Dropping to her knees at the edge of the lake, she gazes at the starry night as she draws in her last breath.
Ice, vodka and glass crash to the floor as it slips out of Jane’s hand waking her up from another drunken slumber.
“Shit. I’m late.”
Looking at the time, she runs into the bathroom with a bloody foot from the broken glass.
Sun peaking out of the drawn curtains and shedding light to an apartment hasn’t been cleaned in months. Sink piled high with dishes, no telling what else lives in the apartment.
Cold water runs down Jane’s body slowly sobering her up. Quickly stumbling through the apartment trying to find something somewhat clean to wear. Teeth brushed and 5 mini vodka bottles packed, Jane runs out the door.
The sound of morning traffic in the city helps drown out the reality she is trying to avoid. Once upon a time, Jane wore designer clothes and worked in a publishing house as an editor. Jane now sports the messy hair don’t care look, paired with bloodshot eyes and working as a freelance writer.
Jane stumbles into a Starbucks to meet a source she’s interviewing for a story on “How the U.S. Health Care system is taking a sick leave,” for The Post.
After one boring interview and mini bottle later, Jane looks at her phone noticing 5 missed calls from Mom and it’s only 9:30 am. Walking back home, she comes across a small French bakery and immediately thinks of him. Liam.