Oh, Rose.
If only you could see what others see. If only you could stop comparing yourself to perfect, perfect Evelyn. Perhaps you'd be happy. Perhaps you'd love yourself. Perhaps you wouldn't live in her shadow, anymore.
But the thought of always being second—or, let's say something that fits better—last choice, killed you and tortured you in so many impossible ways. In so many unknown levels.
Why did Evelyn have to be your sister?
Of all people in this world, why her?
Wasn't that plain cruelty?
Without even knowing it, you had lost hope. Hope of ever being happy, hope of ever being—feeling—beautiful. Hope of ever being the first choice.
Neither Evelyn, nor Theo, nor your parents noticed. Because you were a phantom. Always invisible to their eyes. No amount of makeup would change that. No amount of pretty clothes would either.
All the boys that were after your sister, you thought, would have made a difference. Even though they really wouldn't have, to you, that was the only logical solution. Having a boy to love you, or at least like you, meant that the emptiness in you would be no more. Having a boy to like you, meant that your heart would mend.
Of course it wouldn't.
So when he came around with his charming, little smile, luring you into thinking his beautiful lies were real, making you trust him and then hitting you and breaking you even more, and then leaving you to be—not even caring about what would be of you; you sadly realized that you'd never be happy.
Because as full of love as you were,
As willing as you were to give it away,
No one,
Not one soul,
Would ever love you back.