He couldn't believe what he was reading, couldn't bring himself to understand. Each word made sense, of course- he may not have been the smartest, but he wasn't illiterate- yet his throbbing head wouldn't accept the sentences' meaning. His father wanted them to visit, in prison. His father, the man who had abandoned him, abandoned Poppy. And now he thought that he could just walk back into his life.
Jerome shut his eyes, fingers on his temples, trying to shoo away the ensuing migraine. That was a mistake. Behind closed eyes, he could see him memories, with clarity. Their father, much younger then, yet his anger made him look a dozen years older than he was. His father, then, because he had never really been enough of a dad to warrant the nickname. Even still, 'father' was more than he deserved. He could see the pure fury on John's face, could watch his mouth form obscenities. He could hear, then, the shouts that flew from his mouth. The bitter scowl broke into a sneer as he cursed at his son, screaming his frustrations.
He could feel the sting of pain, something that, for a few months, had just become part of his life. But the routine did not make it hurt any less. It never stopped hurting. For a moment, he also thought he could taste the coppery tones of blood in his mouth, and was nearly sick right then and there.
But worst of all for Jerome was the smell. The smell that didn't go away when his eyes flew open. There was the overpowering musk of cheap whiskey, all around him, chasing him right out of his thoughts and back to his dorm room, back to now. Something stung at the corners of his eyes, but Jerome was far too stubborn to let his pain show.
It took a moment, then, for him to steady his breaths. He shifted from where he was perched at the edge of the bed, but found no position to be very comfortable, so he let himself fall back onto the mattress. He gave the letter a last look.
He wouldn't let his sister go through what he'd spent his whole childhood protecting her from, years of lying to her so that she wouldn't be faced with the realization that her father was not the man she needed him to be.
The letter crumpled in his fist, dropping to the floor. He would do whatever it took to keep John from betraying Poppy, to keep him away from the girl that was too fragile to be broken, even if she hated him for it.