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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Cory awoke with a groan; his heartbeat pounding in his neck—his brain beating against the back of his eyes with such force, he felt the need to puke.
Peeling one eye open at a time, Cory laid still—staring up at the ceiling in confusion. He didn't recognize where he was, having to think back to where he had been.
Sitting at the kitchen table, eating cereal adjacent to the long, lean man with arms covered in tattoos, Zora watched curiously as the bum stirred.
She couldn't believe it; Spinster had let him in—which meant that Spinster knew him.
Struggling to sit up, Cory moaned from the aching tenderness of his humming body. He ran his tongue along the inside of his dry mouth in a desperate attempt to wet the sensation of cotton. Cory patted his pockets, fishing for a pack of cigarettes.
Placing a cigarette in his mouth, Cory started to strike the barrel of his lighter when he suddenly had the feeling he was being watched.
His hazel eyes shifted cautiously toward the kitchen—where a little girl sat wearing a ponytail and a backpack. The ends of her blonde hair set in random frizzy loose ringlets. Her big green eyes never wavered as Cory stared back at the little girl as she ate her cereal.
Cory raised two fingers with the lighter in his hand, giving her a halfhearted wave. The little girl continued to stare a moment longer before taking her empty bowl to the sink. She returned promptly, continuing to stare at the strange man with drawings on his arms.
Cory struck the lighter—but it failed to ignite.
"Spinster doesn't let people smoke in the house. She says it stinks up the furniture." She spoke plainly; this time, her eyes moved away.
Cory watched as the girl folded her arms on the table, disregarding his presence altogether now.
"Spinster?" Cory repeated confusingly, wondering as to whom she was speaking of.
"Yeah, Spinster."
Cory stood from the sofa, tripping on the the foot of the ottoman, but quickly recovered his balance. He placed the cigarette behind his ear, stuffing his lighter into his pocket as he trailed to the kitchen table.
He pulled out a chair, having a seat next to the cultivated little girl.
"Is this Alida's house?" Cory asked. The little girl nodded, her expression indecipherable, "My name's Cory."
"Zora."
"Zora?" Cory repeated with a smile. Her name was unique—exceptionally unlike anything he'd ever heard before, "I like that—it's different."
"There's nothing good about being different." Zora spoke matter-of-factly.
"I completely disagree," Cory said, "being different is what sets you apart from anyone else. There's nothing more boring than blending in."
"Is that why you've covered yourself in drawings?" Zora asked.
Cory would assume she was trying to insult him; however, the way her wondrous green eyes roamed the outlining of his ink proved she was genuinely curious.
"Something like that." Cory laughed softly through his nose, "It's more a form of expression."
"Spinster doesn't like tattoos, she says it looks tasteless." Zora said; she inched toward Cory, cupping her hand around her mouth as if to tell him a secret. "She doesn't think I know, but she has tattoos too."
"Hypocrite much?" Cory laughed; Zora smirking in agreement with a subtle nod. Cory questioned who "Spinster" could be—she sounded like a prude with a past. "So who's this Spinster?" Cory finally asked.
"Alida."
"How do you know Alida?"
The sound of thrashing coming down the staircase redirected Cory and Zora's attention—watching as Alida rushed the kitchen in a hazy panic. She hummed worriedly, clipping in the back of her earring while closing cabinets that had been left open.
"We're late—we're so late, I'm sorry." Alida apologized profusely as Zora sat indifferently still. Cory's eyes followed Alida, watching as she jittered frantically, scurrying about throughout the room. "Lunch, I made you lunch and-"
"It's in my backpack." Zora stated calmly.
"So that means-" Alida stopped the moment she turned around—a pair of warm hazel eyes were staring back at her, appearing befuddled and yet slightly amused by the scene taking place before him. "I didn't expect to see you up this early."
"I'm always up this early on weekdays." Zora spoke with furrowed brows.
"I meant..." Alida shook her head, not bothering to explain, "I have to take Zora to school, are you gonna be okay here by yourself?"
Zora's face scrunched in absolute perplexity—her eyes filling with disbelief and slight judgment. Of course Cory would be okay by himself—he was a grownup.
Cory laughed at Zora's face, understanding completely why she had made it. "Yeah, I'm a big boy... I think I can manage myself okay while you're gone."
"Great." Alida spoke without a smile, grabbing her keys while heading toward the door.
She held it open for Zora, motioning for her to go on out to the car. "If you're still here when I get back... we can talk. In the meantime, make yourself at home." Alida said while fidgeting with her key rings, unable to look Cory in the eyes.
Those eyes used to have a way of looking right through her—Alida didn't want to risk Cory still having that same ability.
"I'm not goin anywhere." Cory spoke without caution. He wasn't so sure he meant it—the words had just slipped out.
A forced smile crept to her lips, "I sure hope so," Alida admitted apprehensively before peering through her lashes to look into his eyes, "There's some really important things I need to tell you too." Alida flashed a troublesome smile, darting her eyes away quickly before closing the door.
Cory's eyes remained fixed—his thoughts begin spiraling into a rapid vortex of uncertainty.
In the decade of Alida's absence, Cory always presumed she hated him. This made Cory question everything he thought he knew. Alida invited him into her home—she was letting him stay there—alone.
Whatever it was that Alida had to tell Cory, wasn't good—it couldn't be—he needed preparation.
Cory decided to drive back into town. He needed more cigarettes and was going to need more drinks to get through this hangover; and to get through all the things that needed to be said—before he could let go.
