The Cascading Waves of Caden Lee

12

CADEN LEE

I can feel the pounding headache before it hits me. Thump. Thump. Thump. Gritting my teeth, I hesitantly flutter open my eyes to see...Where am I? I panic, shooting out of the bed I was previously resting on and look around frantically, trying to find some sort of clue that can tell me where I am. Or why I woke up here.

My eyes catch onto a shelf filled with various photos and trophies, one singular wooden drama holds the centerpiece photo steady, taking the attention rather than the simple Polaroids lining the walls behind it.

I inch towards it, stopping a few paces away so I can inspect the photo closer. It looks to be a happy, white-picket family. A smiling, brunette woman in a black sundress stands amidst the crashing waves, a pre-teen boy grinning wide next to her. He has a tooth missing. Oh! Is that Scarlett? I lean closer.

It is. Backing away a bit, I have an epiphany, am I in Scarlett's room?

The door opens. "Oh...hey, I didn't really expect you to be up." She mutters, scratching her arm awkwardly as she locks eyes with my tense, standing form.

I nod, "Uhm, yeah, me neither." I only realize how stupid that sounds aloud as she raises an eyebrow in question. Deciding not to dwell on it, she hums a quiet tune as she pulls in what looks to be a rollable cart with some sort of breakfast plate.

My eyes widen, blinking repeatedly as I try to process the cart filled with pastries and savory breakfast foods. "How rich are you?" I voice aloud, eyeing the food warily as if it might bite me. Or infect me. With food that perfect, I wouldn't doubt it.

"My mom would say we're 'comfortable' she chuckles lightly, forming air quotes around the word and grabbing a chocolate-filled croissant. "You hungry? I got us tons of food since I assumed you'd be nursing a badass hangover."

I nod, "Mhm." And grab a candied, crispy piece of bacon. "Are you just a really good cook or did someone else make this?" I ask, chewing on the bacon thoughtfully and avoiding all eye contact with her.

"My chef's made this." Oh my god. If my eyes could be bulging out of my skull, they would be. "Chef's?!" I voice aloud, my astonishment clear in my tone. I didn't know people actually had casual Chef's at their house.

She snorts, raising her eyebrows at me before taking another bite of her croissant, "Yeah, one of the only things I like about this house."

Now that peaks my interest. "Why don't you like it? This place is a money-magnet!" Who wouldn't want to live here? Is she crazy?

Picking at a stray hangnail on her thumb, she responds with a simple shrug before chewing the last piece of her chocolate pastry. "Now, do you remember why you're here?"

I try to remember last night. Something. Anything. "Nope."

"Okay, well, it's a long story and I'll spare you the details but...look, this sounds weird, but you were super drunk and I didn't want to just leave you there!" She rambles, barely getting a minute to catch her breath before speaking once more, "and so you ended up here. I can totally explain this all to your parents or whoever if you want?"

I check my phone. No notifications. A pang wracks my heart but I ignore it. "No, Scarlett, you're fine. I shouldn't have gotten that drunk anyways." I mutter, placing my phone back down onto the fitted sheet dejectedly. Did no one think to check up on me?

Noticing my loss of enthusiasm she furrows her brow, "Okay, and Uhm," her words are spoken with an anxious twinge to them, her teeth gnawing lightly on her rosy bottom lip. "I was going to change you out of your clothes, but I didn't really want to overstep anything so.." she trails off, leading me to glance down upon my vomit-stained shirt.

"Right," I laugh. "You're all good, frankly, I feel bad for how close you are to me right now. I just know this shit stinks."

"Eh, I'm used to it." She's back on her feet again, "want me to show you the bathroom?"

"For the best, probably." I agree, stumbling after her like a lost baby calf. Thump. Thump. Thump. "Hey, do you have any Advil?" I ask, reaching to massage my temple as she opens the bathroom door.

"It'll be in the cabinet above the sink," she reaffirms, then points to the fluffy towel hanging from a towel rack, "use this to dry yourself off afterwards, okay?" I nod, not knowing what else to do as she turns the shower dial on and turns to me.

"Oh, and Cade?" She makes her way to the door, her back facing me as I curiously eye her, "Yeah?"

"Some light weight, are you?" She smirks, closing the door behind her shortly after and leaving me time to process what she just said. 'Light Weight'? I'm no light weight. Never have been, never will.

Murmuring to myself, I shrug it off and strip from my clothing. She must not know what she's talking about to call me that. Anyone who knows me knows I'm typically pretty composed when I drink.

The warm water droplets soak my back almost immediately as I step in, steam plummeting out of the glass shower door. Even her shower is fancy. After letting myself adjust, I pump floral shampoo into my palm. It must be Scarlett's, but I don't mind. It actually smells kinda nice.

The shampoo foams in my hair as I rub my fingers along my wet scalp. The scent of flowers envelope my senses, and it is only then that I spot floral body wash, too. Damn, she must really love flowers.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Oh, god. Why didn't I take the ibuprofen before I got in here? I had totally forgot about my little crisis. Forced to rush with the weight of my headache controlling me, I quickly scrub the soap into my body with a hand towel and rinse. I'll wash my face in the sink.

The dial squeaks as I twist it off, water coming to a halt and instead leaving the rest to drip into the shower drain. Once a towel is secured around my waist is when I begin to scrimmage through the medicine cabinet. "Advil, Advil, Advil..." I mutter to myself, internally repeating the mantra in hopes of it appearing.

My hand grips a bottle. I pull it out. Percocet. The bottle drops to the floor. Holy Shit. I've heard of those, these are the good kind, aren't they? Suddenly eager to get a good look at the orange bottle, I pick it up off the floor and inspect it closer.

Savanna Parker, Huh...Is this Scarlett's Mom's? My breath halts. Should I do this? My eyes flicker towards the closed door, and I shake it a few times, enough to hear it rattle. It's locked. Okay. I let out a deep breath, glancing back towards the cap and lightly twisting it off. Let's see how many are in here...

Staring at the white pills filling the colorful plastic tin, I have a debate with myself. I think of the weed stashed in my room, and the limited amount of cash in my wallet, and I make a decision I can only hope I won't come to regret. I tilt the bottle slightly, and a few pills scatter onto my palm. Plain, white, boring and utterly amazing.

Or so I've heard.

Only a few pills don't seem to satisfy me enough, so I twist the bottle around to get a good look on the printed date. A few months ago. Well, surely no one would notice if one bottle went missing, would they?

It doesn't take much longer for me to seal the cap once more and grip the bottle in my clammy hands. It rattles when I move, several pills scattering about against the surface of the bottle. It's what could easily give me away, so I quickly stuff a wad of toilet paper into the compact space in an attempt to muffle the sound.

I shake it experimentally a few times, straining to hear if the rattling of pills is noticeable. It's not perfect, but it's enough. Tucking the bottle on the inside folds of my bath towel, I make my way towards the door. Wait. I halt in my steps. I'm forgetting something. Or am I just being paranoid?

No. My eyes catch onto the bottle of ibuprofen sitting among the many other medications. And I toss two in my mouth on the way out of the bathroom, washing it down with a sip of water.