Hello There! If you are reading this, I love you! This is my first story, so be sure to review it and give me feedback, negative and/or positive! I'm a tough cookie, I can take it! Disclaimer: I do not own The Beatles because apparently owning superstars is illegal in the United States. DAMN! But, seriously, I do not own The Beatles or any of their works of art.
18 years ago on June 27th, 1994, a twenty year old women named Joan gave birth to a five pound, one ounce baby girl with her husband, Mitchell. Soon after, the couple was tragically killed in a car accident, leaving behind their 6 month old daughter. The girl was placed in the care of the only living relative of her parents, an aunt with two children of her own. There, she grew up, moving from city to city with her Aunt Lizzy and older cousins Brian and Neil. Then, on the girl's 15th birthday, Aunt Lizzy passed away from lung cancer brought on by a life time addiction to nicotine. The boys, 19 and 20, left to pursue research into science and the young girl was forced to fend for herself. She became an exotic dancer to pay for a crappy, minuscule apartment in Chicago.
That girl is me, Daniella Jae. I was 15 years old when I had begun to live on my own. My life turned into a battle to survive when my loving Aunt Lizzy died and her sons left me to become scientists, or some shit like that. Brian and Neil were always incredibly close, sharing everything, including a life long obsession with time and time travel. I, on the other, was considered "the other one" by my cousins, and for the first ten years of my life, my only loves were four lads from Liverpool. Music became my everything, bonding me and Aunt Lizzy, for she had been fortunate enough to be alive when the Beatles were still together and living. This caused a strife between me and my cousins, seeing as their mother preferred me over them (though this was not true, Aunt Lizzy was too kind to pick favorites).
After my beloved Auntie developed lung cancer from years of smoking, the boys and I actually became not enemies. But, as soon as she died, they took off, leaving me stranded in Chicago with only enough money to buy a small apartment, but not enough to pay rent. I began to sell peeks at my body for cash for rent, food, and a broken guitar that I played to forget my past and present. After long nights of dancing on a dirty pole for perverts, I would self educate on textbooks I borrowed from a nearby library. Nights were spent fiddling on my shit guitar until my fingers bled. My life was going to continue this way until I turned 18 and got an unexpected call from my past.