Someday The Waves ✔ *Wattys15 Winner*

Chapter One

Saturday, early June 07

I woke again to the sound that had been slowly testing my patience for the past four weeks. Creeping into my waking moments and reminding me that I was definitely, still not welcome here.

That this was not my home.

It always started as a low hum, building with each passing minute. Intercepted every so often with a loud whack, and a sound described through gritted teeth, like that of a teaspoon knocking against a china cup, over and over.

The culprit that wakes me from my hazy dreams, in my tiny little box room with the wooden bay windows and cheap floral wallpaper is my sister and her demented and infuriating sewing machine. It's old and clunky, with missing dials and a wheezy, spluttering twang and it really didn't give a shit about waking me- much like Poppy.

I glanced at the alarm clock, even though I knew the time. The digits always read the same each morning. Even on Saturdays.

Pulling on a baggy t-shirt, a leftover from an old ex-boyfriend, I made my way out into the hallway. The same scene played out as I hovered by the doorframe, my daily déjà vu greeting me.

My older sister by nine years, was as usual working away on a new project, sat at her white wooden workstation. Her sewing machine the cause for my interrupted sleep and the little metal rivets strewn everywhere the root of my growing headache.

In the brightly lit living room, the 'craft apocalypse' was well and truly underway. Rolls of fabric, paper and wadding cluttered the carpet, ribbons hung from every available hook and the kitchen was covered in bobbles and felt. It was to be another day fishing out tangled threads from my cereal. The joy.

Poppy was too wrapped up in her work to notice me standing there, and she didn't even flinch when I almost impaled myself on a rogue box of knitting needles or when I gently poked her. Not even when I shook her delicate shoulder, her collarbones sharp under the stupid, handmade tea dress she always wore; with the wonky polka dots and uneven hemline that she fashioned during her early attempts at crafting.

"Poppy." I mumbled, but she paid me no attention.

Instead, she continued pushing through the fabric, not lifting her gaze until some of the thread snagged around the metal bobbin.

"Bloody shit!" she yelled loudly, attempting to catch the cartwheeling casing.

"Poppy." I said once more, confident that she would notice me, this time.

When she finally turned around, to meet my eyes that familiar flash of contempt stared right back. It still caught me by surprise, even though it was present in every detail of her face, the tension in her lips, the low brows set in a frown and the flush of annoyance in her svelte cheeks.

Silly me. Stupid enough to believe that there was a possibility that her resentment would fade, and with time, she would come to feel relaxed in my company.

Each morning I had so far, been proved wrong.

"Oh, you're finally awake." Poppy said sarcastically, in her usual tone.

"It's not like I had much choice."

"You sleep all day Scarlett, surely you must be bored of it by now." she snorted as she fumbled with the bobbin, yanking out the threads.

"That's the point though," I offered, batting away scraps of material from the sofa. "I am so bored, that all I can do is sleep."

As expected, my exposed honesty and hopelessness just annoyed her more and so the lecture began. "Well some of us have to work." she replied, gesturing towards the piles of finished greeting cards and little ornaments. "Adults have to keep a roof over their heads, you know some of us can't just decide to up and quit our jobs even if we hate them."