Dear fic writer:

It is 1992. This kid is twelve. He doesn’t know the word “gaslighting”, he doesn’t know the phrase “trauma response”, and if he knew the latter, he wouldn’t apply it to himself.

Also, there’s no such thing as a landline. It’s just a phone, so called because it transmits sound, phone, a long way, tele. It doesn’t do anything else, not even voicemail, and you need to pay extra for caller ID.