Page 167 of Paint the Town, Dove

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So I listened.

I heard him out. Heard his pleas that this was the first girl he could actually see himself with.

One that saw him forhim.

I laughed to myself, bitterly.

It’s easy to love someone when they’re on top of the world, harder to while they’re still climbing.

Look in front of you, Ryden.

Look in front of you.

***

I wanted to dunk my head in a vat of acid.

“You wrote about your mom and Corban?” I seethed, unable to look at him. “With…her?”

He swallowed, eyes trained on my face. I could fucking feel it – I could fucking feel everything. “You didn’t like it?”

“Like it?” I snapped. “Of course I fucking liked it, Ryden, I loved it.”

“Then why…” He shook his head.

I stood up. “BECAUSE YOU WROTE IT WITH HER!”

“Why the hell do you hate her so much, Scarlett?” He rose from his chair. “You’ve never accepted her!”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, staring into the recording booth that held the two of them for months – singing, laughing, breath tangling like dancing lovers – and I cursed God for not blessing me with his talent –

So that I could sing alongside Ryden.

So that I would be the one –me,notYasmine –

That he realized saw him for him.

Because I always have.

I always had. I always will.

“She’s a vulture, Ryden,” I forced tears away. “She’s no better than the paps who follow you around with cameras. I see it, I see it in her fucking eyes – I’ve been where she was” – my voice shook – “I know what desperate looks like. I’ve worn it for years.”

And with that, I walked out of the studio, unable to look at my reflection in the pane of glass that separated the fame from the freedom.

Because we weren’t really free, were we?

Avenue Records planted a seed in Ryden’s head.

Run. Distract. Escape.

We were good at that. We’ve been running for years.

But pockets of time existed between breaks, laughs flitted through the air like doves and eagles.

There weren’t many birds left anymore.

Onlyvultures.

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