all i can do is stand on the curb and say sorry about the blood in your mouth
Even if he doesn't full believe the words from Sunjata, even though he can't at the moment -- how can anyone else be at fault for this? If he just hadn't gone over, hadn't stuck his nose in -- they still put a stop to his own rambling apologies. They get him to listen, to notice the gentle tapping on his hand, shaking fingers opening slowly, his nails slick with fluid where they'd dug in. There should be a bite of guilt with that too, a part of him that was slowly getting louder whispering about how much worry, how much pain he must be causing, and yet he's still here, digging deeper.
He doesn't know how long he cries for. He just knows one moment, everything in him is pouring from his lips, from his one good eye, and the next, there's nothing left, nothing at all but a cold, burnt out numbness. And it stops so abruptly, the sobbing giving way to silence, without the normal shaky breaths, the normal hiccups that would accompany the end of this particular part of the breakdown.
Now that it's past, he wants to sob more, wants to apologize, wants to wring anything out of the awful blank buzzing in his head, in his chest. More than anything now, Sunjata is a support, and he can't even summon up the thankfulness the other man deserves, for holding him so close, so steady. Nate's just tired, now. Exhausted, but he can't sleep, can't seek the blackout relief of a bottle. All he can do is cling to the other man, and wish there was something, anything that would help with the bone deep, mind deep fatigue.
He doesn't know how long he cries for. He just knows one moment, everything in him is pouring from his lips, from his one good eye, and the next, there's nothing left, nothing at all but a cold, burnt out numbness. And it stops so abruptly, the sobbing giving way to silence, without the normal shaky breaths, the normal hiccups that would accompany the end of this particular part of the breakdown.
Now that it's past, he wants to sob more, wants to apologize, wants to wring anything out of the awful blank buzzing in his head, in his chest. More than anything now, Sunjata is a support, and he can't even summon up the thankfulness the other man deserves, for holding him so close, so steady. Nate's just tired, now. Exhausted, but he can't sleep, can't seek the blackout relief of a bottle. All he can do is cling to the other man, and wish there was something, anything that would help with the bone deep, mind deep fatigue.
i wish it was mine
NATE
