「 The Professor & I 」VOLUME II

(216) Cyclops

Lynn's POV

Naturally waking, I found myself surprisingly laid on my back instead of my side as I last remembered. Instinctively, I gazed over to Charles, who was still gravely immersed in a condition of suspended consciousness, and as I stirred under the sheets, intending to flip myself over just as before, the sores extending ubiquitously over my sensible parts roared in a violent protest.

Honestly without strength to battle the overpowering strains, I merely craned my neck to get a glimpse of his monitors and smiled in relief as I recognised his numbers rising, slowly but, thankfully, positively, when I realised Scott and Jean were also present in the room.

Being the more meticulous partner, Jean readily noticed I was awake and her heels clicked across the room with utter enthusiasm, almost like she was skipping, as she excitedly approached me.

I smiled at her genuinely, but even that rapidly faltered as she brought more disconcerting news to my mind that was still struggling to fathom the exact circumstances of my surroundings.

The night and day had been unknowingly wasted away in sleep. The blank serenity that engulfed me was an obscure one, free of dreams or any sort of musing. Just a pure state of hibernation so deep, it sequestered even the grasp of time.

It was long past lunch, almost hitting the midpoint between that and dinner, when my eyes first fluttered open. Respecting that the thorough rest only occurring near the break of dawn was indeed sparing for me, Jean opted not to disrupt it even for the means of my surgery besides lying me into a less harmful position.

Instead, the conscientious couple had spent the morning fishing my chair from the deserted pond isolated in a corner of the school compound and quietly watched over us as they diligently repaired the faulty components, thereupon replacing the parts inevitably damaged after being soaked lengthily under the freshwaters.

Yet, when confronted with the imperative issue that plagued the monumental date, they seemed edgy and nervous, blatantly avoiding the subject as they deliberately redirected my scrutiny to the severity of my injury.

Surrendering to their thoughtfulness and the urgency of my required medical attention, I permitted Jean to advance with the operation, albeit maintaining that I was not to be completely sedated in order to remain amply sober to tend to Charles in the impending event when we will be left alone in the mansion.

Despite being badly crippled, the internal reengineering of my joint was actually a relative simple one since not much else could be done to artificially heal the dislocation apart from stabilizing the displaced carpal bones.

The repeatedly torn ligaments, however, have induced several complications in my worn hand and while it was a contrarily straightforward sequence to remove the impaired tissues, I was fully aware of the chronic ailments, and their possible permanencies, following the concise procedure regardless of Jean's optimistic reassurances that were undoubtedly consolations based upon little substantive grounds.

After dressing my arm inelaborately into a lightweight and translucent plastic cast, an obvious preference for my frail built that frankly could not handle the density of its traditional plaster counterpart, Jean inflated the air sacks attached on the insides of the sturdy shell, conveniently creating the flawless fit, to duly protect my hand from further aggravation. The advantages of the adaptable pockets were additionally evidenced once the effects of the local anesthesia had faded, providing a soft and comfortable haven my hand secretly yearned after having been trapped in nearly perpetual throbbing since the unanticipated brutality.

"Is this alright? If it's too loose or too tight, you have to-" Jean fretted anxiously as she continuously adjusted the acrylic guard around my wrist.