Page 3 of Guitars and Mistakes
He turned his face into his mother’s neck and closed his eyes, not wanting to look at the man any more than he had to. He wrapped his chubby fingers more tightly into his mother’s shirt, wishing they could go away from this dark building with the scary man and hoping this was another friend they wouldn’t have to see again.
But then there were hands grabbing at his back, pulling him away, and he could feel space growing between his chest and his mother. His fingers scrabbled at her shirt, his throat growing tight in the way that meant tears were coming, and when he looked up into her face, trying to understand what was going on, he found that she wasn’t even looking at him anymore.
Her eyes were turned up to the building, and then away from it toward the street again, like she’d already forgotten that she was carrying him.
And the scary man—for that was who it had to be—was pulling him away from his mother while she looked away, his fingers digging into the boy’s skin as he yanked at him, and the boy was screaming, trying to understand what was going on.
And his mother was murmuring something to the man without even looking at the boy.
And then she was turning and walking away, the boy struggling in the man’s grasp and shrieking. He didn’t want to be left here. He didn’t like the man. He wanted his mother. She yelled and hit and sometimes burned, but she was the only one he’d known. She was his home. His safety.
But she was getting into the car and they were driving away without looking back, and he was left with this man, who shook him slightly and then turned into the building.
“Stop screaming, kid,” he muttered. “I don’t know what you did, but she don’t want you no more. You live here, now.” He glanced at the paperwork in his hand and chuckled. “Rivers Shine, eh? Well, with that name, we should be able to find you a home right quick. And if we don’t, we’ll find other uses for you. Mark my words.”
RIVERS
Igasped and sat up so quickly that my head started spinning, and looked quickly around the room, trying to remember where the hell I was and what I was doing here. I didn’t recognize the room. Or the bed. Or the sheets. There was a window on one wall and through it I could see the neon lights of a downtown area, but...
Where the fuck was I?
Then it all came crashing back. The tour. The next city, and this time one big enough to have plenty of electric lights in its downtown sector. Olivia and Connor. The Leathers, our warmup band.
The crowds. The late-night shows.
Lila Potter.
I shut my eyes and fell back onto my pillow... which was when I realized that the pillow and sheets were soaking wet. In fact, now that I was paying attention, so were my pajamas.
So was my hair.
What the fuck had I been doing in my sleep that I was now drenched in sweat?
The question brought a stream of images with it, and within seconds I remembered exactly why I’d been sweating. A building so tall I hadn’t been able to see the top of it. Darkness creeping through the windows, but for the faces I saw there. My mother yanking me out of the car and scratching me in the process, her skin smelling like cigarettes and booze, though it would be years before I’d understand that was what it had been. At the time I’d just thought it was the smell of my mother.
Within five years, I’d realized it was the smell of a drunk and an addict. One who’d decided when I was about three years old that I was no longer worth keeping.
The man at the door. His harsh laugh when he’d seen me. The way his cold fingers had sunk right into my arm as he took me from my mother.
The smirk of the man she’d been pretending was my father.
The way she’d turned away from me before the door even closed, her mind already moving to something else.
The way I’d screamed for her all that night and into the next morning, and spent much of the next year standing at the windows that looked out onto the street, watching for her to come back and save me. The way my heart had grown colder with every day that she didn’t. And the way I’d realized, finally—and maybe far too late—that I was on my own and had to take care of myself rather than waiting for her to come back for me. The way I’d woken up one morning knowing that self-protection was the name of the game. No more emotions. No more expecting someone else to take care of you or make you feel better.
No more love.
Because she hadn’t loved me enough to think it was worthwhile to keep me with her. And if your own mother didn’t love you enough for that, then who the hell was going to?
Sure, I’d only been four or five at the time and they’d been concepts way too big for such a little brain. My understanding of the themes had been juvenile, at best. But I’d understood well enough that if she’d loved me, if I’d been good enough, she would have kept me with her rather than turning me over to a sleazy, badly run orphanage.
And that idea right there had stuck. I’d managed to find my way well enough in the orphanage itself, though I’d quickly developed a reputation as a kid who had a chip on his shoulder. Couples who came in looking for a new child never gave me a second glance, and the foster parents who took me always gave me back when they realized how damaged I was. Or how much I was willing to do to be left alone.
As far as I was concerned, that was for the best. It meant fewer people to try to please, and fewer people trying to control my life.
I swung out of bed and made my way toward the bathroom, staggering slightly as my legs tried to remember how to walk. It was still dark out and I was guessing it was somewhere around 2 in the morning, based on nothing other than the feeling inside me that told me so. Everyone else would still be asleep. My best friends—the guys in the band—each had their own rooms, as usual, and I didn’t think I’d be exaggerating to assume that each of them had a girl in bed with them. They wouldn’t thank me for knocking on their doors and wanting to talk.
Not that I’d been doing much of that lately. I’d been specializing in isolation of late, honestly. Ever since Lila had tried to walk out on me in the middle of a show when she thought I wouldn’t be paying attention.
