Secrets Upon Secrets

15 - Carter Asher

"Ahhg," Riley groaned, "Someone turn that off," she complained.

It's interesting. You can never tell that she's been drunk until the next day.

(It's also really funny when she slurs her words. Her accent gets really heavy then.)

I rolled over and groaned myself as my head throbbed in pain from the movement.

I felt around from my phone.

I didn't think there were any alarms set... I mentally grumbled.

I tried to dismiss the alarm but it kept ringing.

I lifted the phone so I could see it.

Bl-Blanche? Who is- I wondered but then realized. Oh right...

Somehow, while intoxicated last night I'd somehow gotten her number and given her mine.

"H-hello?" I asked, my voice rough and dry. (I sounded somewhat more mature than normal.)

"Carter?" She asked, her voice chipper.

"Yeah?" I confirmed.

There was a pause and then she continued, "Just checking in," she explained, "You were pretty all over the place last night," she mentioned.

I blushed. Memories of my shameless flirting filled my head. (I was very glad that she couldn't see me right then.)

"Yeah," I said, itching the back of my neck, "You could say that," I awkwardly laughed.

Riley groaned from her pile of blankets across the room, "Stfu," she cursed, (saying the words rather than the acronym, well more like shouting it but still). "You're f-ing yammering is frying my fluffing brain," she complained, dramatically covering her ears.

"Ugg," I commented, "One second," I told Blanche.

I stood up and walked (read stumbled) to the kitchen.

"Was that your friend?" Blanche asked, sounding somewhat skeptical.

"Yeah," I told her, "We all ended up crashing in Ezra's room," I explained.

"Oh I see," she said, her tone changing greatly upon the new info. (Though I didn't really notice at the time, I was still waking up.)

We talked for a bit, while I was waking up, and as I was saying goodbye Riley stumbled out of the room.

"Gmornig," Riley slurred as she plopped into a stool at the counter near me.

"Mornin," I greeted.

She folded her hands on the counter top and buried her face in her arms.

"Do we even have anything good right now?" she grumbled, talking about food.

I copied her and rested my head on my arm.

I sighed.

"Depends," I started, "Do you count margarita mix and chezits as something for breakfast?"

She groaned again.

"Ugg, you've got to be kidding me," she complained, "Why didn't we prepare for this?" she asked the universe.

"Here," I handed her a glass of water. (I'd gotten a few earlier while on the phone.)

She looked up at me and said nothing, then proceeded to chug the entire sixteen ounce glass in under fifteen seconds.

"Thanks," she gasped, wiping off her face.

I nodded.

"I vote," she declared, sitting up for a moment, "We order in breakfast,"