He said you were in Jamaica.
Jamaica!
It was almost funny. He was still good at making you laugh, even when what he did hurt you more than anything.
Asshole.
You glared out the window. The reflection caught in the glass had a scowl as you held your cell up to your ear. Now you had to deal with this.
A voice snapped at you, quickly catching your attention that had wandered off.
"Stuart, is this letter true?"
Signing up your parents for the band's mail out was a stupid idea. You shouldn't have even considered it. God knew what shit Murdoc sent out before you even heard back from your parents. What promotional photos they saw.
"Mum- look. I don't know what he's writing! I thought that after the band split up, he wouldn't be sending anything else-"
She worried about you. You had left Crawley a few weeks ago, since then she kept better contact with you then she had in years, calling you almost daily, sometimes.
"Are you sure?" She pleaded to know the truth.
"I'm at uni," you promised.
You hated having to worry her now. She already worried you enough. She had been saying something on the other end with a concerned tone. You hadn't picked up on the details when you zoned out.
"Mum, he's lost it. He hasn't been sane since she…" You stared at your reflection, finally loosening your body from the tense stance you had held. You took a deep breath, trying to center yourself. "I haven't talked to 'im in months. Not since I left."
"Well, I worry about you, Stuart."
"I know."
Did they need to have this conversation?
"I know you still have problems from the accidents… and everything else that happened..." She paused. So much was behind her voice, so much worry for you, more than she could even express. "I just need to know that you'll be alright."
It was embarrassing.
You knew she worried you'd run off. Or maybe just kill yourself. She really didn't need to worry about you. You knew she was right about the lasting issues. You hadn't been right since the accident…(s). Chronic, practically debilitating, migraines, zoning out more than was typical, worsened memory, hell, your fingers just couldn't do the motions to tie your shoes!
On top of that, you knew you had issues with focusing on anything for too long, you'd been told you took too many pain meds, and you had a tendency to lash out at people now.
Most of those problems you had came out of the car accidents. After being forced out of your coma, you were told there would be some lasting damage, even if they couldn't quite tell what those issues would involve, since you had been fit enough to go home a few days after waking.
You knew that there would be a long recovery and healing time. But the rate for improving certain issues was stunted as soon as you left the hospital. Stunted by drugs, lack of rehab, and lack of proper rest over the years.
The biggest issue he had to tackle was being able to stand or walk normally without collapsing after a few minutes from weak muscles, that hadn't been used in over a year, and from the dizziness it all caused. But of course the shit hospital only kinda worked with you until you could barely stumble out the door. No one cared much for the second accident, you were awake now. Then you were shoved off with Murdoc.
That knob.
Before you had even realized you had zoned out again, your Mum continued to talk on. "…I know that you took her death hard and that you're still grieving, but I'm still here if you ever need to talk-"
You cut her off. Not wanting to talk about her. "Mum, I'm alright. I wouldn't be at uni if I wasn't."
Even months since she died, you could barely say those words since the funeral. You accepted it now, but it was still so painful to say, to think about. You had to avoid talking about it with her because it was killing you inside thinking about her being gone so… suddenly.
"Stuart." She started.
"Yeah, Mum?"
"We won't be upset with you if you need to come home. If you think you're not well, just call and we can arrange for you to come home. You're always welcome." Her softer, more motherly tone became more serious, "Promise me you'll call if you need to."
"…I promise, Mum."
You couldn't go back.
You had been enough of a burden for the three months you spent home, you couldn't even help around as much, you weren't even able to get up to help your dad at the fair grounds. That used to be something you loved to do with him.
Your mental state had declined and you just spent most days in bed or in your room. You hardly had the willpower to put on a film to watch in bed. It was hard to not think of her. Hard to not think of everything that had gone catastrophically wrong.
You could barely get any decent sleep since night terrors haunted your mind at night. Sometimes you'd think about her rotting under all that rubble, even if she was most likely dust from that bomb.
Your brain saw the worst.
All the guilt was bad enough to physically hurt. The video wasn't your idea, but you momentarily thought that it was more than a bit dangerous to be so high up and didn't say anything. You knew that there was medical staff on set, and that she was a strong kid, she just had to be fine. Murdoc said she'd be fine.
Speaking of him…
You knew you were handling her death the best. As Russel was completely destroyed by her death, he hid himself away, hardly seen before you left.
Murdoc took it in the exact other direction. He had denied that she was dead. She was just 'lost', even after no sign of her was found from a huge search, even after her funeral you had to fight him to attend, even after he left her funeral early to day drink.
You couldn't stand to be in the same room him anymore.
How he didn't seem to even recognize she was gone at times. He didn't care about how much it killed you and Russel. How he should have cared because she was family.
"Mum, make sure Dad knows I'm alright. Just ignore any other mail outs you get. I don't know how he's even sending that stuff out now."
She sounded a bit more relieved to know you would keep in touch with her. "I will. Stuart, I love you. Your father loves you. Please call soon."
"We'll talk soon. I love you too."
You took the phone away from your ear and hung up.
"Jamaica…" you spoke to yourself.
You glanced at your reflection and shook your head with a frustrated smile.
"Fucking knob..."
He knew it would get under your skin when you heard it.
Twisting the knife.
Drawing more blood.
That time there meant so much to you. Those memories were close to your heart. But that's why you left him.
He went mad.
All he could do was hurt now.
Jamaica was calm. If you had to run away, at least in a metaphorical kinda way, it would be there.
To those nights.
Those warm, fucking unbearably humid nights. Those memories felt safe. But he could twist your feelings around, memories. He could ruin them.