The Cascading Waves of Caden Lee

19

CADEN LEE

Waking up, I feel worse than I ever have before. And not in the 'i-am-not-here' way, but the 'if I don't bolt to the toilet right now I'll vomit on my bed sheets' kinda way.

So I do, stumbling out of the sheets caging my legs, almost tripping when my foot gets caught in them. But I make it, kneeling down clumsily with speed I never knew I had and spewing away the nights regrets. I grip the chilled porcelain, clench my eyes tightly shut as everything I've said I'd never do again floods into the toilet bowl.

I don't realize I'm not alone until I hear a groggy, "you okay?" from behind me. Eyes snapping open, I turn my head towards the bathroom entrance and spot a familiar face peeking out from the doorway. What. The. Fuck.

Scarlett's brows are furrowed, stumbling inside when I don't respond. She must see my questioning gaze, because she rummages through my sink drawers and says, "I'm sorry if you don't want me here, you were really out of it last night and I wasn't sure whether to leave you alone. May choke on your vomit or something, I don't know."

Pulling out a hair elastic, which must be Jessie's because I don't think I've ever bought those, she leans down next to me as she gathers the hair falling into my face and ties it together with the rubber-band.

I don't have time to dwell on that, however, because before I know it another wave of nausea hits me and I'm gagging into the toilet bowl once more.

I feel gentle hands rubbing my back, murmured reassurances leaving her lips, and a feeling of embarrassment so strong floods over me and makes me want to dissolve into a million microscopic pieces.

Eventually, I lean back against the bathtub, cold and clammy, and she asks, "have too much to drink?"

I nod, and the voice inside my head whispers, almost tauntingly, Liar, but I ignore it in favor of resting my cheek against the soothing surface of the bathtub. I don't say how I awoke the same exact way after the last party. Where I swallowed those white, round pills for the very first time.

She nods sympathetically, sliding down against the wall next to me.

"Did you not?"

"Not what?"

"Drink," I whisper, "was wondering how we got back here."

"Oh," she nods, "I did, but only a drink or two. Not enough to be dangerous or anything, I promise." She seems to glance at me in search of reassurance, and when I nod understandably she continues with her eyes locked onto the bathroom floor, "I drove us here. I can take you back there later today to get your car, if you want."

"Yeah," I stumble upwards with the crack of my bones, "that would be nice." I reach down to help her up unconsciously before I can register my actions, and when she takes her hand in mine and pulls herself up, I practically bolt out of the bathroom before she can see the pink of my cheeks and the shake in my hands.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Walking down the stairs, I breathe a sigh of relief as I notice Jessie's still at her sleepover. Mom must be out somewhere, cause the fur coat usually hanging from our coat rack is nowhere to be seen.

"Want breakfast?" I ask, making my way to the kitchen and glancing back to check if she's still following me. She is.

"Sure, if you don't mind."

I'd do anything for you, I say, but it comes out as a noncommittal hum. I can't decide whether I'm glad or not. Even if that sentence makes me sound like a certified psychopath. She plops down onto the barstools surrounding our kitchen island, and I make my way to the stove as I pull a frying pan out of a cabinet.

"Eggs okay?" I ask, and she nods with a smile gracing her features as I pull open the fridge door. I notice we have an unopened package of bacon sitting there, so I take it out and hold it up questioningly. "Ooh, yeah," she hums, seeming to sit up straighter in her seat at the thought of it.

I rip open the package with a knife and layer tin-foil onto a baking sheet, spreading each strip of bacon out evenly onto it. I pre-heat the oven and opening up the carton of eggs, I ask, "Scrambled or fried?" without so much as a look back.

"Whichever you'd like," she answers, but I shake my head and turn towards her direction, "but what would you like?"

"Oh, uhm," she blinks her eyes repeatedly and dips her head down, "fried would be nice, thanks."

I nod, cracking two eggs onto the sizzling pan and grabbing a spatula from the drawer. The oven beeps as the egg sizzles noisily, and I put the pan into the oven for it to cook; setting the timer to 15 minutes.

The process goes smoothly from there, and when I'm setting her plate down in front of her and taking a seat myself, she grins and says, "didn't know you could cook."

"I'm practically a chef." Shoveling a bite of egg into my mouth, I nearly groan in relief as the food fills my nauseated, empty stomach. I needed this.

"I can tell," Scarlett takes a bite of her bacon and quickly scoops some runny egg into her mouth, "hey, this is actually really good. I cant cook for shit."

"Really?" I ask, "who cooks in your family then?" Her body stills, a weird glaze forming over her eyes before she shakes her head dismissively and avoids my gaze. "My mom, if she's home. When she's not I just order takeout or make some boxed mac n' cheese. Sometimes I even burn that." She finishes with huffed laughter.

"Well," I start, "I could teach you, if you'd like."

"Oh, no, no, you don't have to do that. I don't wanna take up your time-" I cut her off, leaning forward to look her in the eyes, "no, seriously, it's no big deal. I'm no professional but I know enough for the basics."

She's hesitant. Eyes flickering between me and the countertop. But when she finishes her final strip of bacon she seems to come to a decision and rests her knees onto the countertop. "Well, if you say so, but I make no promises I won't burn your house down."

Laughing, I nod and say I'll text her when I have the time to teach her; gathering up our dishes and rinsing them off with a sponge. Placing them parallel in the dishwasher.

Later, she drives me to Lea's house to pick up my Jeep, and when we pull up if I see her eyes flicker towards my lips momentarily I don't say a thing. Instead, I smile and thank her, shutting the car door and heading over to my own car.

I get home, to my bedroom, and if my eyes seem to flicker towards my sock drawer, where a forbidden bottle of pills hides, longer than necessary I don't think anything of it.

I'm not like that. I won't be like that. I won't let myself.