Eleanor Mae Swan - informally known as Ellie by her friends - has always been the "ugly" twin compared to her sister Bella. Bella didn't have to try, not for anything, and everyone loved her: despite her social awkwardness.
But Eleanor had to work...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I'm more anxious than I expected to be. Far more. Why do I care what's wrong with Bella anyway? It's not like she ever cared when I had shit going on. So why the feeling of protectiveness? Why do I suddenly want to snap anyone-who-hurts-her's neck? I've never felt this toward her before. In fact, before her wedding, I'd gladly have watched as someone ripped her apart.
Now I'd rip them apart.
I don't understand it.
Damon did, or so he says. As soon as he heard the phone call, and saw the look on my face (whatever that look was), he understood. He was gone in an instant, and then back again — this time with two black duffel bags in his hands. He hadn't even thought for a moment before agreeing to come with me, to take me. I don't even understand how he can get it, he and Stefan do nothing but argue.
He'd called Stefan once we were on the road — while he was driving, again — and explained what was happening, and that he'd update him once we got there.
"It's okay to not hate her you know."
I snap my head toward the dark haired man beside me, "What?"
Damon throws me a grin, before focussing his attention back on the road, "Isabella. It's okay not to hate her."
"I still hate her." The words feel foreign on my lips, and I'm not sure why.
Damon rolls his eyes, "Sure you do. Look, all I'm saying is, you don't have to say you hate her just because you're used to hating her. You don't have to hate her at all. It's okay not to. She's your sister, and it's okay to forgive her."
I grit my teeth, "I still hate her."
Damon laughs, taking a sharp left turn (and almost throwing me from my seat, the asshole), "Right, that's why you're dropping everything — despite having just escaped from some psycho's cellar — to go to her just because she needs you."
I contemplate what he's saying for a moment, my stubbornness still attempting to convince me I hate her.
"How would you know anyways? You and Stefan are at each other's throats all the time." Okay, fair enough, that was a low blow, but I couldn't come up with anything else in the short amount of time I had to get a snarky comeback.
Instead of rising to the bait, he rolls his eyes, "Stefan's a pain in my ass, but he's my brother, and if he needs me I'm always there. Even if he's not particularly in my good books."
He's right. Of course he is. He usually is, the bastard. I don't hate my sister, I haven't for a long time. I clung to the only thing I had of her, and that used to be my distaste. Now... Now it's forgiveness, and, maybe, love. I'm not sure if I'd name it love just yet, but it's getting there. In time (and let's be honest, I have all the time in the world) I think that we could be close, closer than we've ever been.
