AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Knocking, I hear a muffled, “What?”
“Cleo, I’m not mad. I ordered food so we can talk,” I speak calmly, trying to get her to open the door.
“I don’t believe you,” she mutters loud enough for me to hear.
“Well, it’s either you come out or you stay inside my room. When you are, in fact, hungry.”
“Ughh.” Cleo groans behind the door, her steps getting closer, which leads to the sound of my door unlocking and my disheveled sister appearing in all her glory. I smile at her softly in response. Her eyes are puffy as her hair moves in different directions. Glancing behind her, I see my bed unmade. She must have tried to sleep.
“Come on, the food will be here in a bit.” I grab her hand and lead her down the small hallway and into the kitchen. Chanel follows behind us.
Sliding the barstool out from underneath the kitchen island, Cleo sits down. Moving toward the other side, I open the fridge to pour her a cold glass of water.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, sliding the glass in her direction.
She snorts in response. “Are you okay?” Cleo’s tone is mocking. “The question that everyone wants an answer to.”
“I’m serious, Cleo.”
“And I’m serious, Vio. You’re only asking me that because you know I’m not okay. So there is no point in asking,” she says before taking a drink of her water.
“So we are going to play this game.” I sigh, making direct eye contact with her. “You come to my apartment stoned. I’m guessing thatMamá y Papágot into a fight. You’re not getting out of bed half the day and now you’re deflecting.” I practically yell at her with the frustration I’m feeling.
“Would you have preferred me to go home, where our precious parents wouldn’t give a shit about whether I was high or not?” she shouts back. “And I am not deflecting. You don’t live with us anymore, so how do you know I’m not getting out of b—” She pauses, thinking before turning to her twin. “Pinche vieja. Te voy a matar cuando estás dormida.”She directs her anger at Chanel.
In Chanel fashion, her face is still unaffected by our sister’s anger.
“Don’t talk or look at me like that. She would have found out sooner or later,” Chanel replies with a look that most would consider emotionless. But it has more emotion than people realize.
Even though Chanel and Cleo are twins. They could never be more polar opposites.
Chanel is the unaffected one with little to no emotion, while Cleo is the twin with too many feelings. People think Chanel is not very nice, while Cleo is the one with all the friends.
I’m in the middle. Being the older sister helps me balance them out. But even so, the unbalance will always exist.
From outer appearance, their faces might be identical, but their styles are completely different.
Chanel is all about designer and basic tones. Her favorites are peach pink, white, or beige. She wouldn’t be caught dead wearing black or anything that she considers tacky.
On the other hand, Cleo is all about neon colors. Her shoes are painted bright tones or encrusted with multicolored fluorescent rhinestones. She wears cheap brands so she can rip fabric and make it her own.
Chanel thinks Cleo is tacky and Cleo thinks Chanel is too basic.
Chanel’s room is too clean, while Cleo’s room is too messy.
One has their life together while the other does not.
It’s an ongoing cycle, one they fight about constantly. But at the end of the day, they are each other’s soulmates. No one could ever connect with them the way they connect with each other. It’s a marvelous sight.
Twin flames,literally.
“Okay, Cleo, let’s not kill our sister in her sleep. After all, we know she most likely has a step-by-step in her planner to counteract your plan,” I tell her with a snort.
“Damn right I do,” Chanel says with a quirk of her eyebrow.
“Chanel could get away with murder. It’s scary,” I whisper in Cleo’s ear. Her eyes roll in response. “Moving on,” I say, taking the topic away from them strangling each other. “Where do you get your weed anyway?” I question.
“You think I would just reveal my supplier for you to take it away?” Cleo says with her arms crossed, leaning onto the back support of the barstool.
