「 The Professor & I 」VOLUME II

(229) It's Friday

Charles' POV

There was an undeniably pleasing solace, observing Lynn caring duly for herself.

Doubtlessly, she is an incredibly attentive lady capable of that, but it was precisely how the meticulous consideration often misplaced itself in others so generously before she could leave any for her own body that warranted my concern, in addition to her series of recurring episodes.

Whilst Lynn behaved extremely well, excelling in subduing her usual headstrong self from creating any further harm to her fragile physique, she did not quite bear the same dexterity to conquer her wildly straying thoughts.

Initially, they understandably revolved around another man, yet no jealousy or even a tinge of envy evolved from her innocent reminiscence, just an intense pang that battered my heart every time I watched her quietly suffering the misery stemming from the one she dearly missed.

The natural guilt grew rapidly into shame, quickly fuelling her anxieties that skyrocketed into gushing tears and erratic breaths. The attacks never ceased to torment her, regardless of the counselling or protection I attempted to put her under, but it was reassuring to discover my presence was an effective balm, the only one in fact, that could readily appease and remedy her uptight state, nowadays inflamed by other issues.

Ensnared in her mind, apart from the esteemed companion who had kept her psychologically sound and emotionally complete in the past years, were the fantasies elicited from her accidental encounter in my lab. Her entry was certainly permitted, and gladly appreciated, as I returned to a tidied desk, previously left in shambles when I sensed her dire need for assistance and hastily rushed to Cerebro amidst documenting my recent experimental results.

My workbench, predictably, remained littered in its original chaos, as Lynn claimed her urgent exit to be mandated by yours truly, but the slim vial of yellow essence strewn from its holding stand, where its antidote was still neatly stowed as a bright blue solution, inevitably suggested her passing through, even though it was possibly a transient one.

Lynn was surprisingly not upset by the deliberate synthesis of the fluid materials, never once questioning or mentioning their unforeseen reappearance, but rather her own musings evoked by the sight of the miraculous liquid. She never breathed so much as a word about them, but from the way her mind frenzied in a dilemma, it was evident she had the same ideas as me.

Our desires, incited by brief but real contemplations that we were perhaps less, and sometimes just inadequate, were, however, cravings too censurable to be accepted by our obstinate philosophies. After all the promises and all the vows to obliterate the controversial chemical, it was only reasonable that our thirst had spawned a tremendous conflict against the devotion our rationalities were determined to preserve.

Severe crisis conceivably descended upon us both, and with Lynn being the worst affected, as anticipated.

Haunting her with increasing frequencies and magnitudes, the pressure gradually monopolized the source of her self-magnified worries. The only succour was that the consequent relapses visited her with intensities scaled down moderately, a subtle hint that the orbiting troubles were marginally more trivial than the torture prescribed by the recollection of her Scottish friend, now temporarily forgotten.

Whether this minute improvement of her mental condition was facilitated by the memories innately diluting with time or simply because it had activated her brain's intuitive defensive mechanism to safeguard her from processing the trauma all at once, it was ambiguous, but I curated something else that, I figured, might just be the ticket to expedite her recovery, or at least, prolong her mildly augmented mood.