“I went to Budapest, alone.” Was it worth telling him about seeing her grandmother by herself? The promises for him to visit her for Mother’s Day? She knew it wasn’t celebrated in certain places, but she promised Orsolya to bring Charon by. Instead, she came with simply flowers, and sat down to watch her grandmother mumur on about the paranoia she felt in the hospital. “I thought you were coming with me, to see my Grandma. We talked about it months ago, but you never showed up. I’m just…sad.” She looked down at her fingers, wondering if she should have even said anything.
He listened uncomfortably. He yearned to sympathize with her, to feel something as she reminded him of yet another broken promise on his part. Charon could see the tears forming in her eyes, threatening to streak down her cheeks. He could hear the shakiness of her voice and the raspiness it adopted when she got particularly emotional. He noticed every indication of what she was feeling but he failed to comprehend experiencing it himself, therefore lacking the kind of empathy she needed. He had grown numb, moreso than usual, in his time of reclusion, as always. It was kind of the point of his periodic absences.
“Since my word is clearly empty, an apology is worthless.” Such was his conclusion, and he uttered it so quietly, he was uncertain if she heard it or not.
“I am not sure what to offer you, what I can offer you, right now, and in general.” His words were tentative and low in volume, but even. “I cannot be what you need.”