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Martyn's phone was ringing.
He had been asleep, which was understandable seeing as it was still dark out. He grumbled audibly, blindly fumbling for his phone to answer it. He found it under his pillow, holding it to his ear and without bothering to lift his head, answering it.
"Hello?" He mumbled, still mostly asleep.
"Martyn?" His sister's voice was grainy over the shoddy speaker on his phone. Cringing to himself at the quality— he really needed to upgrade his phone, but he always seemed to come up with a new excuse every time to talk himself out of it— he glanced at his alarm clock, neon green numbers showing it was almost to three in the morning. Why in the world was his sister calling so early in the morning?
Before he could grumpily demand the reason for calling him at such an abhorred hour and go back to bed, Pearl cut in, panic clear in her voice even with the grainy quali, "Have you heard from Scar at all in the past few hours?"
Martyn woke up a bit more at the mention of Scar, memories of their earlier conversation sending uneasiness washing down his spine as he sat up on his elbows, holding the phone up to his ear properly, "I haven't talked to him since he left my apartment earlier today. Why, what's up?"
Pearl cursed from over the phone, and Martyn's worry spiked at that moment, but tried not to jump to any conclusions. Still, knowing his sister and knowing Scar, he could only guess what happened between the two of them given the current state of relations between her twin and his fiancé.
"Okay, okay," Pearl audibly sighed in frustration, and Martyn could imagine her tugging at the ends of her hair in response, "has he maybe come back since then and you didn't know?'
"No, what— Pearl, what's going on? What’s wrong with Scar?" Martyn prompted, pushing his blankets out of his way as he swung his legs out of bed.
Bare feet met cool wood floors, making him shiver as he stood up, walking over to his light switch. His bedroom curtains were cracked open, letting the bright moonlight cut like a knife in the darkness of his room. The standup electric fan was whirling in the corner, creaking as it moved side to side. Yet another thing he needed to fix in his life.
"Scar and I got into a fight." Pearl quickly explained and Martyn could hear her moving around on her end of the line. "It was pretty bad, and he stormed out after it escalated. He left before I could try and say anything else. I feel so horrible-"
"Pearl, Pearl!" Martyn cut her off, "I need you to calm down for a second."
He turned the light on, blinking rapidly to adjust to the warm yellow hue that engulfed the space. His travel bag laid open at the foot of his bed, he still hadn’t unpacked from his last trip. Not like he had much time in the past few days to even attempt it.
"Martyn, I messed up, badly. Scar is out there all by himself right now and something might have happened to him." Guilt drove her words like a captain, hell, she sounded on the verge of tears.
“Pearl, I need you to listen to me okay?” Martyn firmly told her, leaving no room for argument in his voice.
There were plenty of things he would like to say in the moment, but none of them would be helpful to either party. Martyn found himself… conflicted, and then regretful that confliction was his immediate response. He should be trying to find some way to consolidate her, reassurance that it would all be alright in the end. Yet, he found himself instead siding with Scar. It was harrowing at how quickly he wanted to make her feel worse for what she did. Taunt her with the idea that yes, this was entirely her fault.
That was a punch to the throat if anything. God, some brother he was.
“We’re going to find Scar, but I need you to take a breathe first. Can you do that for me?” Martyn asked, phone squished between his ear and shoulder as he shrugged on a coat, already preparing to drive around for the next few hours if he needed to.
“How? I’ve been waiting for hours and he hasn’t come back yet,” Pearl protested.
“Panicking won't do any good, we need to keep a clear head if we want to find him. Have you tried calling him?”
“I—" A shaky breath, "He left his phone here and I tried Cub's place, no luck. I called his brother and Bdubs as well, nothing there either.”
“Have you told Grian what happened yet?” Martyn asked, quickly putting on slippers and beelining out his front door, barely remembering to lock it behind him.
"No, not yet, but—"
He had seen the way Scar looked at Grian. How even during a time that would tear every other couple apart, Scar could say with confidence that he would stay by Grian's side. "Even through all this, Grian still can say he loves me and I believe him. I've only ever wanted Grian because he was all I needed to find," had been what he said. It made Martyn ache with jealousy at a love he had lost a long time ago. Two souls that had been made for the soul purpose of finding each other.
Martyn’s other half of his soul had been shattered the minute he learned Cleo was dead. He wasn’t about to let his brother screw up and lose his too.
"Tell him. Do it right now," Martyn told her, compassion lacking as the situation set in.
Scar is missing, probably had been for a few hours at this point. None of his closest friends and family had heard from him, meaning he was by himself somewhere. Martyn did not think Scar was the type of guy to blow up over a simple fight, but he also knew how mean Pearl could be when she wanted, especially when it came to defending her twin.
To some degree he understood. Despite never being particularly close with any of his three younger siblings, Martyn still felt the urge to protect them. Pearl, Grian, and Jimmy are his siblings, and he had been a horrible brother growing up. Constantly picking fights, pushing down his own problems and taking out his anger on them. Their parents weren’t around much to notice, working or whatever other excuse they could conjure up for the time. Martyn stopped asking once he was old enough to understand that none of them mattered enough for their parents to at least pretend to care. It left the responsibility to fall on him, the oldest of the four kids.
Which at the time seemed unfair. He was barely a couple years older than Pearl and Grian; how was he expected to take care of kids basically the same age as him? However, as time went on he only regretted not doing more.
Martyn would always remember one person he worked with, someone who had wormed their way into his heart and kept it in a chokehold even now. Cleo had been brash, vibrant red hair that he swore curled in front of his eyes once from the sheer humidity of the southern hemisphere. Too bold and bright for him to ever hope to be anything more than a plant of worship.
He loved working flights with them, because he knew he was in for a good time. They had stories that could make him laugh even after the meanest passengers yelled at him. They made Martyn love his job, and made him excited to wake up in the morning. For the first time in his life since Ren broke up with him, Martyn was happy to be alive.
The two of them weren’t in love. Sure, they had kissed once on a drunken night in Texas but it felt wrong. There wasn’t the spark of love to justify more, it was just a kiss. Cleo agreed with him that they were better friends, and so that way they stayed. Friends, buddies, pals; whatever they called themselves, it didn’t matter, because deep down, they both knew they were soulmates.
Unfortunately, in the current media, there has never been a proper representation about what it’s like to lose a soulmate like Cleo had been to him. Maybe that was why Martyn had been so distraught when he found out, one early morning after a pilot friend of his had texted him to check the news. He had nothing to immerse himself in to come to terms with his grief. No book to read over and over again as he cried on his bedroom floor to connect his feelings to or a show to play on mute in the background while he buried his sorrows in the pictures of them on his phone.
He can’t remember when he fully lost his spark that Cleo had reignited, but it grew dimmer as he watched that dreaded news report play. A plane crash, of all things. Faulty engine that shut down over the Atlantic Ocean, a mere twenty miles off the coast of Florida.
Which- wasn’t that crazy? Statistics show there is a higher percent chance of dying from a shark attack than a plane crash. Though, those statistics must skew depending on the profession. Cleo made that number go higher by working on planes for a living. He learned that at the funeral, their ex-husband had said so in the obituary. It only made Martyn want to punch the guy even more, simplifying the other half of his soul to another bit of data. Another number to cope, as if that was supposed to help anyone.
He didn’t allow himself to cry at the service. He wasn’t going to cry in grief in front of people who wouldn’t understand. It wasn’t until he got home that night, sitting fully clothed under the unrelenting current of his shower, that he broke.
The shower had become his confessional over the years. The tiled chamber had heard more of his woes than any diary or therapist had ever been able to wring out of him. His tears mixed in with the too hot water, both burning into his skin and reminding him he was alive. He didn’t appreciate the reminder. Martyn had never found some epiphany in his breakdowns, no God to give him a will to live.
His will to live was currently sitting at the bottom of the ocean; and, there were times Martyn found himself wishing he was with them that day, but never for the right reasons.
Cleo would be so disappointed in him if they could see what he had become.