Clemente
Nate's embrace is the only thing keeping him from floating away, of that Clem is sure. He shakes apart in the man's grip, trying to get control of his systems and the haywire messages his mind keeps sending. A mimicry of humanity that he has long had stripped from his body. The explanation does nothing to soothe him, to help sort the tangled, fraying edges of his thoughts. It doesn't answer why. And why Nate? Why not him? Clemente wishes it had been him, would trade places with Nate in a second if it meant sparing the man from such an agonizing injury. The tears don't stop coming, no matter how he pleads for them to stop.
"I-I'll help," he offers, blurting it out on a thick tongue that stumbles in a way he would normally despise. "I know the alleys, I...I can help, I wanna help." Desperation tingeing every word. He needs to be useful, he needs to fix this. Unable to shake the feeling that this is somehow his fault.
"I-I'll help," he offers, blurting it out on a thick tongue that stumbles in a way he would normally despise. "I know the alleys, I...I can help, I wanna help." Desperation tingeing every word. He needs to be useful, he needs to fix this. Unable to shake the feeling that this is somehow his fault.
Your mother started drinking like the whole world died
And You've been waiting for a miracle all your life
And You've been waiting for a miracle all your life
