「 The Professor & I 」VOLUME II

(267) Secret Recipe

Lynn's POV

It was not just like waking up from any ordinarily terrible nightmare.

It was probably like coming back from death.

It was harsher than anything I have ever had to endure, knowing that I had powerlessly fallen into the stupidest trap of all.

The thorough loss of control, to speak, to laugh, or even to move freely was utterly intimidating, so much so it was perhaps more nerve-wreaking than the moment I first learnt about my lower body's paralysis.

From the minute I regained consciousness, it became transparent that it was not drowsiness or inactivity the external drug had induced, but a severe impairment of my feedback system that transformed my body into nothing but an encasing whose fate was held in the reins of another.

One would imagine that living practically half my life with real command of only half my own body, surviving in a shell that could only be governed properly from my hips up, might have somehow accustomed me to the notion of being fairly crippled but the horrifying impotence supplementing the downright lack of authority had undoubtedly ventured across typical boundaries into uncharted territory.

The screams I screamed, if actually transmitted and not echoing merely within the walls of my own skin, would have torn Charles into pieces, shredding him like large shards of glass through his fragile heart, but the dreadful silence functioned exactly the same to rip him apart.

Staring blankly was not even a voluntary choice and it was unclear that I should be glad, being granted the handsome view of him yet simultaneously taunted by the torture I was unwittingly inflicting onto him.

Expectedly, my heart was continuously stabbed witnessing again the tragedy of his predicted predicament. Outshone was the pain that arose from physical torments, drastically drowning out as insignificant twinges in the raging tempest of mental suffering but the most insulting misery was the incompetency to avert unwanted contact.

Whether it was Stryker's hideous touch, Yuriko's insistent injection or Jason's false projections, I could only helplessly succumb.

It was not like my body was not mine.

It was precisely that my body was not mine.

Initially, the sheer joy of watching him saunter around the house as much as he pleased was utterly invigorating. Until the scene flashed momentarily into the grimy room, it was ambiguous that I had been deceived.

Gradually, I caught on to the subtle hints. The aches prevailing in my thigh as I was perched comfortably in my chair. My hands that worked in symmetrical fashions as I rolled down the sleek passageways. His eyes that glistened in blue and green as he strolled charmingly alongside me.

Yet, without jurisdiction and without strength, I had nothing at all that would upset their evil plans. Instead, I could only listen to myself flirting with a faked copy of my husband and observe like a passive bystander as I readily evolved into a pawn of this grand agenda.

As much as every inch of my surroundings had been reconstructed into an unbelievable environment, the uncompromising depletion of my energy was positively certain.

Consuming me substantially was the perpetual struggles to liberate myself from the psychological imprisonment coupled with the natural repercussions of directly operating Cerebro, not to mention braving the cold from that dubious source of snow.

Progressively, the hallucination flickered and slowly, it vanished altogether, but all I knew was the light feeling of a floating feather. My eyes were dazzled by an array of psychedelic spots, a colourful bokeh decorating the dark chamber as it badly rocked.