Cloud 69

10:

"Are you a fucking idiot?" He practically spat at me, with a voice that was way too loud, considering my current state. It made my head pound. I focused on his face as I waited for the ache to ease up. His jaw was tight, his eyes were wide, and his brows were lowered. Even the little vein in his neck was poking out.

"Shh," I hushed. "Let's bring it down a few notches."

He completely ignored my request and continued on in the same, loud pitch. "How much of a thick-headed moron do you have to be to do something so insanely stupid?"

"You're going to have to be more specific," I responded. I do a lot of insanely stupid things on a regular basis. It comes with being friends with Jason. 

"Do you have any idea how worried everyone was trying to find you last night? We couldn't find you anywhere! I came to see if you somehow ended up here, only to have Grey knock on the door ten minutes later with you passed out in his arms!"

I groaned and took a seat on the edge of my bed. It was taking too much energy to continue standing while being yelled at. "Okay, I'm sorry. It's not like I planned to-"

"To what?" He interrupted. "Get plastered and then not tell your friends where you were? You could've been dead and none of us would have known!"

I rolled my eyes, "Oh, like you would care if I was dead."

This seemed to enrage him even further. Honestly, I didn't see why he, out of all people, was so upset. Usually, it's Dylan giving me these scolding sessions. It was weird coming from Carson, mostly since he literally hates me.

He took a sharp inhale. "Here," Carson said through gritted teeth. He held out a glass of water and a bottle of Advil.

I snatched it from his hands with a glare and the same amount of vulgarity he was giving me. If he wanted to play this game, fine then, I'd play along. I couldn't understand why he was being so dramatic. From where I was coming from, this was the course of events:

My phone died. I was drunk. I found someone I knew and trusted. They brought me home. Now, I'm hungover and the person who probably cared the least about my whereabouts last night was currently yelling at me. 

"You have five minutes, by the way," he said as he headed for the door.

"Five minutes until what?"

"Until we leave for the hospital," he responded, glancing at his watch. "We're meeting your parents for lunch."

My eyes went wide as he slammed the door shut behind him. I had completely forgotten that we were supposed to meet my parents for lunch today. There wasn't enough Advil in the world that could help get me through it successfully, especially with Carson so rampant.

I closed my eyes, partially to soothe the burning ache of having them open, and partially to try and visualize what Carson had been wearing when he was in here yelling at me. If I remember correctly, which I probably didn't, he wore a neat pair of brown jeans and a white t-shirt.

I decided, in the long run, it really couldn't matter all that much, and dressed in the first thing that I could pull out of my closet. It turned out to be a white, cropped sweater paired with light-washed mom jeans embroidered with butterflies. It wasn't my finest hour for fashion, but pretty decent for the mind fog that my hangover had induced.

Considering I was already running late, I skipped out on makeup and settled on using my hand to brush out my hair as I stumbled down the stairs.

I hopped into Carson's car, precisely at the five minute mark, and buckled myself in. He rolled his eyes at me before starting to drive.