Page 115 of Paint the Town, Dove
“What am I going to do?” He whispered. “Where am I going to go? Why would she do this? He had a restraining order, the cops arrested him, did she pay his bail? Where did she go? Why won’t she answer me? I’m her SON! I’m her…”
His breathing hitched higher and higher, body rattling with nerves, as if he couldn’t control his muscles, his hands – and the tears, they dripped down like acid. “She was supposed to love me,” he let out. “She told me she’d protect me.”
“Could this be some sort of prank? What if Corban wrote the note?”
“That’s her handwriting. She called me Dove.”
I swallowed. “You call me Dove.”
“You… are.”
“Then what’s she?”
He stopped, pulled away, looked around – the chaos, the broken bowl, the discarded envelope and the money – he sat backdown, a ghost of the boy I used to know, now something else entirely.
“She’s nothing,” he whispered.
Chapter Thirty-One
Scarlett
“Iwill never not bother, Zayla.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ryden
“Can’t make a home, there’s nowhere to go so I
keep running, keep running...”
Arc & Sheild Records:‘Vagabond’
Composition By: Ryden Spectre
One Month Post Radio City
“Mr. Spectre, can you tell us a little more about your mother?”
“Mr. Spectre, why is it that you’ve been drinking your life away since Radio City?”
“Mr. Spectre, is it true you were a victim of abuse?”
“Mr. Spectre –
“Alright, everyone back off now, back the hell off,” Tav was in front of me, wearing sooo many bracelets. They were rattling about. Pearls, something else. No idea.
Where was I again?
I felt the chair, fingers folding into metal grates – white, garden, tea?
OH FUCK, right.
RIGHT.
“Psst,” I psst’d Mallory. “Mal, hey.”
She looked pissed. I was pissed. Different forms.
