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xp_logsTW: suicide
Lucinda informs her oldest sons that Jay will have to go up North with Sam.
They hadn't been able to explain how fast he had healed up. Jay hardly needed the bandages now despite having only done... that... five days ago. He and Sam were sitting on the couch and Jay desperately wanted something to do with his hands. "I wouldn't do it again," he said quietly, making a confession to his brother. "I can't, I can't do that to the little'uns. I don't know what I was thinking, I wasn't thinking. You gotta believe me."
Jay grabbed at Sam's hand like he was a little'un himself still, back when he would hide from bullies and snakes behind his big brother. "I won't do that to 'em. Julia will give me hell-" he cut himself off, realizing he used the wrong tense and swallowed back tears, gripping Sam's hand harder.
All he wanted was for it to be Julia's hand instead.
Sam squeezed his brother’s hand tightly, trying to help ground him. “Jay- Joshie- I ain’t mad at you, just worried. It’s okay.” He whispered.
He swallowed hard. He wanted to believe Jay, that he wouldn’t do it again, but he’d never seen one of Jay’s bouts as bad as this and the worry creeped up on him like a vice. He thought about inviting Jay to come visit him for a while, maybe offering to take him to a broadway show that Julia liked so they could remember her together. But he wasn’t sure Jay would be open to that right now, so he just held his hand and fought back the urge to smother him in a hug where he knew he could keep Jay safe.
Jay had thought he'd grown out of his bouts. He'd had them on and off ever since Daddy died, but he never had them long like Mama. But his could be deep, not get out of bed deep. But this one had eaten him up like a mine collapse until he was hollowed up and overflowing with anger and grief at the same time.
He was begging Sam to believe him that he wouldn't do something like this again because he wanted Sam to assure him he wouldn't- he couldn't trust himself.
He clung to Sam like a lifeline. "I'm sorry, I just want... I just..." Speaking felt like choking on oil. He'd always been better at writin' and singin' than he was talkin'. "Sammy, I'm sorry."
Lucinda sat at the kitchen table, bank statement in one hand and initial hospital bill in the other, balance sheet in the middle like it held the secrets of the universe. She needed–something–anything else to focus on that wasn't the yawning abyss and her best kitchen knife stained with her child's blood. Oh, it'd happened before, but always in the context of learning, doing. A nicked finger or hand, bandaged up with a lesson learned.
And now the blood soaked into it was tainted. Cursed. She'd have to bury it too, lest the darkness spread to the other children. And she'd have to get Jay out of the house–he probably wouldn't thank her, but it was for the best. Get him away from the reminders, maybe prevent any more bouts like this. She let out a deep sigh, fingers tugging through her hair as she stared at the balance sheet.
She'd been working the figures despite her woolgathering, looked like. And the figures were grim. Another reason for Jay to go, another mouth that wouldn't need feeding. Another body those thrice-cursed Cabots wouldn't prevent getting honest work. Lucinda stood, stretching. Pointedly skipping her eyes over the knife block as she made her way upstairs, feet feeling like they were encased in concrete.
Sam sensed more than saw Lucinda in the doorway, staring at them as he tried to hold Jay through his hand. Sam could still feel the phantom sensation of Jay’s blood on his hands, the staining he’d barely been able to scrub out of his fingernails.
“Mama?” He asked, even though he knew what was coming. He knew that set in Lucinda’s jaw. And he knew, as he’d discussed with Mel and Paige- that Mama was gonna send Jay up with him. And he knew…. He knew that Jay wasn’t gonna like that one bit.
"Yer goin to the big city with yer brother when he leaves." Lucinda didn't bother with a sugar coating. "I cain't wit ya, Jay, an' the littlist ones ain't ready to see that sorta darkness slap all o'er the floor like that agin." She was almost hugging herself with her crossed arms, the firm pressure the only thing keeping her from flying apart in the moment. "Always knew it ran in our line, what with my ancestors gettin lost in th'woods and yer daddy's uncle havin that car wreck. You were still on th'teat, but Sammy's probably old enough to remember his buryin. Real scant crowd, had to get a reverend from outta town that didn't know it wasn't an unfortunate accident. But none o'them ever did where the babies could see, Jay, an I'm not havin it here."
Jay shot up to standing like a rocket, wrenching Sam's hand up with him. He'd always been his mama's boy, never complained about nothing to her, not even faulting her for the days she hardly left her room and she was sending him away? If Jay was Sam or Mel he might have argued that she'd had her own bouts where the babies saw, just a slower sort of death, but he couldn't do that to his Mama- not even when she was sendin' him away. He'd done enough to hurt her. But didn't she see she was hurting him, that he needed her? Just this once he needed her. "Mama-" he said, starting to beg permission to say, staring at her in an anger he'd never allowed himself to direct at her before, wings he hadn't bothered to hide away shaking like a storm-wind was blowing through the house. But he knew that look on her face. There was no arguing or pleading with her. He dug his nails into Sam's hand before dropping it, storming up the stairs.
He made it to the attic stairs before angry tears started on his face. Didn't she know he needed his home, his family, his mountains? But even as he started to empty out his drawers he knew she had a point. "Can't be letting the twins see," Jay muttered, redirecting the anger to himself and not letting himself feel it towards Lucinda. No use in that, just bury it down like any other time. "Mama ain't wrong about that."
Sam glared at Lucinda as he moved towards the door. He was shaking with rage and close to tears. But like hell was he gonna let Lucinda see anything but the image of a man in control of himself right now.
He fixed his Mama with a hard look before we walked out the door. “If he’s my responsibility, he’s my responsibility. Don’t bother callin’.”
"Sammy..." Lucinda's call trailed off as her oldest left the room, back stiff.
He didn't understand, and maybe that was her fault, but there were plenty about her childhood she weren't keen to discuss. And seein Jay bleedin all over the floor had brought it all back in a vivid technicolor that had once faded with time. Stepping into the warsh room after school, seein her oldest sister pale, lifeless. Red vivid an tacky-dry across the basin.
Screamin so loud Daddy had thought there'd been a burglar. The cleanup. Her body, wrapped in Lucinda's own blood-stained clothes and their oldest sheet, fraying at the edges. The woods and a deep, deep hole, unmarked except for a scratching at the tree with a heart and her initials. Having to tell the others she'd taken a long walk into the woods and got lost.
Her own pain, so deep and painful she was sure she was drownin, and the yawning abyss in her Daddy's eyes as he shared her grief turning into days where she just couldn't muster the courage to leave her bed, and nights where Daddy chopped wood or pulled weeds well after dark to avoid his nightmares. A name that didn’t get passed down, lest the darkness come with it.
It wasn't something she'd ever wanted to put on her own children, no matter how bleak things looked, and it's why she'd kept the weapons locked up tight even when her neighbors didn't. Nothing on impulse, except stayin in bed.
And after all that, even when she'd come so close to walking off the ledge and followin her husband into the grave she'd managed, only for Jay to...
Her breath caught on a sob, quiet, and she turned to walk back down the stairs, choosing not to burden her children with this knowledge.
Lucinda informs her oldest sons that Jay will have to go up North with Sam.
They hadn't been able to explain how fast he had healed up. Jay hardly needed the bandages now despite having only done... that... five days ago. He and Sam were sitting on the couch and Jay desperately wanted something to do with his hands. "I wouldn't do it again," he said quietly, making a confession to his brother. "I can't, I can't do that to the little'uns. I don't know what I was thinking, I wasn't thinking. You gotta believe me."
Jay grabbed at Sam's hand like he was a little'un himself still, back when he would hide from bullies and snakes behind his big brother. "I won't do that to 'em. Julia will give me hell-" he cut himself off, realizing he used the wrong tense and swallowed back tears, gripping Sam's hand harder.
All he wanted was for it to be Julia's hand instead.
Sam squeezed his brother’s hand tightly, trying to help ground him. “Jay- Joshie- I ain’t mad at you, just worried. It’s okay.” He whispered.
He swallowed hard. He wanted to believe Jay, that he wouldn’t do it again, but he’d never seen one of Jay’s bouts as bad as this and the worry creeped up on him like a vice. He thought about inviting Jay to come visit him for a while, maybe offering to take him to a broadway show that Julia liked so they could remember her together. But he wasn’t sure Jay would be open to that right now, so he just held his hand and fought back the urge to smother him in a hug where he knew he could keep Jay safe.
Jay had thought he'd grown out of his bouts. He'd had them on and off ever since Daddy died, but he never had them long like Mama. But his could be deep, not get out of bed deep. But this one had eaten him up like a mine collapse until he was hollowed up and overflowing with anger and grief at the same time.
He was begging Sam to believe him that he wouldn't do something like this again because he wanted Sam to assure him he wouldn't- he couldn't trust himself.
He clung to Sam like a lifeline. "I'm sorry, I just want... I just..." Speaking felt like choking on oil. He'd always been better at writin' and singin' than he was talkin'. "Sammy, I'm sorry."
Lucinda sat at the kitchen table, bank statement in one hand and initial hospital bill in the other, balance sheet in the middle like it held the secrets of the universe. She needed–something–anything else to focus on that wasn't the yawning abyss and her best kitchen knife stained with her child's blood. Oh, it'd happened before, but always in the context of learning, doing. A nicked finger or hand, bandaged up with a lesson learned.
And now the blood soaked into it was tainted. Cursed. She'd have to bury it too, lest the darkness spread to the other children. And she'd have to get Jay out of the house–he probably wouldn't thank her, but it was for the best. Get him away from the reminders, maybe prevent any more bouts like this. She let out a deep sigh, fingers tugging through her hair as she stared at the balance sheet.
She'd been working the figures despite her woolgathering, looked like. And the figures were grim. Another reason for Jay to go, another mouth that wouldn't need feeding. Another body those thrice-cursed Cabots wouldn't prevent getting honest work. Lucinda stood, stretching. Pointedly skipping her eyes over the knife block as she made her way upstairs, feet feeling like they were encased in concrete.
Sam sensed more than saw Lucinda in the doorway, staring at them as he tried to hold Jay through his hand. Sam could still feel the phantom sensation of Jay’s blood on his hands, the staining he’d barely been able to scrub out of his fingernails.
“Mama?” He asked, even though he knew what was coming. He knew that set in Lucinda’s jaw. And he knew, as he’d discussed with Mel and Paige- that Mama was gonna send Jay up with him. And he knew…. He knew that Jay wasn’t gonna like that one bit.
"Yer goin to the big city with yer brother when he leaves." Lucinda didn't bother with a sugar coating. "I cain't wit ya, Jay, an' the littlist ones ain't ready to see that sorta darkness slap all o'er the floor like that agin." She was almost hugging herself with her crossed arms, the firm pressure the only thing keeping her from flying apart in the moment. "Always knew it ran in our line, what with my ancestors gettin lost in th'woods and yer daddy's uncle havin that car wreck. You were still on th'teat, but Sammy's probably old enough to remember his buryin. Real scant crowd, had to get a reverend from outta town that didn't know it wasn't an unfortunate accident. But none o'them ever did where the babies could see, Jay, an I'm not havin it here."
Jay shot up to standing like a rocket, wrenching Sam's hand up with him. He'd always been his mama's boy, never complained about nothing to her, not even faulting her for the days she hardly left her room and she was sending him away? If Jay was Sam or Mel he might have argued that she'd had her own bouts where the babies saw, just a slower sort of death, but he couldn't do that to his Mama- not even when she was sendin' him away. He'd done enough to hurt her. But didn't she see she was hurting him, that he needed her? Just this once he needed her. "Mama-" he said, starting to beg permission to say, staring at her in an anger he'd never allowed himself to direct at her before, wings he hadn't bothered to hide away shaking like a storm-wind was blowing through the house. But he knew that look on her face. There was no arguing or pleading with her. He dug his nails into Sam's hand before dropping it, storming up the stairs.
He made it to the attic stairs before angry tears started on his face. Didn't she know he needed his home, his family, his mountains? But even as he started to empty out his drawers he knew she had a point. "Can't be letting the twins see," Jay muttered, redirecting the anger to himself and not letting himself feel it towards Lucinda. No use in that, just bury it down like any other time. "Mama ain't wrong about that."
Sam glared at Lucinda as he moved towards the door. He was shaking with rage and close to tears. But like hell was he gonna let Lucinda see anything but the image of a man in control of himself right now.
He fixed his Mama with a hard look before we walked out the door. “If he’s my responsibility, he’s my responsibility. Don’t bother callin’.”
"Sammy..." Lucinda's call trailed off as her oldest left the room, back stiff.
He didn't understand, and maybe that was her fault, but there were plenty about her childhood she weren't keen to discuss. And seein Jay bleedin all over the floor had brought it all back in a vivid technicolor that had once faded with time. Stepping into the warsh room after school, seein her oldest sister pale, lifeless. Red vivid an tacky-dry across the basin.
Screamin so loud Daddy had thought there'd been a burglar. The cleanup. Her body, wrapped in Lucinda's own blood-stained clothes and their oldest sheet, fraying at the edges. The woods and a deep, deep hole, unmarked except for a scratching at the tree with a heart and her initials. Having to tell the others she'd taken a long walk into the woods and got lost.
Her own pain, so deep and painful she was sure she was drownin, and the yawning abyss in her Daddy's eyes as he shared her grief turning into days where she just couldn't muster the courage to leave her bed, and nights where Daddy chopped wood or pulled weeds well after dark to avoid his nightmares. A name that didn’t get passed down, lest the darkness come with it.
It wasn't something she'd ever wanted to put on her own children, no matter how bleak things looked, and it's why she'd kept the weapons locked up tight even when her neighbors didn't. Nothing on impulse, except stayin in bed.
And after all that, even when she'd come so close to walking off the ledge and followin her husband into the grave she'd managed, only for Jay to...
Her breath caught on a sob, quiet, and she turned to walk back down the stairs, choosing not to burden her children with this knowledge.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-01 04:43 pm (UTC)