Re: [Sandy brown narrative Caspar]
It's rich. The house. Jamie's been comfortable his whole life, but it's a step up to extravagance here, the kind of money that is really fuck-you to everyone who isn't that rich. He doesn't know it, and he doesn't know looming presences, the weighted dread of them being familiar, but it settles like stones in his belly. Scared of the kind of masculinity Jamie's never ever had, and is never ever going to have and he kind of feels like that's Jamie and Caspar - because it's Caspar - intertwined.
He probably would drink too, if the guy was tossing him out on his ass. He can hear that flatness in the guy's voice, like, all that weight, all that pressure, all that power is squashing the air out of him, and he can't yell at the father, and he can't like, fight back. He can't stop the tears welling, and he can't stop feeling like it's walking back to the guy who hit him and asking him to do it again.
It's powerlessness, but it's worse than powerlessness because the guy is yanking a string another level deeper, another depth below money and a house and a place to live. It's family, and it's the polar opposite of Amy's, of family that knots tight against the problem. He comes out of it, and it aches, like a dull hurt that never properly healed.