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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Pulling up the gravel driveway, Alida's heart sank at the sight of Cory's ostentatious rental car parked crooked in her spot.
She sighed heavily; though Cory was still there, he had in fact left at some point. Where he had gone was obvious from the tire marks in her grass—Cory had gone to get alcohol.
Walking up to the house, Alida stopped; taking notice that the front door was ajar—it was nearly wide open.
Groaning furiously, Alida entered her home. She slammed it shut, hoping that the sound would bring Cory into the room so he could explain to her why he had left the door open.
Instead, what came to Alida were Cory's loud snores.
Cory laid sprawled out on her couch, his arms twisted up by his head like a pretzel. Though the stench of liquor was apparent, the smell of cigarettes were not—Cory had not smoked inside her house.
Alida stood over Cory's unconscious body, peering down at him in disapproval with her hands on her hips.
Showing up on her doorstep after all these years, Alida hoped he would've been more presentable; instead, what she got was a sloppy drunk.
Alida didn't want to touch him, but didn't know how to wake him. She decided to nudge his foot; his worn heavy boot hit the floor with a thud, startling him awake.
Cory's eyes shot open before his mind registered what had just happened. He awoke in a daze—the whites of his eyes red, under his lower lids painted black from excessive fatigue. He licked his dry lips, finding that his tongue was just as dry.
"I told you no drinking in my house." Alida spoke sternly; her arms crossed over her chest.
Cory rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, sitting up slowly from the couch. "I didn't drink in your house."
"Oh so you parked like that blindfolded?" Alida quipped.
"Oh, you mean..." Cory trailed, flipping his wrist in a knowing gesture. "Sorry... but I didn't drink in your house—I drank in my car."
Alida sighed, sitting across from Cory on the ottoman. She didn't mean to talk to him as if he were a child, but damnit—why did he have to act like one?
"I don't want you drinking around Zora."
"I won't-"
"I don't want you drunk around Zora."
"I won't be staying long, so I don't think it'll be a problem." Cory spoke casually; his voice rough with crackling exhaustion.
"Why did you come here, Cory? What are you doing back here?"
