Page 88 of Paint the Town, Dove
The silence was deafening, despite the soft melody ofViolenceplaying in the background. I knew why he chose to put that song on.
He was trying to forget the past he just relived.
He was trying to separate himself from the man he used to be.
“I drink to forget,” he whispered. “But it doesn’t work.”
I turned to him, wanting to reach out, soothe him. But my own limbs betrayed me. “Drinks won’t change the past.”
“So I’ve been told,” he sipped.
Then sipped.
Then sipped.
“It’s not a fix, Ry. This isn’t a fix.”
“I don’t want a fix.” Suddenly he was alert, sharp. “I want sanity – space, the shallows instead of drowning in the fucking deep all the goddamn time!”
I opened my mouth to speak but he cut me off.
“That song was just as much about me as it was you, don’t you get that? I cope by writing, I cope by singing, I cope by being a fucking rock star!
“You… you –” He struggled to speak. “You didn’t have to leave.”
I could see it now, the anger in his eyes wasn’t for me or even himself…
It was for his mom.
“I didn’t want you to leave…” he breathed.
Without thinking, against all that I am and all that I’ve been, I pulled him against me, tightening my hold on his waist.
Like second skin, he sank deeper into my body, curving his arms around mine. I grabbed at the flesh of his hard muscles, shutting my eyes.
This is too close. This is too close.
Too close.
Too close.
TOO CLOSE VIOLET!
NO! SHUT UP!I shouted at the voices in my head.
HE’S MY –
He’s my…
“You’re home,” I whispered, grabbing hold of Ryden’s neck, pulling him back to face me. “You’re home.”
My heart stilled at the sight of him, those eagle eyes that held promise for the future. The little boy who protected me, protected his mother, until he fractured inside.
“You don’t need to forget,” I whispered.
He rested his forehead against mine. “Forget with me.”
Just…
