Page 109 of Paint the Town, Dove
“I’m sure there’s other things Gladis Roberts could be doing right now,” Zayla grimaced. “Christmas shopping, maybe? Hello?”
“I don’t care if they don’t know my fucking name, they should know. And that’s what makes these people so much worse.” I held up a pointed nail, then two, “Insufferable, ignorant, unintelligent, I could go on –Yeah, hi!” I smiled at the camera across the street, waving to it, mouthing a filthy string of cuss words.
“Is his mom…” Zayla’s voice dropped to a whisper, “still in town?”
“Zayla!” Polly pinched her arm. She got that from me.Some reprieve, I thought,that at least one person adopted my habits.
“I’m just asking,” she shrugged. “I wouldn’t show my face now that it’s plastered all over socials.”
“I doubt she cares,” Polly reached for her drink, “you know, showing up to Ryden’s concert like that. It was bound to drawattention.”
“You think that was her tactic?”
“Her ploy?”
“Scarlett?”
Who was talking? Couldn’t tell you. My fingers swiped over keys, responding to Tav, shutting down email interviews, the band’s missed calls after Ryden missedalltheir attempts.
“Where is he?” Zay asked quietly.
I couldn’t help but snap. “You know, I’d really love to know. Unfortunately, God’s fucking angels couldn’t hunt that man down if they tried.”
“Girl,” Polly placed a hand on my arm, “breathe. You can talk to us.”
“Yeah,” Zayla nodded, “talk to us. You’re going to like, explode or something if you don’t.”
I already have.
“I don’t know if his mom’s still around, nor do I care. I don’t know what’s going to happen to the label, nor do I care. I don’t know what’s next for Jaw & Lion, NOR. DO. I. CARE. The only thing,” I let out a strangled breath, “the only fucking thing I care about is Ryden.”
They both stayed silent in understanding.
“I can’t deal with this damage control, guys. I can’t focus on seven billion things at once.” My fingers found the crinkled edge of the paper, eyes weaving through the words I knew all too well.
Fan or familiar. Emory-Blake. Inebriated. Mom. Trouble in paradise.
Polly pushed a plate of fruit towards me. “When was the last time you saw him?”
Lips on mine. Eyes filled with shameful lust. Hands around my waist. Pain awaiting us both the second we broke apart.
That useless, waste of a kiss. All those years, all that tension – the love, the suffering.It was all for fucking nothing.
The past always comes back to haunt us, doesn’t it, Violet?
That was the last time I really saw him.
That was the last time he really saw me.
Not the past four times where he could barely say my name, slurs and moans of drunken speech through the echo of a vomit-filled toilet bowl.
“Dove,” he’d said. Could barely hold a smile, let alone his own bodyweight. “C’mere, please.” Then more begs. Then more sobs. “Come here… please.”
His head dropped down to the toilet, the distant boom of EDM playing out in the crowd. He tried to look at me again, chin caked in vomit. Hair crowding his eyes. No more green, no more green. All red. All damage.
“Four days ago,” I pursed my lips, shoving away the memory. “Morty had called me.”
Ryden didn’t.
