NATE
I remember the first time it wasn't just the same old shit. I was... seventeen? Whatever hint of emotion had been in him before faded, darkening into dread, into smouldering shame. Sunjata would accept him, would forgive him for what he'd done, but that was a step even he couldn't take yet. He called it garbage disposal. It has to be obvious what he means, what those two words actually mean, because the connection is so clear in Nate's head. Maybe it should have been the sign that he was in too deep, that this is when it became too much. Maybe it was the sign that he was destined for something better, something brighter, that it's where he tried to draw a line. I went and I picked up this guy, and I drove him to the address he gave me. He went inside, he... cleaned up, he came back out, and we left. I never told anyone. Not until now, at least, and that thought eases some of the tension in Nate, eases the next words.
It didn't happen often, but every now and then I'd go and get the same guy, take him to a different address, and wait. Just me. There's a shift, Nate trying to pull away, and stopping himself, forcing himself to stay close, to lean into Sunjata and trust him to be there. It's not the end, not quite, but the build up is important, the slow erosion of normalcy until he's sitting at the bottom of a pit with no way to get out, and the knowledge that there was no one to blame but himself. It was years later when the routine changed. This time, when the man came out, he brought some woman with him. They both got in, and she was crying, and he gave me some other address to go to. Nate's discomfort only grows, a buzzing heaviness pressing in at the edges of his mind, seeping through the bond to try and infect his fiance as well.
There's another long pause, a single blue eye opening and staring up, too distant to actually be looking at anything, but too focused to be lost entirely. There's too many details to share, every second of those few hours etched somewhere deep in his head, never to leave, so he skips to the end. I don't know what they were trying to get from her, but they didn't. Or... maybe they did, I don't know. The man, the guy I'd been driving around, he puts her in the trunk, all wrapped up like he'd done it a million times, and he tells me what to do to clean up. And I do it. There are a lot of ways Nate will try and protect himself, a lot of things he's willing to do and say to keep any blame off of himself, but this isn't something he can twist away from himself. Isn't something he feels like he can. It's something he's carried since it happened, something he's finally able to set down, even for a moment.
Bart and I left a few weeks later. Moved out of the shit hole we grew up in and got a different shit hole, a few cities over. I just kept telling him we could do better, but... he knew something had happened. I think it's the only reason he came with me. Slowly, shaky feelings begin to come back to Nate, something almost like relief bubbling up between the cracks, filling him up as tension begins to bleed away, his limbs going slack instead. We did okay for a few years. Ignored dad, got shitty little jobs and made things work. It hadn't been easy, or nice, but it was a hell of a lot better compared to what they'd been doing before, and Nate tries desperately to make that as clear as he can, to drive home the point that he'd gotten out, no matter the marks it had left on him.
Except, it hadn't lasted. Of course it hadn't. He can't quite bring himself to launch into that can of worms though, not right away, and he falls silent again, not sure how to bridge the gap. I'm sorry. It comes out automatically, more because he feels like he's spent too much time talking at Sunjata, without anything to really show for it.
It didn't happen often, but every now and then I'd go and get the same guy, take him to a different address, and wait. Just me. There's a shift, Nate trying to pull away, and stopping himself, forcing himself to stay close, to lean into Sunjata and trust him to be there. It's not the end, not quite, but the build up is important, the slow erosion of normalcy until he's sitting at the bottom of a pit with no way to get out, and the knowledge that there was no one to blame but himself. It was years later when the routine changed. This time, when the man came out, he brought some woman with him. They both got in, and she was crying, and he gave me some other address to go to. Nate's discomfort only grows, a buzzing heaviness pressing in at the edges of his mind, seeping through the bond to try and infect his fiance as well.
There's another long pause, a single blue eye opening and staring up, too distant to actually be looking at anything, but too focused to be lost entirely. There's too many details to share, every second of those few hours etched somewhere deep in his head, never to leave, so he skips to the end. I don't know what they were trying to get from her, but they didn't. Or... maybe they did, I don't know. The man, the guy I'd been driving around, he puts her in the trunk, all wrapped up like he'd done it a million times, and he tells me what to do to clean up. And I do it. There are a lot of ways Nate will try and protect himself, a lot of things he's willing to do and say to keep any blame off of himself, but this isn't something he can twist away from himself. Isn't something he feels like he can. It's something he's carried since it happened, something he's finally able to set down, even for a moment.
Bart and I left a few weeks later. Moved out of the shit hole we grew up in and got a different shit hole, a few cities over. I just kept telling him we could do better, but... he knew something had happened. I think it's the only reason he came with me. Slowly, shaky feelings begin to come back to Nate, something almost like relief bubbling up between the cracks, filling him up as tension begins to bleed away, his limbs going slack instead. We did okay for a few years. Ignored dad, got shitty little jobs and made things work. It hadn't been easy, or nice, but it was a hell of a lot better compared to what they'd been doing before, and Nate tries desperately to make that as clear as he can, to drive home the point that he'd gotten out, no matter the marks it had left on him.
Except, it hadn't lasted. Of course it hadn't. He can't quite bring himself to launch into that can of worms though, not right away, and he falls silent again, not sure how to bridge the gap. I'm sorry. It comes out automatically, more because he feels like he's spent too much time talking at Sunjata, without anything to really show for it.
Let’s admit, without apology,
what we do to each other
what we do to each other
