Jackie Diamond wasn't a diamond. She wasn't perfect or shiny, she was cracked and dull. She wasn't something people fawned over. She wasn't a prize and she sure as hell wasn't priceless. She was more like dirt, something so common no one ever gives it a second thought to. Her parents didn't even give her a second glance.

In fact, the only time her parents gave her a second look, one of those "I'm so disappointed in you" looks, was when she messed up. It was like they knew she was a screw-up, they just liked to watch her slowly deteriorate and crumble, but sometimes they liked to speed things along. Those looks were always followed by a lecture on how she could improve herself.

"When did this start?" the countless psychologists the school provided would ask, trying to get her to open up and diagnose her with some mental illness.

"When I was born," she would always answer. And it was true; her older brother was just so fucking precious, learning how to walk and talk while all she could do was sit there and cry. Her parents complained about her crying. She would cry every night, and that habit didn't go away. At sixteen, she was still sobbing nightly, crying herself to sleep.

At fourteen, life somehow got worse for her. Her oh-so-perfect brother got the chance to be famous and live is stupid dream while she was stuck at home—no, in Minnesota. She could never call that godforsaken state—no, hellhole—home. It wasn't where she belonged and it sure as fucking hell where she was loved.

The thing was, she knew people had real problems, problems that were much worse than hers. She knew people dealt with abuse, hunger, poverty…all of it.

She had no fucking right to be depressed, yet there she was. And that made her hate herself even more.

Fourteen was her worst year. As if she wasn't compared to her brother enough, when he left to become a famous singer, it was like an avalanche. They all looked at her with disgust and hatred. She could hear their whispers: "That's James's sister?" and "How is she related to him?"

Her parents would ask her, "Why can't you be more like your brother?"

She would never say anything in front of them. Instead, she'd escape to her room, her sanctuary, and write everything down, either in a Word document on her laptop or in one of her many journals. Her bookshelf was filled with journals and notebooks, all filled with words she'd never say to anyone's face.

No one ever seemed to realize how much their words affected her. They were helping her slowly destroy herself, even if they didn't know it.

Jackie was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She was thinking about the last time she was truly, genuinely happy. It was so long ago that she couldn't even remember it. Or it just didn't happen and she was trying to remember something that never happened.

As she stared at the cracked ceiling (Like her, she thought), her cell phone dinged. Was it just another text from her parents, reminding her that she wasn't like her brother? Was it another text from one of those sluts at her school that feel the need to text her saying she'll never get her happy ending and that she should just give up? Either way, she knew it wasn't going to be a happy text, so she ignored it and continued to stare at the ceiling.

About an hour later, her cell phone rang again. She sighed and picked the phone up off of her nightstand.

James calling

She sighed and answered it. "What the fuck do you want?" she asked.

"Watch the language," James scolded.

"Shut up and tell me already," she said, rolling her eyes.

"You're coming to visit for the summer!" her brother said.

She shot up in bed. "WHAT?"

So that's the beginning of my new story. I know I have like a billion other stories to write, but I kinda got writer's block on those and this popped into my head…so I just started writing.

So, yeah, review, I guess…Three reviews and I continue?