His Grandmother's Rosary.

“I know you like him.” Mikey spoke smugly, though his face was sympathetic. “I know you do.”

“No, I do not.” I disagreed angrily. I was young and stubborn. I couldn’t accept when I was wrong and someone else might know myself better than I did. I couldn’t admit it.

“You do so.”

“Do not.”

“Well that’s irrelevant, to be honest. The point is, what are you going to do about it?” Mikey’s tone soften towards the end of his sentence. “’Cause, even if you’re in denial, the rest of the whole entire planet can see you love him.”

“Except him.” I answered back. “Which means it’s not true.”

“He’s not exactly good at knowing these things, Frankie. And neither are you.”

“Could you stop treating him like he’s an idiot? Because he’s not, for Christ’s sakes.”

“There you go, proof. You defend him before you even defend yourself.”

“It’s called not being self-centred and self-obsessed, Michael.”

“So it’s called ‘not being Frank’ then?”

“Oh, fuck off, Mikes.”

I took the advice that I meant for him and I stalked off into my bunk. I had to dig in my bag to find my iPod, but I found it. I turned the volume up to full, and shoved the headphones in my ears, not quite caring that I’d just snagged one of my plugs. I welcomed the sting.

Ten minutes later, I opened my eyes to find Mikey poking my leg. “I’m sorry, Frankie,” he said quietly. “What I said was bitchy.”

“Damn right it was. Get lost.” I snapped. I’d regret it later when he was upset about it, but I’d deal with that then.

“But I apologised! You have to accept.”

“No, I don’t.” I grunted. “Now get off of my bunk.”