Page 116 of Paint the Town, Dove
“Mal, Mal,” I tried again.
“Mr. Spectre, I heard you.”
“Mr. Spectre, what has life been like since your tour ended?”
I held up my hand, pressing down on the off switch of my invisible remote. “Mute.”
‘This fuckin’ boy,” Tav called over the waitress. “Ma’am, I hate to say it, but we’ve got to move this meeting indoors.”
The heated greenhouse is lovely, I heard Mallory say.
One second we were outside, the next we were in a room with no natural light – there were Christmas trees, though. AND!!! No noise.
Trade off.
“What are we going to do with him?” Tav.
“Have you talked to Scarlett?” Mallory.
“Scarlett,” I breathed, fishing for my phone. “Where is she? She’s my manager, why isn’t she here?”
“Mr. Spectre, we’ve got important people coming in ten minutes,” Mallory held up my phone, “you will not be contacting anyone except the waitress for more water.”
“Scarlett’s job,” Derek muttered.
“When the fuck did you get here?” I laughed, dapping him up. No WAY. Noticing the rest of the guys at the table was a total jump scare. What the hell.
I held my glass to my lips. Definitely not water. “Yeah, anyway, Scarlett, where is she? I haven’t seen her since –”
Then it hit me, and I almost choked.
Bits and pieces over the last few weeks resurfaced, like comets hitting me in the temple.
Bang! House of Kings, booth on booth, people around me, Scarlett shaking her head.
Bang! My apartment, helping me into bed, wavering by the door. Called her over. Said something she hated.
Bang! Front seat of her Aston. Puke everywhere.
Bang! The night of RadioCity. Against the wall. My lips on hers.
I… I kissed her.
I fucking kissed my best friend. My Dove. My devil with a halo. My angel with horns.
My God. “Oh fuck.” I ruined us.
I… I can’t – I didn’t want to – NO, I did, I wanted to, I was so fragile –
“I need a drink, Dean,” I spoke while I thought, viciously, all consuming, “where’s my drink?” and I couldn’t stop thinking and drinking because how could I do this to us?
How could SHE come BACK into MY life.
Dean stood up, phone in hand, holding up a finger to the table. “Where are you going, buddy?” I called, but my mind caught up before I could hear his response.
My mom…
She came back from the dead. She came back for me, right? To help me? But she… she hurt me. She left me.
