30: A Well-Timed Question

Cecilia’s POV

The air in the lab had thickened, the usual sterile scent now laced with something else, something heavy and unsettling that seemed to emanate from Professor Davies. His demeanor had shifted, the academic pretense slipping away to reveal something… else. His gaze lingered on me, a possessive intensity that made my skin prickle with a clammy disgust.

"An interesting point you've raised, Cecilia," he’d said earlier, his hand resting on my lower back for a beat too long as he’d leaned in to point at a data set on my screen. His fingers had pressed in a way that felt sickeningly familiar, a cold, unwelcome echo that stood in stark contrast to the burning heat Asher’s touch ignited, leaving a trail of revulsion where warmth should have been.

He’d made a point of lingering after the other students had packed up and left, the rhythmic hum of the remaining computers amplifying the silence, trapping me in the sterile box of the lab with him. His eyes held a predatory gleam as he’d watched me gather my things, a look that made my breath catch in my throat, a terrifying perversion of the desire I sometimes saw in Asher’s gaze.

Just moments ago, as I’d finally moved to leave, his bulk had shifted, his body deliberately blocking my path to the door. “Still here, Cecilia?” he’d murmured, his voice low and thick. “Such dedication. A rare quality… especially in one so… aesthetically gifted.” The “compliment” hung in the air, thick and leering, laced with a disgusting double entendre that made a wave of nausea churn in my stomach.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. A sheen of cold sweat slicked my palms as I clutched my notebook, my knuckles white. I kept my gaze fixed on my hands, trying to project a calm I was far from feeling, every nerve ending screaming for Asher’s protective presence.

He’d taken a step closer, invading my personal space. “Are you finding the material challenging, Cecilia?” he’d asked, his voice deceptively soft, his eyes lingering on my face with an unnerving intensity.

“No, Professor,” I’d managed, my voice trembling almost imperceptibly, each syllable feeling like a monumental effort. “It’s… quite clear.”

He’d chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver of unease down my spine. “Clarity is… a virtue. But sometimes, a little… deeper exploration can be rewarding. Perhaps we could discuss your progress further… after hours?” His gaze had dropped to my lips, lingering there for a sickeningly long moment.

A fresh wave of nausea washed over me, the sterile scent of the lab suddenly feeling suffocating, making my gag reflex twitch. It was a stark and sickening difference from the heady, intoxicating scent of Asher’s skin after our stolen moments, a scent that now felt like a distant, forbidden comfort. I just wanted to escape. I needed to get away from his gaze, his presence, the suffocating feeling of being trapped.

Just then, Liv, who had been gathering her things nearby, must have sensed the suffocating tension that had been building around me. Her usual cheerful hum had been replaced by a quiet watchfulness ever since Professor Davies had started… focusing on me. Now, seeing him step so close, blocking my exit, Liv’s movements were fluid and purposeful.

“Professor Davies,” Liv’s voice cut through the strained silence, clear and carrying, “I actually had a quick question about the assignment. Could I steal you for a moment?”

Professor Davies turned, a flicker of annoyance tightening his features at the interruption, his forced smile not quite reaching his eyes. His gaze lingered on me for a brief, possessive beat, a silent, unwelcome claiming that sent a fresh wave of revulsion washing over me, before he reluctantly turned his attention to Liv, a strained politeness masking his irritation.

“Ah, Liv. Of course,” he said, his voice losing some of its earlier, cloying softness.

As Professor Davies turned his back to me, focusing on Liv’s seemingly innocent question, a wave of desperate relief washed over me. My movements became swift, almost frantic, driven by a primal need to escape the oppressive atmosphere and the lingering feeling of his unwanted gaze. I shoved my notebook and pens haphazardly into my bag, the metallic click of the zipper echoing loudly in the sudden quiet.

“Thanks, Liv,” I mumbled, not meeting her eyes as I edged towards the door, my pace quickening.

“Anytime, CeCe,” Liv replied, her tone light but with an underlying firmness that I understood.

Once I was out of the lab and practically running down the deserted hallway, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like angry wasps, my breath hitched in my throat. The adrenaline was starting to recede, leaving me shaky and weak, the phantom weight of his hand on my back still making my skin crawl with a visceral disgust.

Liv caught up to me, her hand gently stopping me. “CeCe,” she said firmly, turning to face me, her usual bright eyes now narrowed with a mixture of fierce concern and a quiet fury. “That was… not okay. What he’s doing is not okay. You need to report him. You absolutely need to report him.” Her voice brooked no argument, her concern a solid anchor in the swirling sea of my fear and disgust.

“I… I don’t know, Liv,” I stammered, the words catching in my throat.

“I saw it, Cecilia,” Liv insisted, her eyes locking with mine. “It wasn’t just you imagining things. The way he looks at you, the things he says… it’s escalating. You can’t let this go on.”