At first, he doesn't look like a monster. Not like the monsters you see in movies and read about in books. He just looks...tired. He's been putting himself back together for so long, he's forgotten what he used to look like before the breaking started. He refuses to look in the mirror. He knows he'll hate what he sees. If you dare to look close, you can see all the seams. They aren't prominent, just thin careful stitches. The places once split open and he decided to survive it. He may remind you of Frankenstein, and not because he's scary, but the way he looks assembled. You might also see The Beast in him too. He's quiet, with a posture that expects rejection.
When he breaks, he doesn't get full of rage. There is hardly a sound when he collapses. He breaks in private. He just...unravels. Every time it happens, he gathers himself back up, piece by piece. Pride over there, hope stuck somehere it doesn't fit, and tenderness shoved behind something heavy, pretty much out of sight. He begins stitching but he stitches too fast. He's too hasty, but he does a job just enough to function. The feeling of being whole is just a distant memory.
One day he breaks yet again, but this time, it's the worst he's ever broken. It has never been this bad. "This is it." He says. "No more thread. No more forcing pieces to fit in the wrong places. I'm done." There he lays scattered. He's now convinced this must be who he truly is. He's not a man, just parts.
This is how she finds him. She wasn't searching for something broken, but she sees the mess infront of her. She sees all the sharp edges, and the parts that have been stitched and stitched again. She doesn't step back. She doesn't turn and walk away. She finds a jar. A simple glass jar. She begins picking him up. One piece at a time. He is terrified. Not of her leaving, because he's all too familar with that. He's terrified she'll gather him up and place him on a shelf. He'll be out of sight and collecting dust. That's not what she does. She carries him somewhere safe and warm. She gently empties the jar on a table covered in the light of the sun. She spreads him out carefully and studies each piece. Not with judgement, but with a heart that wants to learn. She learns the smooth pieces are his loyalty, humor, and the way he loves quietly but completely. She learns the jagged pieces are his fear of abandonment, the anger he didn't know what to do with, and the pieces of shame that are so small but so many. The fragile pieces she just holds close to her heart for a while, before setting them down.
She doesn't rush the stitching or force edges to fit where they don't belong. She takes her time. If it takes days, weeks, months, or years, she doesn't care. She listens to every shape of him, and tenderly places the pieces where they are meant to go. Once the final thread is tied, she steps back and smiles. She encourages him to look in the mirror, but he is still too afraid at what he'll see. What if he's still monstrous? Can careful hands really change the fact that he was broken to begin with? She slowly guides him to the mirror anyway, and what he expects to see are all the seams screaming at him. Instead, he looks balanced. Not perfect but now understood. Yet, he still frowns. "What's wrong?" She asks. "I'll just break again." He tells her quietly. "I always do." She smiles and picks up the simple glass jar. "I know." She tells him. "That's why I found this."
For once in his life, he won't have to face breaking alone.
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