DISCLAIMER and AUTHORS NOTE: Scrubs is owned by Bill Lawrence and the ABC Network (as of Season 8). I own nothing. This story was inspired by a quote from Coheed and Cambria's Junesong Provision, though the significance that the song and the band has to this story ends there. This is a very short piece, which I never really intended to post, but one that I hope you enjoy. Kudos to whoever can figure out which scene this story references.

Lyrics by Bjork.

MY HEART IN HALF

While you are away,
My heart comes undone.
Slowly unravells,
In a ball of yarn.

Every time he walks away he cuts my heart in half.

It's effortless, almost as if I am paper beneath his fingertips as he carves patterns into the pages, into the pieces of me he has kept. The cuts are always clean and sharp, much like his brusque manner and quick wit, and the wound only begins to hurt when he is gone. I can feel my heart growing smaller and smaller within my chest as time passes—as he takes more and more of me in his stride, cutting me into ribbons with his stare. I ache when I feel the emptiness, but I can't refuse him.

He jokes about my frequent visits and lingering stares and I offer a short reply or blatant denial in return. It's easier to be harsh and careful than to expose how I really feel. If I do, I might scare him away, and then I'd be alone again.

But in the highest irony, he'd still have my heart.

My mind tells me that I should be angry that he has taken so much from me, that he has worn down my defences until I have crumbled at his feet, but I can't be angry at him. I should be frustrated that it hurts so much when he turns to leave the room without another word, but my temper doesn't rise. I should be enraged that I am tied down by this, that I can't escape, that I don't want to escape. I should be all of these things, and more.

I should hate him, but I can't, and that's the hardest thing.

For even when I crash their little cafeteria get-together in the hell-hole where we work, even when I tear down every shred of happiness they have found and uproot their deepest secrets and even when I watch his face change from shock to reluctant understanding and finally, to anger, I don't feel the hate in my actions or the mocking in my voice. I feel absolutely nothing but that undeniable warmth that floods through me when I see him.

I feel absolutely nothing but that love.

And when I'm the one who walks away, I wonder if it's me who cuts his heart in half this time.

So when you come back, we'll have to make new love.
He'll never return it . . .

AUTHORS NOTE II: Thine end. I have a feeling I just confused a lot of people, including myself. Tell me what you think.

-- Exangeline.