Damaged Beyond Compare

Chapter 1: Love Ya Like a Sis

A/N: Hey guys! this is the first story i've posted on here, so i hope you like it. i won't keep you waiting. go on, now! read to your hearts content!

P.S. I know some of you must be wondering about the title, because usually the phrase is "damaged beyond repair." but trust me, there is a reason for this. I promise! keep reading to find out.

PLEASE COMMENT!!!!

Love Always,

-Xein

Chapter 1: love ya like a sis

               The bright pink eraser on my dull number two pencil was practically gone, reduced to a nub of its former self from erasing the words written inside my notebook. I could never again write in pen, since my thoughts on my writing constantly changed, varying by the seconds. But it seemed writing was the only way to escape at all now. That, and spending time with my Siamese kitten, Tinker.

                I wrote another line, then erased half of it. I sighed to myself, knowing that this story was going nowhere but down the toilet. I looked  at my large, bold, pronounced hand writing and closed my notebook.  I sighed again, then looked around my small room for what seemed the millionth time today. First my eyes landed on my white and black shag rug. Then I moved my eyes to my too-large-for-this-room dresser. Next I took in the chipping cherry wood door to my tiny closet. I tugged my eyes away to look at my lime green comforter and the fur hot pink, orange, and teal pillows. My eyes darted  between the two windows parallel to each other, taking in the dingy too-long lavender-blue curtains. My eyes drifted to the mahogany wood desk I was sitting at on a burgundy butterfly chair. Atop the desk sat a bright purple desk lamp, an automatic pencil sharpener, a cluster of number two pencils with one pencil lying next to it that was checkered black and red, and my mother's wedding ring resting in a blue velvet box. Finally, my eyes rested on the old, beat-up black Converse sitting next to the door frame.

                Fifteen years this room had belonged to me. Before The Accident, it had belonged to my sister, Riley. Same furniture and everything. But ever since The Accident, there had been an empty room, since my crib used to sit in the dining room of our small house. So Riley moved into the empty room, allowing me to have this room. Riley kept the old furniture in that room, and I don’t know how she could deal with seeing it every day.

              Our parents died a few months after I was born. They say it was a car crash. Riley had been thirteen then. Riley had always looked quite a bit old for her age, so she took up a job at Wal-Mart saying she was fifteen to keep me and her afloat. Riley and I didn’t have any relatives except our Aunt Delilah who was too old to take care of herself. Of course Riley and I took it upon ourselves to take her in. She died five years later. Since Riley was now a legal adult, we didn’t have to worry about being split up in an orphanage. But we were still known as “poor little Aella and Riley whose parents died when they were only children." Still, Riley has always been the only mother I’ve ever had. She does her best, and her best is enough. I love her, and she loves me.

               My name, Aella (pronounced Ai-lah), had always seemed really cool when I was younger.  The name Aella comes from the Greek and Latin variant form of the Greek Aello. It means storm wind; whirlwind.  In Greek mythology, it’s the name of an Amazon warrior, killed by Herakles. Aella/Aello was known to wield a double axe. Still seems pretty neat to me. Riley takes the “luh” part and turned it into more of a “la” by calling me Lala.

            I kind of like Riley’s name. It sounds pretty, it suits her, and I think the meaning is awesome. Pronounced RY-lee. It is of Irish and Gaelic origin, and its meaning is "courageous". Variant of O'Reilly. Riley has been through so much in her years. Dealing with her parents dying (I know they were mine too, but I never knew them. She was attached) , raising a baby as well as an elderly woman at the age of thirteen, going through the death of her last family member besides me, and then to continue raising me, I think the least that you can do is call her courageous.

         Riley and I had a striking facial resemblance. Same large almond-shaped eyes rimmed with thick, dark lashes. The round beauty mark claiming both our left cheeks. The arched eye brows that were a few shades darker than our hair. The shape of our faces a mix between a heart and an oval shape, both paler than average people.  Our lips so full and red models would kill to get them.  A hint of pure natural beauty on both of us. And that’s where the resemblance stopped. I had ringlet curly, strawberry blonde, naturally high-lighted, elbow-length hair.  Riley had waist length  wavy deep brown hair framed by straight across bangs. Our physique was similar, but Riley was more curvy, me more lanky.  And we were inseparable. Until some bastard came along and ruined it.