I wouldn’t exactly call what went on between Frank and I a cold war since it actually consisted of physical actions and a lot of verbal abuse.
I always loved my brothers a lot. We were all best friends. The thing is that Gerard also had another brother besides Mikey and I. It wasn’t a blood brother, but his best friend, Frank, has always been in the picture since even before I was born. The two of them were inseparable. Maybe I was jealous, who knew, but I disliked Frank for a various amount of reasons.
First of all, and probably the most important reason, he kept my brother and I from bonding. Of course it wasn’t on purpose, but it was his fault, since he took up all of my brother’s time. Second of all, he was always mean to me, since I could remember. Lastly, my brother changed when Frank was around.
Gerard was always a good guy and naturally a good brother, but whenever Frank was around, Gerard always took his side over mine, like it didn’t even matter that I was his little sister. Mikey was always on my side, but that’s not the point. Gerard was never mean to me, but Frank was.
I wouldn’t exactly call what went on between Frank and I a cold war since it actually consisted of physical actions and a lot of verbal abuse. The last time I had seen Frank was when I was fourteen and back then he normally just ignored me unless I really pissed him off, then he would swear and yell at me which gave me all the more reason to taunt him. I’ll admit, sometimes I did take things too far, like one time when I kicked him for no reason at all, but I was a little kid.
I remember one time when I accidentally broke my mom’s favorite vase. The guys came running into the room and Gerard, seeing what I had done, scolded me. I was already a little shaken from the shock of dropping the thing and then I was scared to death of getting scolded by my mom too. I started crying and instinctively blamed it on them. They got a really terrible beating and hated me for it. I felt extremely guilty and bad, but when I tried to be nice to them afterwards, they just shunned me.
There were plenty of other incidents they would probably put all the blame on me for being a bitch, but a lot of the times I did what I thought was right, like when I told my mom that I had caught them smoking. What they were doing was wrong, not that it helped, because I know Gerard was still smoking today and most probably Frank too. Anyway, it’s needless to say that I was happy when Frank moved to New York. It gave Gerard and I time to get close, which we did. Like I said, we were best friends now.
It was a shock when I opened the door that afternoon and saw Frank standing there. I didn’t think I would ever have to see him again: it has been four years. I nearly didn’t recognize him. His appearance had changed completely over the past four years. He didn’t look like the high school boy anymore: he gained some weight – not fat, but muscles – which made him look really good. He bore multiple tattoos on his arms: his left arm looking like a sleeve of tattoos. His hair was longer and he had piercings through his nose and bottom lip. In all honesty, he looked hot.
As expected, he still didn’t like me and quite frankly the feeling was mutual. We bitched each other since the second he stepped foot inside the house. Everything was just like before, including my brother taking his side, which hurt. Maybe I was always going to have to be satisfied with being second most important. I hated that, because Gerard was my brother, not Frank’s. Frank was an asshole anyway, because no matter how hard I sometimes tried to be nice, he was always mean to me. I’m not saying that I’m the innocent victim; hell knows I’m not, but would it kill him to be nice to me when I was making an effort. Honestly, it really was an effort for me to be nice to him so he could just appreciate it a little. Things were going to get rough.
Before Frank left four years ago, we already couldn’t stand each other and back then we had petty-fights. I was eighteen now and could fight back properly and not with little childish whims. I was older and wiser. I could fight him with my brains, which I’m sure I had more of. If we started a real argument, things could get ugly: I could only imagine what we’d say to each other. Thinking about it, it seemed that it could be exciting really. Then again, we both grew older and wiser. Maybe the bitching over lunch was just a reflex. If we got to know each other a little better, we might just get along.
Yeah right. I scratched that idea as soon as I heard Frank gossiping about me to my brother. He was an asshole: end of story. If he wanted a war then that’s what he was going to get.