Famous musician, Cory Hartley, has plans to end his own life. When rekindling an old flame that never died, Cory finds himself at a crossroads, as he copes with the traumatic death of his best friend. Forced to face the past that's haunted him for a...
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"It's not mine." Cory spoke flatly; his hazel eyes tired and brimmed darkly from lack of sleep. He reeked of last night's alcohol—some from this morning's.
He lit the end of his cigarette, tossing the lighter onto the table while leaning back in the faux leather seat, stretching his tatted arm across the back of the small sofa with his black combat-style boot hanging limply from his knee.
Smoke billowed around his head like a halo—and for single moment, Cory looked like a fallen angel.
"Is that the statement you want to give?... "It's not mine?""
Cory smirked devilishly, taking the aviator-style sunglasses from his head and tossing them next to his lighter. The last time he showered was evident by the oil coating his ashy dark tresses—it had been a while.
"Give whatever statement you want, I really don't care." Cory took a draw of his cigarette, mumbling against the filter as he kept his eyes on Colin's.
He seemed unfazed by the situation, which in turn, made Colin see red.
Cory was one of Colin's most difficult clients; a troubled young man from a small town in Upstate that somehow made it big. It's not to say Cory didn't have talent, his troubles were simply beginning to outweigh his gifts.
"This entire thing is going to ruin you if you don't do some damage control."
"Correction," Cory stood from his seat, taking another drag, "If you don't do some damage control. That's your job—not mine." He spoke with a tight throat as smoke escaped his nose.
"Actually, Cory, that's your publicists' job."
"Well where the fuck's he?"
"She," Colin corrected, "And you fired her."
"Shit," Cory chuckled; he looked to Colin with a shit-eating grin. "When did I do that?"
"About three months ago. She told you the same thing I'm telling you right now, and you fired her."
Cory's eyes narrowed. "I could fire you."
"You could, but then who would you have? You don't have anyone, Cory. You have no family, no friends... no one wants to work with you. Face it buddy, you're at rock bottom. That little stunt you pulled awhile back was totally senseless. Not just for your image, but for your life. Do you even care about your career?"
"I got someone." Cory spoke, only taking what he wanted from his manager's harsh statements. "I think I still got someone."
Colin grinned snidely, shaking his head in disbelief. He knew the person Cory was referring to; Alida Moore—the young woman he had left behind years before—before Colin had the misfortune of ever meeting Cory Hartley.
