「 The Professor & I 」VOLUME II

(161) Preservation

Xavier's School, 24th July 1993

Lynn's POV

Preaching was always easier than fulfilling.

Despite the constant teachings that I once had a share to spread, advocating the recommendation that emotions never take control of one's actions and that we should at least have the endurance to be faced with the challenges posed to us, my ungoverned timid and passive behavior had been dictated by my agony and sorrows.

It was apparent Charles could hear my thoughts that involuntarily left my head as a result of my incompetence to sustain the psychic barrier between our minds. He slept on the same bed as me and as much as it would have tortured him, he competently stayed away, restraining himself for me.

Yet, as my sleepless nights passed, the redemption yielded from being outside of his arms was fleeting, diminishing so rapidly, I was at a loss. It became unclear as to what I wanted, apart from the desperation to take flight from these tormenting surroundings that only served to provoke the grief that never seemed to cease.

Time was irrelevant and obscured as Charles considerately maintained our room in perpetual darkness with the windows and curtains neatly drawn, recognizing that my eyes were sore from crying and practically could not adjust to the light that glared into them as I continuously laid in bed.

Its only indication came when he woke, dressed himself and headed for his lessons, or when Jean diligently and promptly delivered my three meals that were usually returned almost uneaten. My appetite was evidently non-existent, surely not necessitated with my prolonged lack of activity, and the few mouths reluctantly ingested during Jean's feeding several days ago was probably all I needed to last another couple more days.

Hiding myself under the covers, engulfed in emptiness and misery, tears automatically found their way out of my eyes as I heard the knob click open. There were no footsteps as the door closed, suggesting the entrance of Charles, and the muffled whir of his chair became slightly more distinct, eventually coming to a halt as he routinely arrived at my bedside.

"How are you feeling, Lynn?" He probed, a recurring question he uttered like a habit, yet his true and undying concern pricked my heart every time, that was more often than not, he came by to ask.

Still not having any answer that would suffice and not stab him, I remained silent and motionless under the sheets. Frequently, the absence of my response would trigger a caring nag and polite persuasion to consume the food that had been left untouched on the nightstand but today, his unexpected petting on my side from above the quilt startled me. Instinctively, I rolled over but unable to summon any strength to drag my deadweight along, I could not get far from his grasp as he persistently tugged on the duvet, determined to get it off me.

"Please, don't," I begged shakily, clutching the thick fabric with all my might, which was rather minimal, and his resistance thankfully paused.

"Lynn, I just want to talk to you," he appealed calmly and he sounded closer, like he had stretched over to whisper in my ear.

"Not now. I'm sleepy," I dismissed in a hushed tone. "And you should be in class," I refuted lethargically and he was speechless for a while.

"It's... It's Founders' Day, love," he informed hesitantly, and the reasons for his difficulties in articulation became as obvious as my sobbing that emanated from beneath the covers.

"Lynn, please. Don't be like this," he pleaded, his vocalization almost crumbling.

Charles was again quiet for several moments, presumably as he swallowed his tears to regain his composure but suddenly, the part of the mattress behind me sank.