Life After Death

Chapter 1 - Arlo

The world is submerged, underwater, everything. I try to swim towards Mabel, Bella and Zoey, but I seem to be stuck. They're laughing together. They seem dry and warm, while I'm busy sinking under the water.
'Zoey, Bella, Mabel!' I try shout, but my voice comes out as a gurgle. Suddenly a blonde-headed figure comes into view, arm in arm with a tall guy, his hair in spikes. She leans in towards him and I feel a stab of jealousy.
'Senna!' I cry. It's too late. They're both wrapped in the other's arms, kissing passionately. I try and call her name again, but my voice just gurgles. I feel a sinking weight pulling me down ... more down ...

'Arlo! Arlo, wake up!' The sound of my little sister's voice brings me to my senses. What was that dream? I think to myself. I haven't had one like that, since, well ... since Kayla brought Marcus home two years ago.

'Arlo ... what's wrong?' Bella asks, just before she slides out the door.

'I'm fine, Bellsie, really,' I say as she disappears. It's really cute when she gets so concerned. But she wouldn't understand. She was only eleven when Marcus was around, and he would hardly hit a child that young.

But as long as they're over the age of fourteen, hitting is OK. Even if you hit your girlfriend, that's alright with Marcus. Even if you hit your girlfriend's sister, who's at least three years older than you, that's perfectly fine in Marcus' book. He didn't care who he hit, as long as he got sex, which was all he cared about.

It makes me sick to think about it, so I'm glad when my phone pings. At least it's a distraction. I pick it up from my bedside table, seeing the text is from Milo, my best friend. It's about the footie match today, after school.
I should probably get up and start getting ready. I pull my blue-patterned bedspread back as I jump out the bed. I walk out my room and down the long, shadowy passage, and slid into a free seat at the kitchen table.

'Hey,' Mabel greets me, her dark-brown hair piled in a messy bun.

She is such a tomboy. Most of the boys at our school think it's cute. They have an infatuation with her, though.
The one they really "love" is Zoey. Who wouldn't? To use Milo's words, 'Her figure is "perfection" (not that I believe in perfection), she dresses right, she acts right, she's really quite lovely and her charm is top-notch.' Not to mention she's a model for Vogue and Teen Vogue.

She's my fraternal twin. I love her, but I'm not in love with her. Unlike Milo. And Pierce.
Pierce is another friend, who I actually became close to due to his relationship with Zoey. In his own right Pierce is a celebrity. On Instagram, he has over seven million followers. Zoey has about sixteen million-something.

I have around the same amount. Because I'm also a model. But I hate it. I hate being fawned over. I hate imagining two eight-year-old girls looking at my picture in Vogue, and saying, 'One day, I'll have a guy just like Arlo Adams!' It makes me sick.

And it causes Mum to break down almost everyday, because she can't get Mabel to Track while carting Zoey and I to every shoot under the sun.

'Arlo, you excited for today's shoot?' Zoey asks, taking a sip from her iced latté. Damn. I forgot.

'Not really,' I mutter. I guess I'll just have to miss out on footie today. Sigh. When you're a model, you also end up missing out on your social life. It sucks. It properly, properly sucks.