don't go home without me | nemo/tate

[[nyte]]

[presto] n o s e   u p   i n   t h e   g l o b e s [/presto]
[presto] s e v e n t e e n [/presto]	[presto] T A T E   S E R A P H I M The burning in my lungs fades after a while. I don't think about how tired my limbs grow, or the fear that weighs down my every step, I walk. Nemo's arms are still locked firmly behind my neck and when he smiles he turns his face into my chest. It leaves me breathless and I pull him closer to me, stopping for a second to dip tilt my head and nuzzle the boy gently. He needs to know, I decide, when he does something that I love. I can't express it, not in the way others could. With silver tongues and smooth tones so I pull Nemo closer instead, half smile tugging persistently at the corner of my lips. His eyes are closed. I don't know why that fills me with such dread. The prospect of him falling into a much needed rest and maybe a moment of peace for me to reign in the emotions I've allowed to run wild. (But what if he does not wake?) (But what if he dies?) There are so many things that could go wrong in the short distance that remains between us and my house that the exertion is not why sweat beads upon my brow. I step a little faster, hoping to jar him awake and to get there quicker. All I want is to lay in my bed. I won't sleep, I don't think I could. Adrenaline enables me to keep carrying him, it pulses through every part of my body sending my heart into a erratic dance. Even if it didn't, I couldn't sleep knowing that Nemo could die at such carelessness. He had to be okay because we've barely started this and I think I might like it a lot. No, I won't be sleeping tonight. "Tate, my father wants to kill me." The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth, sending fire down my spine. I clench my fists, grabbing some of Nemo's clothing in the process. It takes all I have to bite my tongue and to lock my jaw. There are many things I want to say to him. I want to tell him that he needs to kill him first, I want to tell him that he should run away and stay with me. Not exactly suitable conversation when speaking of family. They are all the wrong things so I bite my tongue and I quicken my pace. (I just want to get home.) "It's all because I'm Nemo." And I think my heart shatters for a second time that night. The resignation in his tone, as thought he was done denying that this was his fault. (How dare he take on such burdens.) I'm rounding a corner and the fence is in sight. I merely have to hold my breath and run to make it. So I do, gripping my date all the tighter. The strength I found to carry him here leaves me and I lay the boy on my doorstep, collapsing against the wall and breathing heavily. "Not-" I gasp, and the feeling of my heart rate calming is damn near euphoric. The pain in my limbs seeping away with each breath. "Not because you're Nemo. Nemo is too beautiful to hurt." The bluntness of my words do not register, I haven't even time to think about sugar coating anything because I need to get him inside but I'm still chasing my lungs. "He's evil, he's horrible and don't you for one second blame yourself for anything. You hear me?" I grab his chin, more forcefully than intended, but I don't let go either. [/presto]	[presto] t a b l e b y e l e g a n t [/presto]
[presto] y o u   n e v e r   k n o w   i f   y o u   a r e   p a s s i n g   o u t [/presto]

[gamemaker kelsier]

[presto] g e t t i n g     d a r k e r     b y     t h e   h o u r [/presto]
[presto] s i x t e e n [/presto]	[presto] N E M O   K L A R D I E I sigh happily as I float down onto the wooden slats of his front porch. Curling up into myself, I press my hands together with all of my might as if to hold everything in place. I can already feel my head trying to wander off and I don't think this is any time for it to leave. I'm pretty certain that we're in danger only because I can see the shadows underneath the streetlights on the street and they are surrounding this hideaway and they are coming for Tate, I know it because everyone always comes for every good thing I have in my life, they always come to take it away. I'm not going to let that happen with Tate, even if it means I have to die first, I won't let him go without me. His arms leave me, and I reach out instinctively for him as he sits against the walls of his home. My fingers catch themselves on the leg of his pants and I tug gently, trying to reassure myself that he's right there. He keeps fading in and out of focus like a ghost. I don't think he's doing it on purpose so I won't ask him to stop but it is making me a tiny bit anxious. I can feel my heart speeding up again, and can feel the horror from earlier creeping up, unbidden as if I don't have a choice in experiencing it or not. He tells me that this boy named Nemo is too beautiful to hurt and I laugh and laugh at the ghost. He should tell that to my father, to my mother, to everyone and anyone who will listen because it is not true and it never has been true. I've been getting the shit kicked out of me since I was small. True, in recent years I've gotten better at saving myself but it's only ever made me more ugly. I'm the boy with the clown face, the torn up cheek and elongated mouth straight from some horror flick. I look like a fucking monster and we all know it. I'm about to laugh at his funny joke when he grabs my chin in a really serious matter and forces me to focus on him. It's hard to do that because I'm trying to keep an eye on the shadows and I can't focus on Tate and look at the street all in one go no matter how hard I try. I struggle in his grip but Tate's got one like iron. He's talking shit about my dad and I frown. I want to tell him not to say stuff like that about my father because he may be terrifying sometimes but deep down he's still my dad and I still love him like I always will. It's supposed to be unconditional, that's what love is. Besides, I think I know what made him so mad, what's got me like this, in this moment of lucidity. I pull away and look back towards the street. The shadows are advancing slowly, like the coming darkness and I shiver. There are no bodies, only a marching group, coming slowly, one by one towards us. I don't want to alert Tate to their presence yet but I'll have to soon, it's dangerous. "It's laced," I tell Tate. "This happened before, when I got my scar. It's a bad batch, it's been laced with jacker venom." Someone milked a bee butt just to fuck with me. The shadows climb over the fence and I shudder, heart pumping faster, suddenly energized. Urgently, I scuttle to my feet and pick up the closest thing I can find, which happens to be an enormous orange. I throw it angrily at the nearest shadow, and I watch as it bursts into blue flame, leaving an angry scorch mark on the grass. "Do you got anymore oranges?" I ask Tate urgently, already searching for something else to throw at the shadowmen. [/presto]	[presto] h e l l a h i g h [/presto]
[presto] w i l l   i   w a k e   u p  ? [/presto]

[[nyte]]

[presto] n o s e   u p   i n   t h e   g l o b e s [/presto]
[presto] s e v e n t e e n [/presto]	[presto] T A T E   S E R A P H I M He pulls away and I allow my fingers to go limp and fall to the ground. He was upset by what I said and I didn't understand. I couldn't think of anyone who wouldn't want to hear how much of a douchebag their abusive father is, but then again I've never met a kid like Nemo. My mouth opens to apologize but I bite my tongue. No matter if I upset him, I won't apologize for speaking the truth. There's no reason to apologize for speaking fact, no matter if someone doesn't want to hear it. Any person who would lay a hand on their own blood was despicable. The thought has angered me again, the apples of my cheeks flushed and clammy. For the sake of keeping Nemo calm, I don't argue. I didn't like the feeling of him leaving my grasp voluntarily. Pout tugging at the corner of my lips I allow my fingers to grate gently against the doorstep. I draw circles and squares and am left feeling like a scolded child for no reason in particular. "It's laced." he finally speaks up and I'm more than a little relieved that he wasn't too upset at me. I wince at the mention of Jacker Venom. It's common knowledge that shit feels about as good as injecting fire into your veins. If that tame. Cautiously I grip his hand, interlocking our fingers and attempting to speak but he's too busy throwing a pebble at our fence to notice. He looks at me with those same glazed eyes that make my heart sink to my stomach and asks if I have any more oranges. I close my eyes, the lucidity he had shown at telling me the drug was laced disappearing in an instant. The Nemo who I'd met on the bridge replaced with a fragile, broken Nemo who I want desperately to fix but I haven't the slightest idea how. Squeezing his palm I shake my head swallowing the lump forcing it's way up my throat and looking at him with feigned calm. "It doesn't matter, we need to get you inside." I run my hand along the back of his head, clutching his hair gently before pressing my lips to his for a brief moment. Because I needed to stand and unlock the door and even that was a frightening prospect. I don't want to leave him without giving him a reason to stay. Taking my eyes off Nemo feels like a death sentence. The same raw anxiety shaking my hands as I fumble with the key ring. A pleasant jingle echoes about the empty street and I'm tempted to laugh at how something could seem so calm and charming when my world was a complete mess of tears and fear. It feels like it takes eons to unlock the front door, moonlight illuminating the entrance. The house was sleepy, hours must have passed since I left for my date. Bitterly, I recall the excitement that had filled me upon leaving this house and compare it to the fear that controls me upon returning. "Looks like my brothers are asleep, we'll have to be quiet." [/presto]	[presto] t a b l e b y e l e g a n t [/presto]
[presto] y o u   n e v e r   k n o w   i f   y o u   a r e   p a s s i n g   o u t [/presto]

[gamemaker kelsier]

[presto] g e t t i n g     d a r k e r     b y     t h e   h o u r [/presto]
[presto] s i x t e e n [/presto]	[presto] N E M O   K L A R D I E I don't think Tate can see them, which makes sense because I've always known that I was a little bit of a superhero. At least that's what the kids back home call me, especially when I hand their mom a wad of cash. You should see the tears that come out of their eyes and it makes me feel embarrassed as hell. I like helping everyone but I don't like the recognition I get for it. For all of my swagger, I'm a tiny bit shy. Recognition is dangerous in a life like mine, I don't like it when people remember me too much. My eyes search the street keenly, trying to catch sight of the shadowmen, but they must be lying low for now. They're probably amazed at my great aim, they weren't expecting it when I'm like this. As a matter of fact, neither was I. Tate runs his hands through my hair and I press my head into him. It feels incredible, like I can feel each individual hair on the back of my head moving and it's such bliss. I shut my eyes to it, sighing softly with happiness. This is what I was searching for when I went to the bridge. This was the treasured thing that I was so afraid of losing when I saw Tate falling off of the railing. Then, he turns my head to his and he kisses me and it's like something is dawning against my lips, like an idea. Or a sun. Something, it's something good. I shut my eyes against it, caught completely up in it and my head bows forward when he pulls away. "Go away Nemo." I open my eyes, staring at the back of Tate's head as he unlocks his front door, confusion growing in my chest. "Get the hell away from me, don't come back," he says and it sounds like he means it too. I don't know what to say to him, to make him stop saying this. So I sit, frozen in silence in confused fear as the words leave his lips and wrap around the back of his head. These are things that my father has said to me more than once but I never expected to hear them from Tate, in his voice. The sound of his keys jingling shatters the night, making me twist my head around to check for the shadowmen but they aren't there. I want to believe that what I've heard him saying isn't real but that's what I always want to believe. Every single time that I shut my eyes to it, I can't keep out the words and I always want to believe that it's pretend but it never is. "You really are an idiot, aren't you Nemo?" Tate says and my hands start shaking. I bite my lip to stop the tears from welling up fresh in my eyes. It's hard though. This is a different kind of crying from the fear. My cheeks go red in embarrassment and my face feels hot. A lump grows in my throat and I can't swallow it. After everything tonight, Tate dying and coming back to life for me over and over again, he doesn't want me anymore. I knew it I knew it I knew it I knew it I knew it I kn- Dad was right. He was right. I'm not Sean, I'm not as good as Sean and no one ever wants Nemo, they want Sean, who was more handsome and he was kinder and braver too. Sean was better at everything, and I knew it. I turn my head and he's there, leaning against the fence, watching intently as if to prepare himself to rush forwards and save me from this horrible moment, just like he's always been ready to do. That was one of the worst things about my big brother. It was also one of the best. Sean was the only one who really ever loved me before Tate, or so I thought. Maybe I was wrong about Tate. "You're a waste of life, Nemo. You should be dead, it should be you, not Sean." I turn back to face Tate, and tears are spilling hot and fresh from my eyes, washing over raw cheeks. Tate's right. He's always right. I'm stupid and I know it. I always pretend to be smart with the equations and ideas that fly through my head but I'm really so dumb. How could I actually believe that a guy like Tate would want a guy like me? I should have known but I couldn't have known because I'm dumb. I even forget to keep an eye on the shadowmen. So I don't realize it when one of them wraps their arms around me and sets my chest on fire. I screech with the pain, and fall forwards against the floorboards of Tate's front porch. The flame eats up my skin and I crumble to ashes and dust. I claw at the wood, the pain of the fire licking through my veins turning me senseless. Nothing, nothing has ever hurt so bad. Not Sean dying, not when dad cut my face, not even now with Tate telling me to fuck off. This is electrocuting and eloquent and it eats at me, until my eyes roll into the back of my head and I don't have any air left. When I come to and the fire has charred my flesh to an inky blackness, I'm lying on my side and Tate is above me but I can't tell what his expression is. "P-please...please Tate, don't say those things....d-don't say those horrible things to me, don't don't don't make me go away," I beg him, voice hitching from the sobbing and the pain in my body and the horrible, horrible sorrow that grips me so tightly, "Don't tell me to go away, not you too." [/presto]	[presto] h e l l a h i g h [/presto]
[presto] w i l l   i   w a k e   u p  ? [/presto]

[[nyte]]

[presto] e v e n   i f  i t   s o u n d s  c r a z y ,  d a r l i n g [/presto]
[presto] s e v e n t e e n [/presto]	[presto] T A T E   S E R A P H I M He doesn't answer and I can't say that I'm surprised. Nemo is always trying to run away from me tonight, some way or another. Whether it be on a bridge railing or his mind racing so far ahead I can't keep up. Why he keeps trying to escape me I can't quite figure out, but it stings nonetheless. Worried I've spent too long away from him and I turn around, intending to pick him up once more and to carry him into my room but the look on his face stops me. It stops everything. Tears roll down cheeks tinted a bright red and I've never seen him look so... hurt. "Nemo?" I move towards him, intending to wrap my arms around his waist and to hold him. To make whatever hurt him go away. That's all I've ever wanted, to bring a smile to his lips because it's so pretty and uneven. And he falls. He screams and I instinctively drop to my knees next to him, I try to catch him but he sinks and I can only press my hands against my eyes and allow my body to be overcome by silent sobs as he thrashes. I'm too scared to move him, I don't know what to do. I'm no doctor. I'm a no good gang banger who isn't even a good guy. I'm a bad guy who's killed all the good guys but I don't want this one to die. Nemo is the only good guy I've wanted to keep safe. He could be dying and I could be watching and I can't just sit here and watch. "Nemo! Nemo... fuck's sake Nemo! Nemo..." I sound pathetic. My voice cracks and I clutch weakly at the hem of his shirt. "nemonemonemonemo..." As if calling his name will bring him back, as if my sobs mean anything to him as he thrashes. My fingers are wrapped tightly in the fabric of his shirt now, knuckles white with strain. (Nemo please don't die.) His eyes, glazed and haunted with pain, focus on me eventually. I'm so relived I nearly collapse upon him. It's as if my body has unraveled, relief leaving my muscles feeling like jelly. I let out a sob, pain still lingering behind my cry as I press my hands to my face once more. (He's alive. He's alive. He's alive.) And he begs me not to say such awful things. He begs me not to make him go away and I gape at him for a few moments. The absurdity of his statements going through my ears a few times before I can actually grasp it. "You asshole!" I pick him up, cradling him best I can and pressing him against me. "You asshole, oh god Nemo why would I ever want you to go away?" It dawns on me, just like that. Everything that'd happened tonight had been about me leaving. Me dying. Me jumping. And I wonder, that even in this state, if this Nemo's fears mirror the boy's I'd met on the bridge. "Not you too." He'd said. I don't understand. I can't even begin to understand but the words send fire through my veins. I'm angry, so angry. Angry that he'd think I'd leave. That I'd be like my father or whatever assholes he's encountered. Angry that he's been abandoned because I know how it feels. (My mother, my brother, and who knows what the future will bring.) "You asshole." I murmur again, burying my face in the crook of his neck and holding him tighter. "You're fucking stuck with me so stop it. I'm not going anywhere. I'm never going anywhere so stop being an asshole and just be okay again." My voice breaks as the words leave me, leaving my throat raw and every part of me exposed. I'd gotten so good at putting up a front that this part of me, the weak part of me, is shameful. I'm not the Tate taking care of his brothers or the Tate slitting your throat, I'm the seventeen year old who's never felt this way about anyone, who doesn't know what he's got himself into. Who's in over his head in every possible way but keeps swimming all the way down to bottom of the river. The stupid asshole who swims against the current because that's what everyone expects of him but who wants more than anything just to give up. No one sees this part of me. Not even when I look into the mirror and run my hand along my face. When I wonder that if mother looked at me now, would she recognize me? Because no one sees this part of me but the broken boy in my arms. "...please." I cling to him because even when he could be dying he's still the only thing keeping me afloat. "I just want you to be okay again." [/presto]	[presto] t a b l e b y e l e g a n t [/presto]
[presto] i  w o n ' t  l e t  y o u  g o [/presto]

[gamemaker kelsier]

[presto] K e e p     m e     w h e r e [/presto]
[presto] s i x t e e n [/presto]	[presto] N E M O   K L A R D I E "You gorgeous duck," he says to me and then he picks me up like I'm a single feather that's been hiding under a pile of bricks and cradles me to him. I close my eyes against the softness of his t-shirt, relief making my eyes bright and my vision swim so I shut them. Slowly, so he doesn't notice how much I need him, I curl my fingers tightly into the hem of his shirt and create rippling waves where before there were only whirlpools. Tate smells great. (Tate the Great, the best thing I ever smate haha). He smells slightly of an inkiness, like smoke sticking to my lungs, it's there. It belches out of the factory tops every hour of the day and coats our fair city in a layer of grime but on Tate it smells good, familiar. It's mixed with the tangy scent of iron and I wonder if he somehow got it ingrained into him the night that I found him there, hands ravaged by a bridge railing. It grew into his skin to mix with the scent of lavender there, like entangled fruit it blossoms. If I open my eyes then I can see it bloom beneath his skin but I am not afraid. It was always meant to grow there. I am like the flowers, meant for here, in his arms. I push myself up against his body, as if I could climb inside, beneath his skin and settle myself comfortable between his bones. I settle for the sound of his heartbeat against my ear instead, contented and happy now that he has told me that I don't have to leave. That he's not leaving either. (nemonemonemonemonemo). I swallow thickly, stomach rebelling against me. I don't know what I had for dinner tonight but it's not in agreement with me. Whatever it was, it wants out. My mouth feels dryer than the sixty-seventh arena and somehow I know that I might be dying just the tiniest bit. It feels a lot like Satan has parked himself in my abdomen and is carving swear words into my stomach lining. I groan softly against Tate's chest, letting my head fall to the side so that he can gain access to my neck. "I like that when you put your face there," I tell him absentmindedly, hoping he doesn't mind my charred, black flesh too much. It's not ideal but I will never tell him to go away. Not if he plans to stay. I wonder how he's touching me. My skin feels like it's one thousand degrees and bound to melt away soon. It's my fault for letting myself be caught on fire in the first place but it's dangerous to hold a thing like me. I'm going up in smoke even as we sit here, in the night. His touch is cold. It's good. I don't want him to let me go, but he should if he doesn't want to catch on fire too. I struggle weakly in his hold, not managing to do much but slump weakly to the side. My ear falls away from his skin and so I can no longer hear his heartbeat. I might be dead. He might be dead. Everyone is dead. The pain in my stomach grows heavier and sharper. My eyes swim from the pain of it and I whimper slightly against the pain, pushing a hand up my shirt as if I can hold myself together that way. I wonder if I've gone and put a bomb down in my stomach. Seems like a stupid idea. No wonder Tate was mad with me, I'd be mad at me too. If it goes off then I'm dead. I can hear it ticking down inside of me and I know that if I'm dead and dying then I'm glad that I'm right here. I slide quietly down to the wooden planking of the forest we're in and I let myself collapse completely into the weight of Tate. I can vaguely feel his arms holding me but my skin is too hot to know much else. (You're the one who was supposed to die Nemo.) "I'm not Sean, Mom" I sigh out, my remaining fingers uncurling from the hem of Tate's shirt, "But I can't go because I'm Tate's duck." I smile widely and open my eyes because I can't see with my eyes shut, which is surprising. I'm ninety percent sure that yesterday I was blind. My head is resting in Tate's lap and his cheeks are stained with snail trails. My grin widens and I lift a hand to trace one, hand sliding across his skin to cup his cheek. [/presto]	[presto] h e l l a h i g h [/presto]
[presto] t h e   l i g h t   is   [/presto]

[[nyte]]

[presto] e v e n   i f  i t   s o u n d s  c r a z y ,  d a r l i n g [/presto]
[presto] s e v e n t e e n [/presto]	[presto] T A T E   S E R A P H I M The broken boy won't sit still. Like a snake he presses against my body, head resting upon my chest as I speak softly. I'm split so wide open that there's no chance in putting the pieces back together. My eyes find him, heavy with affection at the sight of his fingers wrapped within my shirt. He's warm against me, too warm and it reminds me of times my brothers were ill, sweat pressed firmly against their brow and complaining of cold when everything about them was hot. But I can't let go. I can't find it in me to break the embrace and to welcome the freezing night air once more. (Though I can't help but imagine I'd be cold even on the hottest day without Nemo in my arms.) My face is still buried in his neck, lips resting against his skin as panic leaves me with every shaky exhale. His head tilts, almost welcomingly so and I pull him closer although his words send a familiar blush to my cheeks. Nemo is breathtaking. His voice in my ear, the way it makes my knees week and how it drives me crazy in the best way possible. I'd be lying if I said I met anything more beautiful than the boy in my arms, but if you asked me a week ago perhaps I would said yes. Nemo was not immediately beautiful. He was cute, mysterious in the way that his smile was slanted and that I could maybe see some pain behind it. He was pretty and attractive but he was not beautiful. The more I talked to him, the more I realized just how often my heart skipped beats, the more I thought of how he made me feel like I was walking on air, the more beautiful he became. He was a diamond all along but it took me a while to realize that I wanted the diamond to be mine. I've just got to work on deserving him now. He struggles against my hold, every attempt to pull away feeling like a thorn pulled from my flesh but I don't offer much resistance, allowing his head to fall in my lap. And it literally falls, realization hitting me that Nemo was in fact still dying and that he was slipping through my fingers faster each second. A diamond crumbling to sand. I'm reminded that I still haven't the slightest clue how to save him. (The pressure behind my eyes burns something awful now, but I don't want to cry anymore. I'm so tired.) Pain escapes his lips in a high pitched sound and I have to press my hands against my lips to restrain the sob tearing its way through my throat. The night air surely isn't doing anyth- "I'm not Sean, Mom." the words furrows my brow and tilts my head. I hadn't the slightest clue who Sean was and I'm not sure if asking will yield anything other than more pointless babble so I just stare at him. Nemo is too fast for me, always too fast. Even when he's sober. I guess it's not hard to be faster than a man who murders for a living. Intelligence isn't needed for mindless slaughter. "But I can't go because I'm Tate's duck." And I smile too wide at the words. As nonsensical as they were, it manages to send a warm feeling throughout the whole of my body. It was cute, that Nemo thought he was mine. Even if he wasn't, not yet, it makes me want to kiss him because of how much those words meant. He wanted me. Not in a way that anyone ever had. Not when they'd used me for a body and when I'd used them for theirs. When the name they uttered was not my own and I didn't care one bit because I didn't care about them. Nemo didn't want me like that. Maybe I don't understand why, maybe I never will, but I'll work my hardest to deserve him because that's what a boy like Nemo deserves. "And you've done enough quacking out here." I bite my lip, grin crawling onto my lips as I pull Nemo into my chest, standing on unsteady legs and taking him home. Even when home was a few steps away there was a certain relief in finally being here. I stumble over to the couch, exhaustion never more apparent than it is now. Every step burns and I might just collapse here with Nemo in my arms but every step I manage is a miracle because I've set him on the couch and locked the door behind us. I think that maybe Nemo is the first and only boy I'll ever take home. I hope he is. [/presto]	[presto] t a b l e b y e l e g a n t [/presto]
[presto] i  w o n ' t  l e t  y o u  g o [/presto]

[gamemaker kelsier]

[presto] K e e p     m e     w h e r e [/presto]
[presto] s i x t e e n [/presto]	[presto] N E M O   K L A R D I E Ahhh... why.....why....this? I want to ask. (But my eyes are rolling out of my skull and someone is carving me up.) The sharpness comes back and it feels like my father's knife tearing into my flesh but it begins beneath, like a boiling in the stem of me. If I were flowers I'd be blooming fresh tonight, but I'm not. I'm built from skin and bone and somehow it feels like I might be dying at least a little bit. "Once the morphling wears off Nemo, that's when it starts to really hurt," says dad. I don't know how he found Tate's house but my dad used to be clear headed too once. I wave weakly at him, telling him to shoo. He dissipates like dust. Tate. I forget to say it and I gasp instead, hands curling around air as the pain slams into me. He lifts me up then, and we are flying inside, like angry hummingbirds but I don't understand. There is a softness beneath me, like cement blocks. Soft. Cushions. Tate is walking away from me, I reach out, too slow. It feels like my arms are made from rubber and they fall slowly; I watch as they hit the ground and I break my hands. Pain shoots through me like a light being flicked on. I open my mouth to scream and nothing comes out, just the strangest of mewls, like I might be part cat. I am. Drool slips from between my lips as the pain hits me again and I roll to the side, off of the cement blocks, one hand going to my stomach as I arch my back, mouth opening to yowl, tail arching as pain hits me again, slamming into me quickly. It feels like dad is kicking me in the stomach, again and again and again. I whimper, weak and pathetic. Dad stop. He doesn't stop. Dad please, and I'm choking on snot, barely breathing as he kicks and kicks and kicks me. Dad please, I'm dying. "Good," he says, "Good." My arms shake in an effort to hold me steady. Where's Tate, where'd he go, I can't stop him, Tate, he's going to kill me this time for sure, Tate. Tate please, I need you, please Tate. I only whimper, tears falling from my eyes again as I curl my hands into fists against carpet, leaning sideways against the cement blocks Tate left me one when he went away. Acid boils inside of me and I groan, burning up again, crumbling away in Tate's living room. Dad's feet find me again and again and it's like being trampled to death by one person. I collapse against the ground, bile forming in my throat, rising. A dragon crawls out from inside of me, burning my tongue as it's claws scrape my cheeks and teeth in it's panic. He slides out in a burst of flame, long body coiling around him as he emerges bit by bit. My eyes widen with fear and I nearly scream from the pain of it, his scales must be lines with acid, it hurts my flesh. It burns as it leaves my throat and mouth and I struggle weakly, trying to get away from the taste but I'm stuck, I can't move, lying in a puddle of this homemade lava and I'm sobbing harder, I didn't want to die here. I was never meant to be sacrificed to any volcano god but the lava is hot on my skin and it sticks to me, it smells. It hurts, it hurts. It burns in my throat and I retch, hands reaching out, away, like I'm three years old again, asking Sean to carry me because my chubby little legs are tired. I curl inwards instead, hands clutching my stomach, desperately trying to hold myself together but I am coming apart at the seams, I'm unraveling. My body is broken all up into pieces, I'm going to walk away from myself and leave me here to suffer alone, I can barely take it anymore. I open my mouth to call for Tate and my father's foot finds my stomach again drawing a fresh wave of pain. I cry out, a strangled sob as I writhe on the soiled carpet. If only they'd stop setting me on fire, I might survive this. If only my skin was built from stronger stuff. AS it is, I'm tearing apart a the seams, I can barely think straight. Agony grips me tight. So tight. "Tate," I say, voice small and far away, "Tate." [/presto]	[presto] h e l l a h i g h [/presto]
[presto] t h e   l i g h t   is   [/presto]

[[nyte]]

[presto] w e ' l l  l a y  h e r e  f o r  y e a r s  o r  f o r  h o u r s [/presto]
[presto] s e v e n t e e n [/presto]	[presto] T A T E   S E R A P H I M He makes me feel so free. Lifts a thousand pounds off my shoulders just by being near me. His presence is intoxicating, and I want to hold him within my arms forever. Because he makes my heart skip like stones across a pond and I like him so much that it hurts in the most beautiful way. And I wonder if that's what love feels like. It's different than the love I feel for my brothers, or the love I feel for Calicifer. This love burns into my throat and it twists my insides, slicing them up again and again. Again and again. It tethers me to Nemo with a thick cord and I don't even care. His clothes are stained with sweat and blood. I don't care. I don't care about anything but the fact that he is here with me. I have never felt a love as potent as this. So strong that it has cut the tendons in my legs and left my knees weak. And I think it will be okay, to leave for five minutes. To make the short trek upstairs and into my room to grab a pair of pants and a shirt from my closet because he must be so uncomfortable in those dirty garments. I run, I sprint, up the stairs. Anxiety slamming my insides together harder and harder the longer I'm away from Nemo. But I want it to all go away. And I don't think I can fix the boy's pain but I'm going to try my hardest because I think that I love him. (Not that those words would leave my lips any time soon. Not when I could so easily scare him off with them.) I remember what momma said about treating women well. Because if you loved someone then they'd never have to feel afraid with you. You should be a release, a safe pair of arms to lay within when the days get rough and they should do the same for you. "Love isn't a one sided thing, Tate. When you find the right person, they'll feel everything you do. They'll want to protect you and hold you tight just like you want to do for them. Trust me Tate. You'll just know." ('It's okay Tate. I've got you now.') And I swear I was only gone for five minutes. I swear it took only five minutes for my world to crumble around me once again. Like glass breaking into thick shards, impaling me deeper and deeper the longer I stare, slack-jawed, at the dying boy in front of me. And I don't know how things have gone to shit so quickly but someone has shoved white hot needles into my eyes because it's all I can feel. Because I forgot that he was dying and I shouldn't have left and this is all my fault. He's vomiting. The carpet around him completely soiled and the clothes I brought for him fall to the ground as though I was carrying boulders instead of soft cloth. I don't want to lose him. Not yet. Not ever. Because I know, Mom, I know. "Tate." His voice is barely there, weak. He's dying. He's dying. He'S DYING. I'm by his side in an instant, fingers running though his hair. And it smells awful and I might be sick myself but I don't care. I might as well be flying because I can't feel anything but his feverish flesh beneath my finger tips. "Nemo..." I gather him up in my arms once more and I don't care that he's dirty or that I'm getting dirty. I don't care that I'll have to clean him up or that I've ruined the nicest shirt I own. "It's okay Nemo. You're going to be okay." I can't feel my legs as I stand, I can't feel anything but somehow we've made it into the bathroom and I've locked the door behind us too. A soft, brown towel makes its way across his skin. I've always had a strong stomach. Since mother died I've been the one caring for my ill brothers. It's not the first time I've cleaned someone after they've thrown up, and I doubt it'll be the last time too. My words are soft and small, meaningless comforts drawled into the silence. More to fill it than anything. "It's going to be okay Nemo. You're going to be okay." And as hard as I've tried to stay calm, my panic forces its way deeper into every syllable. Like a bullet. Merciless. Rapid. "You better be okay... Nemo you have to be okay please, please, please. I don't want to-I can't lose you. Fuck, I can't lose you. Don't go. Please don't go. I need you." And I'm crying again. When did that happen? [/presto]	[presto] t a b l e b y e l e g a n t [/presto]
[presto] y o u r  h a n d  i n  m y  h a n d ,  s o  s t i l l  a n d  d i s c r e e t [/presto]

[gamemaker kelsier]

[presto] K e e p     m e     w h e r e [/presto]
[presto] s i x t e e n [/presto]	[presto] N E M O   K L A R D I E I was thinking about this one time awhile back when my dad took a knife and he put it in my mouth and he carved up my face because he was high and I was there. So many things have happened just because I existed. I wonder what might have happened if I wasn't. Maybe things would have been different, better. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes in response to the venom in my body, unwarranted but there anyway. It's as if I can no longer process the pain that tears through me, my mind has given up on it. My body reacts alone, and I stare at the wall, waiting for it to stop. I don't care anymore, whether I live or die. I just want it to stop hurting, I want it to stop, I want it all to stop. As I watch the wall it begins to get sucked away, like some big vacuum is taking this reality apart and maybe it is, maybe we're imploding like a star, maybe this is death and I'm sort of glad for it. Maybe I'd be okay with this, with not existing anymore because it sounds a lot less painful. "That it is sport," says Sean, from his place on the floor beside me, "But then again, it's a lot less anything. Pretty boring if I'm being honest with you." That's good, Sean knows how I feel about honesty. I used to be nothing but, before I started robbing from factories but Sean died because of a factory and in the end I rob factories to help people and so that's how I was always able to live with myself when it came down to it. So honesty. It's good. To be honest, I want to die here. "Tate," I whimper as he runs his hands through my hair, "It hurts so bad." My voice cracks at the end as I sob and I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my hands to the hot skin where my stomach is, nearly biting through my lip in an effort not to scream. I am boiling on the inside, like a volcano about to explode all over and I wonder if I have gone ahead and become one of the bombs that I've spent my short lifetime building. Is that poetic or ironic? I don't know. He tells me that I'm going to be okay and gathers me up in his arms. I feel small here, I'm not much shorter than him but right now I am the size of a five year old. I am tiny and beaten and weak and it's all too much in the end, this surviving bullshit. I don't understand why people think it's a good idea to tell me that I'm going to be fine, that I'm going to live because I have to. Ever since I was small, ever since my dad started beating the shit out of me people have been telling me how okay I'm going to be, but they don't know. They don't know that every single time I'm just making it by the skin of my teeth that next time there might be no next time. They don't know that I'm smiling because if I didn't I wouldn't know what to do, not just because I'm a friendly little shit. This time I'm so tired. "I'm just so tired," I mumble, as he puts me down on cold tiles and I press my forehead against the rim of his toilet, knowing that any second now my insides are going to combust and everything inside of me is going to come up as surely as I know that I really am an idiot. After a lifetime trying to convince people that I'm not as smart as I am, it really became true. My insides are melting away inside of me because of two people that were supposed to love me. I stayed with them because they were supposed to and all along, there was Tate, waiting for me on that bridge. "I'm glad," I murmur, strangely lucid as he wipes at my brow with a towel, "I'm glad I found you that night Tate, I'm so glad." I watch him with glazed eyes, the only stable thing in the spinning room we're in. I always wanted to know what it really felt like to be cared for. And it comes. I scramble up, hands gripping the basin of the toilet as my body turns itself inside out into the bowl. It burns a trail of fire through me, hundreds and hundreds of clawed feet rake themselves through the flesh of my throat and they burn my mouth, they burn me as they go. My stomach flips as it empties and I heave, gagging on the taste of it, horrible and thick on my tongue. It seems to go on forever before there is finally nothing left. And I'm like an ant hill, riddled with so many hollow spaces that I'm at the point of collapse. I slide down beside the toilet, breathing heavily from the strange and sudden lightness I feel. There is nothing anymore. Just a certainty, a fixed point in the center of my chest. Bright and ethereal, it is agony. Just agony. "Oh," I say as it makes itself known. Then the world goes black. [/presto]	[presto] h e l l a h i g h [/presto]
[presto] t h e   l i g h t   is   [/presto]

[[nyte]]

[presto] w e ' l l  l a y  h e r e  f o r  y e a r s  o r  f o r  h o u r s [/presto]
[presto] s e v e n t e e n [/presto]	[presto] T A T E   S E R A P H I M My knees are pressed against my chest and I'm holding myself because nobody else will. He told me he's glad he found me that night. But I'm not sure I am. I want to be grateful. I want to nod and gather him up in my arms and tell him me too because I got to meet him and we were going to live happily ever after because he was the one and I knew it because Mom told me I would know. But I'm not. And I'm not going to lie to myself anymore and say that I am. Because this hurts. Because I know he doesn't mean to but he's hurting me so bad. I'm tired of being hurt. Of Teddy being gone and Teva yelling and Tripp screaming with his silence. I'm tired. So tired. And I'd rather a thousand needles pressed into my skin than to watch this. To watch him die in front of me. And I wish he'd never found me because then I wouldn't have to. But I'd have never met him then either. And I can't have that. The seconds pass by like hours as the whole of my body leaks upon the floor. Because I'm always crying but it's never real tears. It's my emotions escaping. Every part of me falling into my palms because I hope just maybe one day they'll disappear completely. It'd be better that way. I think it's over. I think it's ending because he's fallen against the toilet and he's covered in sweat. And he looks so, so small. He releases a single, soft sound before heavy lids collide with his lashes and Nemo is limp upon my floor. (Dead? oh god please no. no no no no.) My limbs are heavy as I crawl over to him. I hope that he knew he was beautiful because even now he takes my breath away. And I hope he knew that I loved him even though I never got to say it and I hope that just maybe he loved me too because I think I'd like that a lot. I hope he knew that I was sorry for all of the things we never got to do and I hope that he knew that he deserved the world and- He's breathing. It's like a thousand pound weight was wrenched from my shoulders and I'm laughing and sobbing at the same time because he's alive. Because I didn't have to hope that he knew all of those things because I was never taking a single minute with him for granted. Never again. He was going to know all of those things and he was going to know all of them a thousand times over. Nemo is alive. Alive. Alive. Alive. I brush his hair out of his face, pressing my lips against his forehead before gathering him in my arms for the umpteenth time that night. And I pray, as I make the gentle trek up the stairs, he will not mind my changing his clothes. I do it carefully, looking away as I pull a fresh shirt over his head and sweat pants over his legs. And despite a color rising to my cheeks, I've removed the toxic clothing, covered with sweat and blood and sick. I've set him upon my bed a bit too small for two people to lay on, I've pressed a pillow beneath his head and held my ear to his lips about a thousand times over to make sure I still hear the raspy winds escaping them before quickly changing my own. And I think I'm on autopilot because I've thrown them all into the wash and scrubbed the carpet clean of foul memories. (Every five minutes rushing upstairs to relieve the dread building with every beat.) (Don't let him die, don't let him die.) He hasn't. Not yet. I don't feel anything for a long while because I know when I can't afford to feel it. I can push it all away until I break into a thousand pieces. It's easier that way. I like it that way. And I think the sun is close to rising by the time I crawl into bed, body sore and wounded. I snake my arm beneath his neck and I pull the broken boy into my chest, curling my fingers in his hair and singing the song that mother did when fevers kept me up. When my frequent nightmares plagued me too terribly to even attempt a night's rest. A soothing melody whose lyrics I never memorized. They were always just there. And just maybe, I think, as I rock our bodies gently to the tune wind howling outside, I'm glad that he found me too. [/presto]	[presto] t a b l e b y e l e g a n t [/presto]
[presto] y o u r  h a n d  i n  m y  h a n d ,  s o  s t i l l  a n d  d i s c r e e t [/presto]