I'm crying again.
I'll never admit it to anyone.
I'll never breathe a word of my emotion.
But I, Franken Stein, have just had my heart broken... or at least that's what I think has happened.
I never meant to push him away. I fell head over heels for my former partner and I, being the freak I am, scared him away.
My chest aches, it's getting hard to breathe properly as the tears continue to roll down my face.
I'm not used to this. I've never allowed my emotions to control me like this... I need to recompose myself...but I can't. Those words you spoke echo through my head. I twist my screw in a frantic attempt to clear my clouded mind. It doesn't help. Your words cut me deeper than I ever cut you. ...Cut. Something in the darker side of my mind snaps at that. Dissect... yes...
I stand up slowly and stride towards the room where I dissected you so many times, casting off my labcoat as I walk.
I make my way to the surgical table and pick up my scalpel. I stare at it and remember all the times I used it to marr your perfect skin. How could I not realize that what I was doing was pushing you away? Was that really the only way I could express my emotions? I ponder this as I walk towards the mirror, taking the scalpel with me. Reaching it, I'm repulsed by what I see. No wonder he turned me away. Looking back at me is a pathetic scientist with messy hair, tear-stained cheeks, and an ugly scar across his face.
Removing my shirt, I expose the rest of my scars, self-inflicted reminders of my past.
I grasp the scalpel and move it towards my face. In a fit of self-hatred I drag it down my face, re-opening the scar that already marred the skin. I bite my lip as blood seeps from the wound.
My tortured thoughts resurface, my chest hurts. I drag the scalpel down my chest. I scream in pain. I continue to carve at my chest until my heart is visible, beating against my exposed ribcage. I scream again as pain wracks my body. I prod my beating heart with the scalpel, cutting it multiple times. I scream my throat raw and tears of pain mingle with the tears of heartbreak. I use my soul sutures to mend the fatal wound I had just created before it could end my life. Now my heart really is broken. Panting heavily, I grab my needle and beging sewing my skin back together, groaning at the pain. Looking in the mirror I see my reflection once again. I'm a gory mess, but I don't care. I finish the job then sink to my knees.
My heart is broken. And it's all your fault.