「 The Professor & I 」VOLUME II

(302) They're Not Ready

Lynn's POV

Neatly tucking me under the duvet, Charles kindly pecked my forehead again before he graciously proceeded to fulfil what was supposed to be my teaching duties instead.

As the doors clicked and sealed behind him, I readily levitated the bedside clock towards the me; despite his incessant reassurances, I was still severely bugged by our current lack of manpower and decisively set the alarm for merely half an hour later.

Lazily docking it back to the nightstand, I dragged the fluffy quilt over my head and delighted in the comfort of the thick fabric as I snuggled together with the plush cushions that were gratefully all mine to dominate. Unknowingly succumbing to their pleasant warmth and his beautiful scent, I haphazardly drifted off into dreamland.

My catatonic state was but a brief affair and I sprung my eyes wide, drawing a sharp breath, as my eardrums were abruptly deafened by a blistering blare. Ironically, I giggled in that exact instance, funnily imagining how Charles would have laughed if only he had the pleasure to witness yet another of my exaggerated reactions.

Leisurely, I snoozed the buzzing cacophony and revelled appreciatively in the familiar surroundings as I composed my mousy side but the imminent task of lugging myself out of bed was not deemed any easier even with reattained courage.

Although the power nap was somewhat efficient in revitalising my mind, my body wretchedly received little to none of the same effects and every movement was retaliated with a violent protest.

Throughout my sensible parts, muscles screamed and joints burned as my unfeeling limbs, seemingly aware of the dreary weather that was ultimately inviting to sleep in, glued themselves stubbornly to the sheets but eventually, I wrestled a tedious way off the tempting mattress.

I took a quick shower—though its definition was markedly different from that of a normal person's—and as fast as my crippled body would allow, donned on the smart attire handpicked by Charles.

Checking my appearance again in the full-length mirror, I smiled proudly as I casually dusted my white polkadot blouse but noticing the clashing accessory peeking from underneath my sleeves, my face immediately sank into a disgusted expression.

Usually uncaring for the supplementary functions, I could frequently go without the assistance of the robotic gear but on days that have cropped up more often in recent times as such when my wrist seriously throbbed, the protective bracket was its only source of some succour.

Stabilized in padded foam clamped under a lightweight yet sturdy titanium house, my wounded hand was significantly less vulnerable but sadly, Scott had made marginal progress with regards to the aesthetics of the brace before the Summers scooted off on their annual family vacation again.

Fervently tugging on my fuchsia jacket, I concealed whatever I could of the ghastly view and hurriedly drove myself downstairs. The deserted halls surely aided an expeditious advance to the classrooms and soon, I was stationed several paces away from mine, secretly peeping at Charles inside.

Deeply immersed in his intriguing lecture, I probably gaped for minutes too long but thankfully, my frivolous conduct went unnoticed as both he and my students excitedly engaged in a stimulated debate over the curious case study generously shared by the CIA.

Finally peeling my eyes off that impeccable Prada suit, I swiftly navigated down to the basement where my presence was certainly more practical.

Polished blue walls speedily passed me by as I accelerated my chair through the sleek corridors and rushed into the control center. Promptly escaping the eerily cool airs disturbingly grazing my cheeks, I attentively observed the Danger Room Session currently at the peak of its progression.