Page 39 of Paint the Town, Dove
“Wake up, man.” Darth Vader. “C’mon, Ryden –” hands slapping me now – “wake up.”
“Is he alive?” Someone else. Another Darth Vadar.
“Are you, Derek?” Scarlett. Yeah, Scarlett.
“Just assessing the situation.”
“Where the fuck is Morty? Where’s Dean? Mallory?” Oh, my Dove was angry.
I made her angry.
I fucked up.
I always fuck up.
“I’m sorry,” I coughed, wiping my mouth. Whatever came off my face was now plastered on the back of my hand.
And it smelled like shit.
I attempted to open my eyes, but the room – wherever the hell we were – was too bright, too intense. “Don – Der – Uh, Scar!” I called, sagging against a scratchy cushion. “Lights off, can you please?”
And just like that, I was a worm in a shoebox. Lid closed. Three pencil-sized cutouts to breathe.
My lids fluttered open.
There, sitting on a loveseat across me, were Derek and Donny, my drummer and bass player. In the corner, standing by the vending machine, was Dean, my lead guitarist. He had a cup of water. I didn’t hear him coming in.
I never hear much when my head starts to scream.
And leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, was Scarlett.
Her red hair was up in a ponytail, heels discarded to the side. They were caked with… with my uh –
“I’m sorry, Scarlett,” I whispered.
Silence.
“I’m sorry Donny, Derek, Dean,” I swallowed, shaking my head, mouthing a string of apologies to anyone and everyone. The band was in this room.
Mylifewas in this room.
There was no excuse to my behaviour. There rarely ever was. No matter what affirmation I told myself, no matter how far into the future I looked ahead, the bleakness of the past caught up to me, covering my sun with a fucking sheath of ruin.
And I stayed in the dark forever.
“You know boys,” I coughed, swaying, “my old label, before any of you, you know them, they – they took advantage of me, they sold me out to dry, and you guys – you guys came and found me. You f-f-ound me.”
A shadow stepped towards me,Dean’sshadow, handing me the paper cup of water. “Just glad you’re okay, man.”
“Can you walk?” Derek asked.
“Of course he can walk,” sneered Scarlett. “He walked this far, didn’t he?”
“Easy,” Donny levelled his hands, “let’s all just relax.”
“Are you going to go out there and mediate the press, Donny?” Scar picked up her stilettos by the stem, waving it in his face. “Because you’re going to be dealing with a hell of a lot more than ruined shoes.”
“Isn’t that your job, Scarlett?” Derek piped in.
