「 The Professor & I 」VOLUME II

(282) Seventh Night

Charles' POV

Although truffle mushroom undeniably topped the list of Lynn's favourite soups, the creamy chowder was probably one too thick for her body to handle at the moment. Instead, I elected to broil a her simply vegetable stew, striving to achieve the phenomenal taste of the one she had always affectionally prepared when I was ill.

Eventually accomplishing the delectable recipe, I delivered it back to our room where Lynn was still predominantly drowsy, burdened under the relentless effects of all her medication. She woke sleepily but I was glad the visually attractive and sensually arousing broth served well to evoke her appetite slightly.

Moderately enticed by the vividly kaleidoscopic colours floating as cubes of carrots, tomatoes, radishes, potatoes and leeks in the pale yellow translucent base, Lynn gladly sipped on the light, warm and savory meal but only managed a few mouthfuls before the little amount that she consumed ended up regurgitated onto the bedding and all over our clothing.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Lynn profusely apologised, breathing erratically in her tremendously flustered form as she frantically wiped the mess, albeit only creating more.

"It's fine, Lynn. I'll get us cleaned, alright? There's no need to panic," I coaxed in a loving tone but it failed to barricade the hot tears brimming in her eyes from rushing down her face as an incessant flow.

"I'm sorry..." Lynn sobbed shakily.

"Shush, love. It's alright, really. Please, don't cry," I begged and gently caressed her blanched cheeks.

Purely intending to push away the streams cascading upon them, I unwittingly sparked off her extremely jittery side and Lynn flinched away in a hurried motion, accidentally aggravating the pain through her injured arm. She blurted a stifled gasp and swiftly recoiled into herself, huddling dearly over her braced wrist.

Although she persistently averted my gaze, her utter embarrassment was more than evident to the naked eye. It burnt my heart, terribly, to watch her quiver in fright, a wretched shiver so drastic not even the darkness could hide.

It required more effort than usual to appease her frenzied mood, but ultimately, her body was too fatigued to be upset or resist.

All her limbs, regardless of their level of function, flopped around flimsily as I carefully submerged her into the bath. Her awfully lethargic state perambulated throughout the day, almost like she was completely catatonic, and she barely breathed any response even when Jean dutifully came for the examination.

Countless analyses were performed on the small blood sample cautiously drawn from her veins but apart from a spike in her analgesic content, nothing oddly out of the ordinary was detected by any of the sophisticated equipment. The collection of rather average readings apparently pointed towards the same direction, indicating the root of her unremitting fever to be but a severe cold and not any sort of cataclysmic infection.

Nevertheless, her uncomplicated condition never seemed to improve even across the week, hinging on reasons that recurred in manners that were weirdly mysterious.

For six consecutive nights since we returned from that nasty abduction, I had uncharacteristically missed every alarm I set for her medication intake due at three in the morning and the peculiar fact was not just appalling, but honestly, quite freakish.

Only nearing the crack of dawn would I flutter my eyes open from a deep, dreamless, slumber. Welcomed by spirited beams of sunshine peeking through the crevices of our silken curtains, the same strange phenomenons would be noticed just as the first.

Under the fluffed duvet, Lynn laid with mildly damp locks tucked beneath her neck and her slim frame clad under a crispy night dress as her auburn mane radiated strong whiffs of citrusy scents. The curious findings that were initially brushed off as rare or minor incidents gradually evolved into suspicious observations but it was not until the effects of my serum had almost fully subsided before I finally fathomed their dreadful origins.

On the seventh night, after I had routinely assisted Lynn with all her necessary leg exercises to prevent unwanted muscle degradation and pressure sores, I prepped myself for bed and joined her normally. Cuddling her trembling body that back-faced me, I was about to doze off when the voices came surging back in escalating doses and I tossed restlessly on the mattress, under the influence of the brutal pains torturing my beloved girl.

As total numbness locked itself permanently onto my legs, my agitated bobbing naturally ceased and I tightened my grip around Lynn, snuggling up to her for comfort. Focusing to calm my thoughts, I eventually drifted off towards the white noise but while I was napping, I felt as though my hand was being peeled off from Lynn.

Indistinguishable between reality and musing, the scene was hazy as my tired eyes wrestled to flicker open but her delicate touch could not lie when she tenderly cradled my shoulders. Discreetly, Lynn rolled me onto my back and muffled grunts spontaneously followed as our arms were plagued by annoyingly acute aches. Fortunately, I was adequate in containing my tormented expressions and Lynn remained oblivious to my psychic presence as she manually tucked the covers around me.

"Go to sleep," Lynn croaked, teasing my eardrums with her sweet but crackling voice that resonated as though she was on the verge of crying.

Abruptly, her weight vanished from the bed and her weeps, though suppressed, vibrated clearly through the silent atmosphere. Amidst what sounded like the shuffling of wood and a brief clang of glass, my mind was rapidly flooded with an uproarious influx of her edgy emotions that virtually punched me in the face.

A faint yet strikingly familiar fragrance of aged single-malt slowly filled the room as my mind was drowned in its own inexcusable negligence and I warily peeped over to the vigorous sloshing, horrified to discover Lynn gulping down multiple cups of scotch like it was an easy task.

I automatically swallowed some saliva to counter the rising tingling sensation building up in my throat as the harsh spirit flushed down hers but despite the sickening symptoms, Lynn acted essentially like she was determined to race to the bottom.

Many shots later, as I monitored her with just my ears, she was still sniffling. The bottles, however, gave the impression to have been restored to their secret compartment as the sealing mechanism of the bookcase was activated and the soft whir of her chair droned away like she had abandoned alcohol as an avenue to vent her frustrations.

Simultaneously, a door unclasped and I took another glimpse, realizing the transient spillage of incandescent lighting onto the polished parquet. Smoothly entering the bath, Lynn speedily shut it behind her and almost immediately, the shower poured down like choppy torrents of rain.

Quickly pulling out a syringe from the side drawer, I jabbed another fix of serum into the back of my elbow and in that moment of hysteria as I madly lugged my legs off the bed, I clumsily tumbled off the edge. Without yet regaining any practical function, my legs basically dragged along the floor as I tediously crawled my way towards the far wall.

At last, I picked myself up in an unsteady hobble and haphazardly staggered across the dim space as if I was the one intoxicated. Briskly reopening the concealed cubicle, my jaw dropped in astonishment when our hidden stash of boozes was unveiled as being almost completely emptied.

Wines, both red and white, only stood with sparing traces of its contents lingering at its base. The cruder ones had also surprisingly disappeared as flasks of namely gin, rum, vodka and brandy sat with just a few centimetres of liquid left in their containers. The whiskey guzzled down like water just seconds earlier emerged as the bulk of the remainder with the level of amber spirit rising to the quarter mark of its exquisite carafe.

Not to mention, deserted glasses stained with residues of the corresponding beverages lurked messily in the shadows, as if they had been hastily replaced, and without another coherent thought, I pscrambled towards the shower.