cascade // hs au

01

"GOOD MORNING MY BEAUTIFUL BITCH OF A BEST FRIEND, GET YOUR SWEET ASS UP!"

The loud cacophony of vocal cords, paper bags rustling, and keys jingling echo throughout my quiet home, drenched in the morning sunlight. The covers softly engulfing my body, extremely comparable with fluffy clouds, swallow me whole in my sleepy haze. The leftover glimpses of dreams from an unrestful slumber wisping away with the breeze from my overhead fan. The unmistakable clatter from my best friend clambering into my home in the early morning is what drags me out of my visit with subconsciousness.

"Good morning to you too, Jen. What do I owe this pleasure?" Slowly traipsing into my clean kitchen, eventually finding my best friend already making himself a cup of coffee. Sitting on the counter beside him, I observe his actions, seeming to blur by me because of my hazy mind. He walks around the kitchen; swiping silverware from drawers, grabbing coffee creamer from the refrigerator, opening my kitchen window, and grabbing a mug from the overhead cabinets. I notice the familiar paper bags exuding scents so delicious that I practically salivate at the thought of warm strawberry french toast with warm maple syrup, fresh cut fruit, and cold orange juice. I watch as his hands work in sped up sequences-arranging food, setting coffee into my own two hands– suddenly brought back to reality, feeling a hand on my knee.

"I have been trying to get a hold of your bitch ass for three hours. What happened last night?" With concern written all over his features, I know how scared he must have been today, especially when I didn't pick up immediately like usual.

Truth be told, my ex-boyfriend showed up last night at my agency to harass me into meeting him again, for some sort of annoying, repetitive conversation that will leave both of us in worse moods than we began with. His attempts were unsuccessful in earning another conversation, but the opposite in annoying the daylights out of me. I crawled up with a tub of coffee flavored ice cream, a warm blanket, and the sounds of televised and recorded comfort the second I stepped in the door last night. Switching on Friends has become almost instinctual at this point, seeming how I've seen the show over two times all the way through, this year. It's June. Looking over to the cozy living room, I see my leftover ice cream tub, the crumpled mess of blankets halfway off the couch, and the blinds open, allowing the sun to kiss me good morning - exactly how I like it.

"I had a rough night last night, don't even know how I woke up in bed, and not the floor." Pointing over to the living room, Jen also sees the mess of blankets and leftover treats sitting alone in the space. He knows that is the immediate reaction to an interaction with my ex-boyfriend, as it's happened before. Sipping on my warm coffee, I taste the distinctive velvets of caramel and ribbons of vanilla. A wave of relaxation and security washes over me as I thank my best friend. That is until- "YOU BITCH!!!! THAT WAS MY EXPENSIVE SHIT."

"HEY, DON'T YOU DARE YELL AT ME, MISSY! I deem this necessary for expensive ass creamer and comfort food. Deal with it." Jen sticks his tongue out at me and waves a pointed finger in my direction. His icy blue eyes and mop of chocolate curls shine with an ethereal glow this morning, probably because of the food and coffee he's been so gracious to provide us with.

"Fine, but only because I agree. Otherwise, you would be responsible for the bitchy mood...so, yeah I don't blame you. Anyway, I'm fine, thank you for worrying, but I promise it's nothing I can't handle. What is the plan for today?" Finishing my coffee, I slink down from the counter and glide over to the drool-worthy food spread sitting on my countertops. Biting into a piece of french toast covered in strawberry jam, maple syrup, and whipped cream, a satisfied hum barrels out of my throat and causes my best friend to chuckle quietly behind me.

"You have an artistry shoot at 12, be there by 11:30, and I have a sweet date with the devil."

Gates of Hell is a prestigious bar downtown that exudes richness, the same one Jen works at four nights a week. His love-hate relationship with the bar spans years. As far as I know, the owners have ripped Jen off more than once, but also gave him exactly what he wanted – a pay raise, work partner, extra days off, anything. As odd as it sounds, it's our go-to spot for evenings out, mostly because it's the only bar Jen trusts in this city, one with zero tolerance for anything fishy. I've seen my fair share of security throwing out customers due to drugging or bar fights.