[ Ah, Carver thinks, his hand pressed gently against Bear’s back. He tilts his head back, gaze drifting to the ceiling and the camera he knows is there, watching him. In the end, he probably should’ve guessed something like that. This a familiar story. People don’t fall into a life like this without some kind of blood sacrifice, he’s found. They certainly don’t stay.
He wonders what Nathan was like. He wonders if Nathan knew how much he shaped Harold in the aftermath. ]
These things happen, [ Carver says after a while. He’s unfocused and distant from himself, knows vaguely that something’s wrong with him. That he needs to snap out of it.
He pets Bear. It’s something to do. And after a moment, he lifts the shitty camp shirt to reveal the dappling of shrapnel scars over his hip, where metal punched through his armor all those years ago. It should have killed him but it didn’t. ]
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He wonders what Nathan was like. He wonders if Nathan knew how much he shaped Harold in the aftermath. ]
These things happen, [ Carver says after a while. He’s unfocused and distant from himself, knows vaguely that something’s wrong with him. That he needs to snap out of it.
He pets Bear. It’s something to do. And after a moment, he lifts the shitty camp shirt to reveal the dappling of shrapnel scars over his hip, where metal punched through his armor all those years ago. It should have killed him but it didn’t. ]
I walked away, too.