Hi, guys! So, for those of you who don't know, Double or Nothing (my previous story) has been deleted. It just wasn't working, so rather than upload more or try to fix it, I decided to try again with an entirely new story. It's still about twins (that's an idea I really want to explore), but it's not related to that story in any shape or from.
I'm also trying a SLIGHTLY new genre here. It's still predominantly teen fiction (and will include romance!) but this time I'm including a paranormal touch. Don't worry, though: for the most part, the genre will remain teen fiction romance, just with a slightly new spin.
Anyway, enough of me rambling. I'll let you get on and read the first chapter.
I was used to living in a mirror.
Not literally, of course: I hadn’t been trapped in some kind of parallel universe, accessible only through mirrors on each side. That would’ve made the whole thing infinitely more interesting, like the start of a bestselling fantasy novel, or a TV show that’d run at least five seasons. That kind of thing would have potential.
Of all the ways I could think of to describe my life at that particular point, having potential certainly wouldn’t have been one of them.
For anybody who had stood in the doorway to my bedroom more than five years ago, it may have looked like somebody had placed a supersized mirror right down the centre of it. Everything was identical: the beds on opposite sides had matching covers; the dressers and wardrobes had been bought in a set of two; the collection of items on the bedside tables chosen for correspondence. The illusion was the result of my twin sister, Reese, and her bright ideas; at that age, we were still experiencing twin novelty, wanting to establish ourselves as two separate people as little as we could. An identical room had seemed a good place to start, leaving everything else to follow.
Over the years, however, the effect wore off. Through our teenage years, we branched out into different interests, which was soon reflected in the interior design. Reese’s wall became covered in posters of the actors and singers she adored, all Photoshopped into shiny glamour, while mine stayed mostly bare. A stockpile of make-up littered the top of her dresser, but my – much smaller – collection was tidied away inside a drawer. Her side was more often than not a minefield of abandoned shoes, heels and trainers and boots all scattered across the carpet, but I only owned half the amount. Day by day, the mirror effect grew much less noticeable, until it was beginning to resemble just the space of two siblings, with none of the similarity of identical twins.
And when we were eighteen, two months after our birthday, it disappeared completely. All at once.
After it happened, I spent most of my time in the room, often lying flat on my bed, staring up at the ceiling as if this was an occupation in itself. My half looked the same as ever: an unassuming tidiness, spread evenly across the space. The key difference, however, came when I turned my head to the side, sparing a glance for Reese’s section.
Her bed was empty, the covers pulled tight in a way she never would’ve done, not slept in for weeks. The top of the dresser had been cleared, and so had the floor. None of her shoes, or her other scattered belongings, were in sight.
But, then again, neither was she.
There had been a lot of things to know about Reese Washington: more than any person surely should’ve been able to carry with them. I’d often thought that was why she’d needed a twin in the first place, as if that amount of personality couldn’t be contained in a single person. As her identical, sharing everything right down to our DNA, I’d assumed I’d known all there was. However, as it turned out, none of that mattered – not when I didn’t know the biggest thing of all.
YOU ARE READING
“My sister passed away over a month ago. The last time I saw her was yesterday.” When eighteen-year-old Reese Washington dies of an undetected heart defect, she leaves a bucket list behind: ten things, all incomplete, detailing the stuff she never g...