•Before I Let Go•

•Chapter 1•

        Colin loosened his tie, stepping away from the table that separated them. He sighed in defeat, peeling his eyes away from the painfully burnt out musician.

Cory had been through a lot; more so than what the media ever reported. Colin knew it was only be a matter of time before someone was crazy enough to dig up his past.

Colin knew a little about Cory's traumas; mostly through drunken banter that was inevitably played off as something that just happens to people—nothing more than one of life's many inconveniences.

Colin knew not to pry; the horrific details Cory had so casually spoke of were enough to make Colin believe he had imagined what Cory had told him. The relaxed nature of Cory's posture when describing such a ghastly scene had rattled his core.

Where Cory was in life, and where he was ultimately headed, showcased Cory's harrowing past; his troublesome ghosts were worn right on his sleeve—you didn't have to peel back layers to find it.

        "I'm sorry if you think I'm being unreasonable," Colin spoke, unable to hold Cory's gaze. "You have to understand that... this isn't just my job, alright—I care about you. The road you're on right now... it's not going to end well, Cory. You've gotta do something. If you think you need a break, take it. Go back home—talk to her, really talk to her this time."

          Cory's eyes went wide, looking to Colin in startling disbelief.

He had forgotten ever telling Colin about Alida—or that he had gone back home a year earlier to try and see her—to talk to her again.

Cory saw her—but Alida didn't see him.

          The moment his brain registered that the woman walking up the sidewalk with a phone against her ear was in fact, Alida Moore, Cory's entire perception of life turned upside down.

Cory found himself trapped in a moment of time he refused to be in. Being there in that time again made it nearly impossible to breathe. Alida had been smiling—on the phone, so blithe.

Cory wanted to remember her that way—not as he last saw her.

          Cory took the next flight out, rushing—running—back to the life he had made without her. The internal storm that idled quietly deep within him had awoken with a force so strong that it nearly killed him.

Cory was contractually obligated to follow his management teams terms regarding such incident, which landed him in a treatment facility for 90 days.

Now came a new shit storm to weather—one he would have to wait months for to blow over after the paternity test revealed he was not the father.

        Wild, outlandish, nonsensical claims that news outlets continuously poured out, simply because someone had "stated" it, without any proof—other than a ticket stub that only proved they had been at the same arena on the same night.

As much fun as it was to party and let loose with groupies, Cory had not been promiscuously adventurous since the start of his career. It also went without saying that impotence had been his way of life since getting out of rehab three months prior.

Sex was (oddly) the last thing on Cory's mind these days—even with himself.

        Cory sat down again, putting out the ember of his cigarette with a quiet sigh verging a groan. "Is the label gonna drop me?" Cory asked, having already acknowledged his management team discussing new conditions.

It had been an ongoing debate with his label following his public rehab stint for his so-called "substance abuse problems."

"I don't care what they want. This is about you getting better, Cory."

"Is it?" Cory hunched forward, looking across the room at Colin with tired eyes that were filled with intense emotion—on nearing an eruption. "'Cause I think it's about money. I think it's about giving the label what they want. I think you did negotiations behind my back," Cory stood again, this time snatching his lighter and sunglasses from the table. He didn't bother putting his lighter away; keeping it in his clenched fist knowing he would smoke another the moment he stepped foot outside Colin's office. "You're right, I'm not okay right now. But it's alright—I knew this was a business before I was even in it. I understand how this shit works... I get it."

          Cory walked out of the office on that statement, letting the door close softly behind him—leaving without any objections.

         The truth was, Cory had been looking for a reason to leave. He was unhappy; battling an invisible entity within himself. Some would call it depression, but Cory begged to differ.

Depression meant constant sadness, lack of motivation and disinterest. Perhaps Cory met most of that criteria; however, Cory knew it went deeper than that.

         Some would say Cory Hartley had everything; fame, money, talent. He traveled the world, rubbed elbows with some of the greatest songwriters alive, but found himself to be the rough poster boy of every young woman's wet dream.

          Cory could honestly care less.

Cory only made music because he was good at it; there wasn't much else he was good at—except maybe wrecking his own life and making other's lives difficult.

Leading the life of an infamous rockstar was lonely; you could never trust anyone outside your own circle. He could never let himself get too close, it meant he ran the risk of losing what little he had. You could never be too sure if they had ulterior motives—he could never trust that they wouldn't tell his secrets, or worse... tell lies.

Cory was in the midst of dealing with that particular predicament. A woman he had never met was claiming to be pregnant with his child.

If this particular accusation had came out at the start of his rise to fame, Cory may have been a little worried about the outcome. As for the past five years, however, Cory never thought this type of allegation would surface.

It simply was not true.

          He had never even met this woman—Stella Carpenter, resident of Seattle, Washington. She was young and pretty; with long black hair and porcelain skin. She had a partial sleeve and blue topaz eyes—from what he could see in her pictures. As much as Cory would like to say he had a nice time making that love-child, it would be a lie.

         Following his arrest, Cory knew he was treading on thin ice with not only his label, but also with his own team. Now, this had to happen.

Cory wanted to fight back against it—he wanted to go publicly with his side. However, Cory didn't have the stamina to dance in the circus anymore. He was tired, and done with every aspect of the lifestyle and what it had to offer.

         Cory's success had turned him into a hollow shell of the person he once had been. He pushed everyone away, keeping everyone at a distance until there was no one left to turn to.

He would admit that he did it to himself—that he was scared—terrified, even.

Cory could not carry on like this; something had to give—so much was already broken.

Cory knew what he was going to do; he was going to solve the problem. Cory was going to remove himself—it was the only solution.