Lost Hope

Chapter One

The room echoes with a loud scream as I sit abruptly in my bed and place a hand over my heavy chest. Sweat forms on my forehead as I glance around the room, checking to make sure I'm back in reality.

Lana stares at me from the poster beside my bed, soft fabric is felt between my fingers as I caress the grey duvet, Lola's pink fairy lights illuminate the area around me.

I'm awake. I'm safe.

I glance over at my twin sister who is laid on her bed in the opposite side of the room. Her head rests against the pillow, but her eyes are open and examining me. If it weren't for her fairy lights, I would've assume she was sleeping.

"You okay?" her whisper travels to me in the darkness, helping to calm me down.

I nod my head, even though I feel far from fine. That nightmare felt too real. They always do.

I'm too deep in thought to realise that Lola has traveled over to my bed and crept in the other side where she chucks down her pillow.

"I'm not a baby," I tell her, but deep down I actually feel safer by her presence.

"Stop acting like one then," she huffs. I can just about see the way she rolls her eyes before she lays down in bed and closes them.

Copying her actions, I rest my sweaty head back down on the pillow below me, unaware that Lola's feet are almost touching my face. I make a grimaced expression and turn away from them, but refuse to make a complaint because I know that Lola is only trying to help.

We have a love-hate relationship, just like most siblings do. We bicker and argue and complain about the other with every chance we get, but we would do anything for each other. Anything.

* * *

When numerous letters are posted through the letter box, I continue to eat my fruit salad and simply stare down at where the papers lay on the floor. I can already see the postcard, but I feel no desire to read it. It's always the same: Hope you're doing well, we miss you loads, sending hugs, love mum and dad.

Lola races down the stairs, dressed and ready for sixth form. She speeds towards the post with her toothbrush hanging out her mouth.

I impale the fruit in my bowl with my spoon and don't even bother to ask Lola what the postcard from our parents say.

She decides to tell me anyway.

"Their painting got bought at the gallery. The one of the girl in the wind? Remember?"

I hum and nod my head, pretending to be somewhat interested.

"They made a fortune," she continues. "And they send their love. They'll be home by next week."

"Sweet."

"You could at least pretend to be happy about that," Lola sighs, shooting me a disappointed frown.

"There's no guarantee that they'll actually come home on time. They're always staying longer than they need to. I just don't see the point in getting my hopes up."

"Morbid much?"

"It's not morbid, Lola. It's called being realistic."

A piece of strawberry is stolen from my bowl by my sister who grins slyly.

"Be grateful. They're only trying to support us."

I smile and raise my eyebrows. "Never said I wasn't grateful."

"Act like it then." She checks the time on her phone and smiles to herself, trying hard to contain it. "Ryan's here. Are you riding your motorbike to school?"