Sitting anxiously on the couch in the living room, Morgan stares blankly forward as thoughts race through his mind. A football game plays from the television across from him but, even though the volume is blaring, he doesn't seem to process any of the words coming through the speakers.

The lock on the front door twists as Taylor opens it from the other side, their eyes locking as she steps through the doorway and into the living room. Without an exchange of words, they can tell that the other is upset. They both share the same hint of sorrow in their eyes. Already in his hand, he lifts the remote control and pushes the power button. The television quickly flickers to a pitch black screen, a stretched glare of their den reflecting off of it.

"You okay?" He asks, even though he knows that she is far from it. Judging by her disheveled appearance, he can already tell that her visit with Casey didn't end well.

She shakes her head as she shuts the door, glaring over at him with regret. "We fucked up, Morgan. With everything."

Not disagreeing, he turns to look back at the black screen as she walks over to stand next to the couch.

Rubbing at her eyes, Taylor sniffs her nose in an attempt to clear it. It's obvious she has been crying, probably throughout her entire walk home. "How did we let it get to this?"

"I don't know." He gazes over at her, seeing her fragile state. "Hey, you should really get some rest. You've only been out of the hospital for what, a day and a half?"

"I'm not tired."

"Okay..." By his tone it's obvious that he doesn't believe her the slightest bit. "Have you eaten yet?"

"I'm not hungry."

"You have to eat something." He rises up from the couch, not allowing her to further punish herself. "Come on, it's lunch time."

Not possessing the strength to argue, Taylor follows him as he cuts through the small opening leading into the kitchen. She freezes the second she her foot lands on the linoleum floor, her eyes immediately focusing over to the basement door as she reminisces the night she was nearly killed. It suddenly crosses her mind how much more terrifying it must have been for Casey—not only was her life in danger but her sister's as well.

Casey has every reason to hate her.

"Hey."

Her eyes widen to the familiar voice and she turns away from the door, looking over to see Morgan standing in front of the open refrigerator.

Reaching inside of it, he shoots her a playful smile in an attempt to ease her mind. "You gonna help or what?"

Knowing that she loves to cook in her spare time, Taylor has a feeling that this is his method of distracting her. Not to mention, getting a free meal out of it. She approaches him, a smile spreading across her face as she doesn't mind.

Unsure of what to make, the two shuffle through the several shelves of frozen food in the freezer. It's been a while since they've cleaned out the fridge.

"You know, I'm proud of you." Morgan says surprisingly, not looking at her as he reaches in to find a slab of baby back ribs tucked in the far back on the bottom shelf. He sighs when he sees the expiration date.

She looks at him, not quite sure what he's referring to. "Why?"

He pulls the ribs out, setting them on the side of the counter closest to the trashcan, and turns back to scavenge through another shelf of frozen goods. He must find it easier to express himself when he feels occupied. "Because you went over there and told her how you felt. You admitted to the truth. I wish I could do that with someone."

Taylor turns to him, gazing at him as another thought surfaces in her mind. Although it was difficult, she was able to talk to Casey about the night of the accident. She managed to set it all out there, hoping for the slightest hint of forgiveness even though she predicted the outcome would not be so pleasant. As for Marc on the other hand, she's come close to telling him so many times but always finds some kind of convenient excuse to pull away and retract underneath her shell.

Despite what she found on his desk earlier today, she knows that he isn't a bad guy. Even if he is keeping things from her, she would be hypocritical to hold that against him.

If anything, it's a taste of her own medicine.

"Thanks." Kris hands the Uber driver a twenty dollar bill before climbing out of the backseat. The driver, a young girl not much older than her, mumbles something barely audible from the front of the car. Kris somehow manages to hear her. "It's okay. Keep the change."

She closes the door, turning around to face the building where, for almost the past two weeks, she has been meeting Jesse on a regular basis to record new singles. Although nice on the inside, the building is rather bland in appearance and looks as if it were an apartment complex that is still in the process of being renovated. There's no business name or logo anywhere to be seen, leading her to believe that perhaps the owner rents out a variety of spaces for different purposes.

Smiling, her hand runs along the thick metal railing, of which it's black paint is starting to peel to reveal a bright blue underneath, as excitedly walks up the ten steps leading to the entrance. She can't wait to tell Jesse the good news, although she already figures that he will not be too pleased with it. She's already prepared for another think-about-your-future speech.

But, the thing is, by not leaving town and staying here with Jesse—that's where she sees her future.

After walking inside, she passes the usually empty main office and heads over to the elevator. She pushes the button with the arrow pointing up, the metal doors opening almost immediately, and steps inside.

As she waits on the elevator, which the floor jolts a bit before slowly ascending, she hums to herself in an attempt to tune out the distorted classical music that seeps through the cracked speakers above. Her phone buzzes and, without hesitation, she slides it from her pocket to check her notifications. She sighs, disappointed to see it's just a weather alert rather than Jesse finally responding to her texts.

Which is odd. He usually texts back within a few minutes but now it has been almost half a day and still no response. With a psychopath stalking the streets of Riverside, Kris can't help but think of the worst thing imaginable. But she quickly stops herself, trying not to let her mind wander to dark places. God knows it's been there long enough.

The elevator dings, the doors rattling as they pull apart. She steps out into the empty corridor, cutting to the left as she reaches just a few feet short of the recording studio. She figures if she can't get a hold of him, then she has no other option but to track him down. After calling the Lager Lounge and being told that they haven't seen him for the past few days, she felt like she was only left her with one option. The studio. Ever since they finished recording her EP, he has been there nearly every night since editing new singles. At this point, it's almost like he practically lives there. Jokingly, she's told him multiple times that he might as well close his lease at his apartment and just move into the studio.

Her smile widens as she approaches the door, lightly knocking on it with her knuckle. He's always surprising her out of the blue and she thinks of this as her turn to do the same.

After a few seconds of waiting, she knocks again and this time with more force in case Jesse had his headphones on. She waits there, her smile quickly shriveling as she grows unsettled.

"Jesse? It's Kris." She turns her head to lean her ear against the wood, trying to hear through the door for any movement.

Nothing. Lifting her hand, she knocks again.

"Jes—"

A rough hand, the palm covered in calluses, grabs onto her shoulder and she spins around—defensively shoving herself up against the door—and takes a deep breath, relieved to see it is just the landlord. He's an older, heavyset man that has an odd fetish for neon colored suspenders.

He cocks an eyebrow, his wrinkled forehead crinkling like a swatch of old, distressed leather. As he speaks, his voice matches nothing with his appearance. If anything, his high-pitched squeak sounds similar to that of a young boy in a vintage cartoon from the seventies. "You alright, ma'am?"

Nodding, she takes another heavy breath to calm her nerves as she stands up straight. She looks around the hallway, seeing that it's just the two of them, and even glances back at the door to check if it had even cracked open the slightest bit. It hasn't. She turns back to face him. "Yeah. Have you seen Jesse?"

"Not for the past couple of days." He squeals, his eyebrows narrowing at the sound of Jesse's name. "But when you see him, tell him first month's rent is past due. I'm not running a babysitting service here!"

"There must be some mistake." She takes a step forward, shaking her head. "He's not the tenant. His friend is letting him use the space for a little while."

Rolling his eyes, he sees it as a gimmick to get out of paying rent. He chuckles, wobbling past her as he heads to the elevator. "Yeah right. Tell that to the lease."

Staring forward, Kris lingers in the hallway for a moment as she processes what the man had just told her. Considering he had already made it to the elevator, probably loaded it past its maximum capacity with his beyond excessive weight, and is on his way down to the first floor—it is safe to say that she spent a few minutes deep in thought.

In her head, she continues to ask herself the same question but can't find a reasonable answer. Why would he lie to her? Especially about something so minor?

And where the fuck is he?

♫ ᴅʀᴜɢs / ᴇᴅᴇɴ ♫