To Calibrate a Dying Heart
I was meant to be the one and only "Perfect Synergy Partner" for the tech genius Caspian Lockhart.
But to him, my messy, human emotions were just faulty code that needed to be optimized.
He believed emotion was a defect, a bug in the human system that had to be eradicated—especially for the perfect partner his theories demanded.
The day our relationship became official, he fastened his latest invention to my wrist: a cold, metal device he called the "Emotion Calibration Bracelet." It latched on, a second skin I never asked for.
For five years, every flash of red—triggered by a flutter of my heart, a wave of sadness, or a pang of fear—brought an excruciating "calibration," a jolt of agony he administered himself.
Meanwhile, the bracelet on Miley—the flawless socialite he kept by his side—glowed a serene, steady green. The symbol of perfect synergy. Even when she flirted with him in public, the green light would only pulse gently.
And me? All I had to do was whisper, "Caspian, I painted something new for you," and my bracelet would erupt in a blinding red glare.
The punishment was always the same: a searing dose of a neural inhibitor, a poison that felt like it was tearing my very soul apart.
I tried to argue once, but Caspian’s response was always cold, clinical. "Data doesn't lie. Pain is the most effective calibration program. This is all for our synergy."
After thousands of these "calibrations," I started to believe him. I started to believe I was the defective program, fundamentally unstable.
At the annual "Innovator's Summit" gala, Caspian took Miley as his date.
Earlier that day, I had poured too much of my heart into a digital painting, and the bracelet had flashed red.
He administered the punishment.
But this time, the bracelet malfunctioned, injecting a dose a thousand times stronger than usual directly into my veins.
I collapsed onto the carpet, my hand weakly clutching his arm. "Caspian, the bracelet... it—it hurts so much... Please, save me."
My bracelet was flashing a frantic, desperate red.
Caspian merely glanced down at me, drenched in a cold sweat, then leaned in and whispered in my ear, "Losing control this easily, just for a little attention? You're pathetic."
He turned his back on me, took Miley's arm, and slammed the door shut.
As he left me on the cold floor, I finally accepted it. I was an unfixable "bug."
My last thought was an apology to him. I’m sorry, Caspian. In the next life, I swear I’ll be the perfect partner you always wanted.