13 / The trailer park Starlings. Mentions / Self Harm, Mental Health Talk.
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Kaimer Munson has always had a bit of a staring habit.
Not issue, just habit. You could say...
She can't help and notice how her little brother sleeps like the world might just be ripped out from underneath him. She assumes it has to do with their late mother, her hands, her words, her ever-lasting affect, and well, the death of his childhood best friend. Kai will—could—never forget the day the landline rung into the trailer silence. It was like a gunshot echoing. Eddie was at work. She'd been reading a book on the couch. She hated being here alone, especially at night.
Hello, is this Ms. Munson? Your son has been admitted to Hawkins General. He's been in an accident.
Ms. Munson.
Your son.
Which son?
Their mother had been dead for a while, but Kai hadn't been able to focus on the incorrectness of the call.
He's been in an accident.
Reese was fine. Physically. A small scar by his brow. The rest of him, the insides of him, they seemed to suddenly be rotting—metaphorically. Bella was dead. Her car totaled.
Kaimer won't know this, but that night under the flickering fluorescent lights, Reese Munson's doctor, an aged woman with brown and silver hair, glasses that looked bigger than her face, told Eddie Munson about Reese's biggest secret. His biggest scar.
"Mister Munson, I think I need to bring something up with you."
Eddie remembers how frail the older woman looked. It seemed nearly impossible that she was a doctor.
"Eddie's just fine. Is everything alright?"
What more could she possibly tell him? They said Reese was fine. Swore bones. Achy head. Possible concussion from impact? He was under observation for that. He wasn't dying. He got lucky. Super lucky. I mean, Kai was sitting in that hospital room right now with him simply talking. Smoothing him over. Letting the last of Bella soak into his remembrance.
He was fine.
The woman, she smiled small in her white coat. She nearly looked as bright as the lights above them. "Eddie," she emphasized, "Your brother, he's alright. Yes. Nothing has changed. It's just that, when he arrived, we had to rid him of his clothes to see how all of him was doing. Internal things and everything."
Eddie's patience today had been rung through. Bad day at the shop... then this fear, this fear for the death of his baby brother. He couldn't handle that. The bad things coming for his kids again. He figured they were past this. Misty was dead. They'd been past this. Eddie's jaw clenched and his fists balled up in the pockets of his leather jacket. He waited. Waited for the rest of the words to spill.
