all i can do is stand on the curb and say sorry about the blood in your mouth
It's almost impossible to connect the hiss, the smell of cooking meat, with his own face, and yet at the same time, it's the only thing he can think about, the only thing he really knows at the moment. Nate is all but boneless, save for clinging hands, fingers weakly scrabbling at whatever they come across, whatever they can grab.
Nate had thought the pain stopping would be a relief, a release, but all it does open a vast, yawning cavern for horror to flood into, that makes the shaking start all over again. He's glad to have Sunjata there, to have the support, where alone, he would still be in the street, cut down fully by his attacker, or shaking and cooking slowly, from the inside out.
He hates that Sunjata is there, that he has to see this, be a part of this. It's one thing to come home in the aftermath, to patch up wounds, another entirely to watch it happen, to have to douse the fire.
A pressure on him, a furry head on his knee, pulls him out of the distant numbness that threatened to settle, the thought that he could simply close his eyes and stop. Reawakens the parts of him that knows what to do, even if he can't share it, can't make his throat work enough to explain the intricacies. Somehow, he heaves himself up again, a hand on the attuneds chest that clearly isn't sure if it wants to push or pull closer, while the other reaches out. The effort of getting the water into the cup feels like too much, so he forgoes it to grab the bucket, no grace in the way he tips it back over himself, some, but not nearly enough, making it into his mouth.
He spits it out, more fluid than water, and tries again, managing a few swallows this time. Enough, maybe, to talk. "Y'godme." It's still raspy, still sounds like each word is strangled out, but at least it's something. "I need... dead out. F'it looks cooked... out." It's clear enough, to him, but he knows it will need the other man to move, to grab something, and he shoves himself back, supported by pillows he hadn't noticed before.
Nate had thought the pain stopping would be a relief, a release, but all it does open a vast, yawning cavern for horror to flood into, that makes the shaking start all over again. He's glad to have Sunjata there, to have the support, where alone, he would still be in the street, cut down fully by his attacker, or shaking and cooking slowly, from the inside out.
He hates that Sunjata is there, that he has to see this, be a part of this. It's one thing to come home in the aftermath, to patch up wounds, another entirely to watch it happen, to have to douse the fire.
A pressure on him, a furry head on his knee, pulls him out of the distant numbness that threatened to settle, the thought that he could simply close his eyes and stop. Reawakens the parts of him that knows what to do, even if he can't share it, can't make his throat work enough to explain the intricacies. Somehow, he heaves himself up again, a hand on the attuneds chest that clearly isn't sure if it wants to push or pull closer, while the other reaches out. The effort of getting the water into the cup feels like too much, so he forgoes it to grab the bucket, no grace in the way he tips it back over himself, some, but not nearly enough, making it into his mouth.
He spits it out, more fluid than water, and tries again, managing a few swallows this time. Enough, maybe, to talk. "Y'godme." It's still raspy, still sounds like each word is strangled out, but at least it's something. "I need... dead out. F'it looks cooked... out." It's clear enough, to him, but he knows it will need the other man to move, to grab something, and he shoves himself back, supported by pillows he hadn't noticed before.
i wish it was mine
NATE
