RELAPSE | ROB SHARPE vs CONOR TATE

Three high-ball glasses touch together, the latest toast in a torrential waterfall of liquor that's been pouring all night. The room is steeped in the bright orange and purple glow from the salt lamps that line the walls, and a thin layer of smoke wafts through the air along with the aroma of a particular medicinal herb as the butt of a joint lays in a marble ashtray with its tip still smoldering. The trio pull their glasses away from each other and take healthy sips before Cat sets hers down on a nearby coaster and swings the arm of her desk-mounted microphone towards her lips.



Conor grins at his childhood friend while Cat simply bats her eyelashes over the rim of her glass, filled generously with red wine.




Cat sets her wine glass down on the table top sharply, the smile fading quickly from her face as she stares a hole through Wesley. Conor stifles a laugh and looks away, trying to avoid eye contact with either party and navigate his way out of the coming storm.

To his credit, Wesley doesn't backpedal. He leans into it and accelerates.

Cat is quiet for a moment, but eventually her stern expression cracks and she giggles softly as her gaze falls to the lush carpeting. Wesley pumps his fist in celebration and relaxes back into his seat, vindicated. Conor just chuckles and stares at Cat from across the table.




Wesley looks across the table at Cat who gives him her best mean-mug and flexes her biceps at him to look intimidating. Wesley thinks over his options, then eventually sighs and nods his head.

They all laugh again, the moment defused as they all collect themselves. Cat takes another sip of her red wine as Conor grabs a bottle of whiskey from the table and refills Wesleys glass, and then his own. He lifts his glass high in a silent toast which the other two follow, then takes a sip. Cat leans in to her microphone once again.


She picks up a small stuffed kitten off her side table and hurls it at him playfully. He catches it and hurls it back at her, bouncing it off her shoulder and harmlessly to the floor.




Conor doesn't say anything. He just shifts uncomfortably in his chair and takes another sip of his whiskey. Cat looks confused, glancing to Wesley for answers.



Conor flips Wesley the middle finger, but doesn't say anything to deny his allegations.




Conor doesn't look at her, but drains the glass of every remaining drop of whiskey and reaches for the bottle.




Nobody says anything. Conor leans forward in his seat, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger. Cat eyes him quietly, taking another sip of her wine as she processes the information. Wesley puts his hands behind his head and interlocks his fingers triumphantly, but quickly leans back into the microphone when he notices the silence.





Cat studies Conor, but it's difficult to read his expression. He doesn't look angry, or embarrassed, or ashamed. He almost looks relieved, as if a burden had been lifted and he could breathe again.




He looks at her, and realizes she's studying everything about him in this moment. His expression, his posture, the direction his eyes wander and the depth of his breaths. His sarcasm is shut down, his charm disabled. There are moments in life where your future, your career, and your relationships can depend on how you answer a single question. He senses this is one of those moments.

He tells her the truth.


Cat doesn't want to judge, and she's not, but she can't help but gasp. She quickly composes herself. He understands, and continues.


He pours more whiskey into his glass, but he doesn't touch it. He sets the glass down on the table and just stares blankly into the amber liquid.


He crosses his arms and lets out a deep breath, his shoulders slumping down in exhaustion, but he suddenly jumps back up into the microphone and continues.


He sits back one final time, defeated and drained of every ounce of energy. Wesley says nothing. Cat says nothing. Finally she manages to lean forward and choke out:


She switches off the power on her recorder and sets down her wine glass, rising from her chair and taking a few steps towards Conor who won't even look at her. She lowers herself to the floor, and slowly wraps her arms around him, burying her head in his chest as he hugs her back. Neither of them can speak.

Wesley leans over and grabs the whiskey, refilling his glass and toasting nobody in particular.


He takes a sip as Conor side eyes him.

FADE TO BLACK