Page 104 of Paint the Town, Dove
“YOU LEFT ME!” He cried.
Cameras flashed, too many cameras, too many noises. Security shooed the horde of vultures.They just won’t listen, they just won’t listen –
“I have to do something,” I gritted my teeth, nails bleeding into my palm. “Morty, I have to do something.”
“Ms. Emory-Blake,” he whispered, fingers firm around my forearm, “this is not your fight.”
“He’s always my fight.”
“He needs to be the one to face this.”
I hated Morty, I fucking hated Morty in this moment butGod, he was right. She was not my parent.
I didn’t have any ofthoseanymore.
“How did you find me? Why didn’t you come to any of my shows? It’s been a decade, a fucking decade, where were you? No calls, no texts, nothing? No emails, we have fucking emails, did you know that, Clara? We have something called the Internet where you can reach out and –”
“If you can just listen to me, baby, please –”
“LISTEN TO YOU?” His whole body was shaking, a guttural cry coming out of his throat. “You left me, and you want, what? Money? Is that why you came back, dressed like… like –”
I knew what he was going to say.
But even after all these years, no part of Ryden ever wanted to let the disrespect get that far. I saw it in his eyes, the pain, the recognition of his mother, his protector gone rogue.
There was so much pain.
We were on the brink of collapse.
This…
…
There was no coming back from this.
Inside, a part of me died with him.
Inside, I knew this was the end of him.
“I… I needed you to find a new way, baby, to get out of that house. You had… youhave, so much promise. I didn’t mean to…” she repeated it over and over,I didn’t mean to, as if that could take away all his damage, as if it could repair what once was.
“You left with Corban, youleft, with that abusive piece of low life garbage, piece of shit!” He spit on the ground. “You could have been on the road with me,” he paused, eyes lowering, “you could’ve… lived this life with me.”
I steppedout of Morty’s grip but he pulled me back.
“Ryden –” I called, but he couldn’t hear me. Too lost in his own memories. Too lost in his contempt.
“We used to watch the stars together, Mom. Now I’m one of them and where…” Slowly, he lifted his eyes, “Where are you?”
I watched Clara’s shoulders wilt like a dead flower, regret a painted image on her face.
Ryden blinked back the tears, standing taller. “Where were YOU?”
“Baby,” she reached out to touch him but he flew back, as if burned, shaking his head.
“No, no,” and then he was moving towards me, grabbing his coat from Mallory, gripping my hand, “let’s go, Morty,” he told him.
“MOVE!” He told the reporters, the journalists. “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!”
