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01. 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒐𝒔

 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒐𝒔

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"RILEY!"

Shit.

It's bright as day out, yet the teenager pays no mind to it. She's been happily sleeping in her bed, which surrounds her with a warm and fuzzy blanket.

She wants to stay there, instead of having to get up and do her chores.

It's Saturday, a designated chores day. Well, at least until later that evening for dinner.

She hates it, even though it's not too much. She's just got to dust the apartment, switch and change all the laundry, clean and organize her bathroom, put away the dishes, and vaccum her room, which is carpeted.

She knows it's only going to take less than an hour, if she is quick with it anyways, but she still doesn't want to get out of bed. I mean, she's got to actually get up and out of bed and do things, when she could really just be laying in bed and relaxing all day.

"Riley, you up yet?" Her mother calls from the living room, making her child groan.

Ok, now she has to get up. The last thing Riley would want is an irritated Hanna for the rest of the day. She sits up in bed, her hair tangled and sticking out everywhere, rubbing her eyes to try and wipe the sleep away.

She leans over, her hand wildly reaching for her water bottle on her night stand, her throat practically parched. She takes a few gulps of the fresh water, and then sighs.

"Yeah, I'm up," Riley shouts roughly, her voice low and groggy. She hears her Mom's laughter from down the hall at her tone.

"You want some coffee or something? You sound like Godzilla there," Riley rolls her eyes at this comment, already irritated that she has to get up and not sleep in on a Saturday.

"No. I fucking hate coffee," the teen mumbles, forcing herself to roll out of bed. She stands and stretches, feeling immediately better - physically - afterwards.

"What was that?" Hanna yells playfully, and Riley throws her arms up in the air.

How can she hear that, but not my multiple yells when I call her from a singular room away? Riley thinks to herself, her irritation already turning into its normal angry nature.

"I didn't say anything Mom," Riley shouts back, just trying to shake off her bad mood, trying to make her day a little bit easier for herself.

She stumbles over to her saucer shaped chair, and grabs her clothes she put out last night on it. She gets dressed in just some sweatpants, a grey "I-Love-Dog's-It's-Human's-That-Annoy-Me" t-shirt (one of her personal favorites), and a blue flannel.

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