「 The Professor & I 」VOLUME II

(311) Man In A Chair

Lynn's POV

Down by the porch, Hank was seriously addressing his bodyguard when Charles and I arrived hand in hand.

Promise me, you won't forget what you promised me, I demanded in a cheeky but inherently grim tone as I straightened his dotted tie.

I won't forget, Charles affirmed as he strongly gripped my hand and I glanced up, instantly charmed by his fascinating smile.

I promise, he rehashed, smirking as he confidently tapped on his jacket where his Alzheimer's pills resided exactly on the inner pocket.

Graciously, he smiled and simply pecked a doting kiss to the back of my hand before he expertly thrusted himself down the weaving series of ramps that conveniently aided his descent equivalent to the front steps.

Stop staring or you're going to be late for my class, Charles teased jokingly and I chuckled, nodding, as I obediently retreated into the mansion.

Clandestinely, I stayed awhile, watching as he swiftly transferred into the luxurious seat. The bulky chauffeur had repeatedly been warned not to gawk but apparently amazed by Charles' remarkable and swift proficiency in independently disassembling his chair into the spacious area spanning before his unusable legs, he gaped nonetheless.

Only when Hank deliberately cleared his throat did the enthralled employee shut the door and resumed his post as the driver. As the engines roared to life, the limousine soon sailed beyond the school's horizons and it was time to recommence the daily grind.

Naturally, I yearned to be wholly occupied and apart from undertaking his teaching duties alongside mine, I embarked on the tiresome routine of conquering the institution's paperwork that now materialised mainly as an overwhelming influx of unread emails.

I buried myself, conducting consecutive lectures, revising lesson plans for the rest of the week, grading assignments. In whatever free periods I was unfortunately blessed with that afternoon, I stationed in front of my computer and pegged myself away to the virtually bursting inbox.

Imaginably, I toiled hours away, attending to an array of parents' concerns and just miscellaneous administrative issues. Yet, the clock seemingly ticked with contrasting productivity and the skies hardly resembled the dark when I reached the zero mark.

Headache brewing, I whisked back to the bedroom and pampered myself with a long bath. Soaked luxuriously amidst foamy bubbles and tepid waters, I occasionally peeked at Charles, discovering him in a posh restaurant.

Part of me grew envious, but only with the fact that I was not the one enjoying his wondrous company. As he was hospitably entertained by the executives of Worthington Laboratories, a fancy lunch was served and he dug in blissfully, but my appetite was strangely not piqued by his spread of the delicacies.

Listlessly crawling out from the tub, I randomly slipped on some night clothes and plopped myself onto the couch by the fireplace, facing towards the windows. Lazy for the sling and brace, I neglected the repulsive pair, basically bolstering my afflicted wrist with a fluffy pillow on my chest as I furnished a glass with transparent liquid, gently swirling it in the air.

The evening was at its peak, dazzling the gardens in beautiful orange streaks. Although it was undeniably a mesmerising scene and the unceasing chores had me amply fatigued, drifting asleep remained severely tricky even under considerable influence of an alcoholic drink.

Sprawled on the chaise, I merely fell in and out of dazes plagued heavily by my own anxieties. Regardless that I was moderately tipsy, the intimidating nightmare returned energetically to haunt me and disturbing images ruthlessly flickered past, each one more devastating than the last.