𝚂𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚖 𝚒𝚜 𝙼𝚢 𝙱𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 (Complete)

𝙱𝚊𝚍 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝙻𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐

I stretch my arms towards the ceiling but refuse to open my eyes to the searing light streaming through my bedroom window.

Something woke me up.

I know it did.

Starting my morning without my consent makes me cranky.

And you don't want to see me cranky.

Ｃｒａｎｋｙ

𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬; 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝

Ｃｒａｎｋｙ

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 (𝐚 𝐧𝐚𝐩 𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝)

A loud ding sounds from my bedside and my head jerks to it. My eyes immediately notice the line of notifications lining my iPhone screen. I groan and fall back onto my pillow.

Today is the day.

Today is Lucas' big concert.

It almost feels like half the city will be there—luckily that isn't the case.

I hope.

I'm nervous and I'm not even the one going on stage.

I blindly reach over to grab my phone but end up pushing it over the side of the nightstand.

What a great way to start this fantastically long and glorious day.

Sarcastic replies to whoever is texting me this early in the morning are forming rapidly in my mind as I roll over and reach my hand towards the floor. My fingernails just barely graze the case so I reach a bit farther and just grasp the corners. I'm about to turn it over when I suddenly slip from my sheets and tumble to the hard floor with a thump.

"Thanks for fully waking me up gravity," I say as I rub my sore back. I remember my phone and reach underneath me to fish it out, but it's not under my back. My eyes catch a small glimmer from beneath my bed, and I turn my head in its direction.

There is my phone. It's resting in the middle of the space underneath my bed without a care in the world. "So do you think this is a joke?" I ask my phone. "Well, it's not funny."

I scoot over until I'm half under the bed and reach my fingers forward, but they come just short. "Please tell me I'm just dreaming," I mumble as I inch further under the bed. I'm too focused on my fingers growing closer to my phone that I don't notice where my forehead is going. Suddenly it bumps against the side of my bed, and I cry out in pain. My legs automatically fly into a fetal position so I can cradle my injured head. On the way, my legs hit my phone and it skitters even further away. Since my bed is up against the wall, I can't retrieve it from the other side.

"Glorious shish kebabs," I swear underneath my breath.

———————

"Morning," I mumble as I walk down the stairs in my pajamas, sniffing the smell of pancakes and following them to the kitchen. "Oh, hey, Lucas." I give a big yawn. "You won't believe the morning I've had."

"'Morning, Paris," Lucas replies with a grin. "How are you this fine morning?"

Apparently, my fall didn't wake me up quite enough, because I'm still too tired to fully register Lucas' presence. "Well, terrible," I admit. "After chasing my phone for like thirty minutes, I went into the bathroom, brushed my teeth with soap instead of toothpaste, found an unflushed toilet that had been used by someone who needs serious help, got only cold water in my shower, completely forgot my towel, stepped on random legos that appeared out of nowhere since I know none of us play with them—"