, paralyzed, staring between Ryden and his mother, the woman who abandoned her son for over a decade. She’d aged like bad wine since the last time I saw her; hair matted and discoloured, like a dried broom.
“Don’t you look ravishing, Clara,” I tutted.
“NO!” Ryden’s fists curled inward. “Scarlett,enough.”
My words, myfire, died in my throat. Never, ever, had Ryden talked to me this way. Never, ever, had Ryden expected this day to come.
Never, ever, had I either.Where did you run off to? Where did you go? Why would you leave him? You loved him, I thought you loved him? How could you do this? How could you come back?
Questions spiraled through my thoughts as an uneasy silence coated the air, thick like tar, twisting – constricting.
I wanted to hit her. I wanted to hurt her because I saw Ryden hurting, standing there like he was all those years ago,a spineless child, Corban used to call him.
Unworthy of love, his mother made him believe.
“Ryden,” she extended an arm out to him, as if trying to catch all her mistakes and crush them in the weight of her bony hand. “Dove…”
“NO,” he vibrated with anger, snapping out of his trance, “what the fuck! What theFUCK!?”
A hand gripped my shoulder, pulling me back. Everything in me was hot. I felt like I was going to pass out. I felt useless. I felt weak. I needed to do something.He won’t let me do anything.
“I…” Clara’s voice was hoarse, “I came to watch your final show. I saved up all my money to come here.”
His laugh was not that of a sane person.He won’t let me do anything. He won’t let me help him. Please, Ryden, let me help you.
“Oh, you saved up all your money, did you?” Ryden stomped up to his mother, same eyes, same bone structure,only hers were hollow and his were wrath.
“Where’d your money go? Use it all on expensive hotels for Corban? Trips? Beer? Booze? Drugs? Where’d it go, huh? Where’d it all fucking go, Clara?”
“I’m still your moth –”
“YOU ARE NOT MY FUCKING MOTHER, YOU LOST THE RIGHT TO CALL ME YOUR SON WHEN YOU ABANDONNED ME WITH A FUCKING NOTE AND MONEY IN A CHURCH DONATION ENVELOPE!”
Slowly… slow… beats.
My heart was so… so slow.
I felt like – I felt like I could pass out… watching him, veins bulging from his neck, tears an ever-flowing waterfall cascading down… down… onto Radio City’s backstage.
“Ryden, baby, you don’t understand –” her tears matched his. They were so similar. One begging for absolution, the other an apology.
