Page 132 of Paint the Town, Dove

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“This…” My breath disappeared onto his lips. “This can’t happen. You’re not…”

Tentatively, he slid a careful hand down my side, hovering just below my waist. “You say I’m not thinking straight, that I’m not in my right mind, Dove –Dove,my mind’s never been right around you.AndIcan’tgive a fuck anymore,” he panted, pupils dilated, haunted. “Give me a place to drown in.”

“I won’t be your distraction,” I swallowed, “I’m not going to let you sink.”

He pulled me closer, moved his hand lower. And lower. “If I die, I die doing the only thing I never acted on. The only drug I never took.” He leaned in, pinching a lock of my hair. “And that pill’s red.”

I pushed my thighs together, shutting my eyes in disbelief that this was it.

My best friend.

My eagle.

We were doingthis–something– acting on impulse, pushing the boundaries we fought so hard to lock up.

I felt… everything.

Dread.

Grief.

Sorrow.

Lust.

Want.

Desire.

Heat – so much fucking heat.

And I wanted him to touch me, to nip me, to bite me – to destroy all my inhibitions and hesitations.

I used to keep a thrifted notebook underneath the couch cushion of our basement apartment, filled it with song lyrics about my life before Ryden.

I thought, if he could use singing to cope, maybe I could use writing.

Maybe I could write him a song one day.

But nothing worked. I imagined the feeling of kissing him, feeling him, being his in adifferentway.

If only young Violet could see me now. Red hair, tangled in the arms ofherrock star, alive –

Alive.

Filled with the ache of forever.

I wanted him since wewere kids pulling grass out of the ground.

I wanted him since we were teenagers playing dress up for Halloween.

I wanted him between the fighting, the protecting, the pain.

… The loss.

No, I didn’t just want him now.

I fuckingneededhim now.

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