Page 71 of Paint the Town, Dove
I created a rock star.
Mallory, bless her fuckin’ heart that woman, big bag of tears beside me.
Couldn’t lie myself, something caught me in that song. I’d have to talk to him about some of those lyrics.
I knew he’s been through the trench, both of ‘em, Scarlett and Ryden –
Wait –
Where?
I turned around, finding an empty seat.
No red stilts punching the back of my neck, those fuckin’ shoes.Where the hell did she go?
“Seen Scarlett leave, Mal?” I nudged.
She waved me off, tissues flying out of her purse.Oh hell.
I caught Ryden lookin’ somewhere, a little frozen. I followed his gaze and caught the slit of a door and the echo of its slam.
Ah, shit.Was that?
Fuckin’ artists, bringin’ just about everything on stage.
Fans… they’re goin’ to love it, though.
“Alright Mal, pull yourself together, we got an event to…”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Scarlett
“I forgot for a reason”
“You have an inability to show emotion,” she said. “You loathe vulnerability. It’s common for people who have experienced such traumatic events. Resisting, running… you will eventually burn out, slow pace. Remember your inner child, the one stacked with responsibilities. You don’t want that outcome for her anymore, do you? Don’t make life harder than it needs to be, little Scarlett. We’re all just kids…”
***
Ihear it everywhere, you know.
The bells.
It was my first exposure to sound.
Sinead and Flack, ringing their twin bells, calling me into their room like a servant child.
“Yeah, Vi, the fucking orange bottle you useless good-for-nothing –”
“Flack, she ain’t gonna grab us what we need if you talk to her like a pig. ”
“Vi, give me my damn pills.”
Call me whatever the fuck you want.
A coward, unstable, I don’t care.
(What happened to the big bad Scarlett Emory-Blake?)
