#widow thought

Sometimes I catch myself thinking that Carter should have been an android from Cyberlife, or that I’d want a model that looked like him. 

But deep down I’d know it wouldn’t be the same. He’d have interpretations of my late husband’s mannerisms, and might have his tone of voice, but I’d still find something different and it would bother me. Eventually I wouldn’t have the heart to call him Carter and would want to change his name.

That need of a companion and the priority to heal is an ever growing conflict in my head. I almost feel like Hank, wrestling with guilt and self-loathing and blame. Thankfully, I’m not dependent on alcohol to calm myself down, I have video games for that. My anemia keeps me pretty mellow too, though I hardly have the energy to do anything (I need to get back on top of that). 

While I was brushing my teeth, for once in a couple weeks now that I think of it, another thought came to me. Carter was the one to talk me down when I had an anxious moment, or would be coaxing when he felt I was collapsing on myself. And yet, I couldn’t do the same for him. I tried to reassure him, as he had done for me. But I didn’t have his magic words, I guess. 

“You can’t have nice things,” that blaming voice would tell me on occasion. “You take them for granted and then they get lost. Every time.”

Shut up, I try to say.

Carter wasn’t a thing. I loved that man with every fiber I had, I just had trouble adjusting to my new life and he was there to help me. I checked on his emotional state often and he was always honest with me. I trusted him to be okay.

I trusted him.

And now he’s gone.