Brother,

I don’t know how to deal with this. The very base of my entire childhood existence has been shattered. Throughout or ever enjoyable time together, our mutual disgust has always guaranteed, like when we moved from Alabama. Mom said you would scar me for life if you kept using me as the scapegoat for all your adjustment issues, and you did. Just because you couldn’t deal with change didn’t mean you could use me, your baby sister, as the sole outlet for your anger. I didn’t appreciate being abused, and still don’t. And now I can’t even hate you because you’re quite possibly dying. Or you were. But people aren’t allowed to despise cancer victims. (It’s ridiculous.)
So what right do you have to start a fight now only to have people sympathize with you and reprimand me because I defended myself? Like when you flipped at me the other day in the hospital for using Katy’s pillow. So I snapped back that I was only borrowing it. The whole room glared at me. Do people really expect sixteen years of conditioning to disappear overnight? (After all, you started it.)
You always start things. Even from the very beginning you started things. The first time Mom and Dad brought me home from the hospital, you threw an egg at my head. (Not that I can remember it, but that’s beside the point; it still happened.) Sure, I kinda got you back that Christmas when I slammed the door on your finger, but you were chasing me. I was just trying to get away, and you got in my way. It was a complete accident, no matter what you “remember.”
So, I’ll propose a solution: I’ll be sweet and considerate. You are the invalid after all. But if you come back home expecting me to worship you like Mom, Dad, Ethan, and Katy, you have another thing coming. If you cooperate with me as I will with you, things will go along swimmingly and there will be no need for me to bring you down. Consider yourself sufficiently warned.
Sister