Lethal Dosage

Distance (I)

"It's now the end of this session," said Professor Thorne, and the lecture hall erupted as students, especially Abigail, rushed to escape what they felt like was prison. Abigail was the first to make her way through the heavy oak door that, up to three hours ago, she entered with curiosity and now is leaving with a doubled amount of that curiosity. At the very corner of Professor Thorne's eyes, he watched intensely as the new dove, introduced to his avariy, fled with a face of obvious bewilderment. What he had done was a question that lingered in his mind helplessly: "What are you going to do," his subconscious taunted. The thought was quickly broken as, suddenly, a female student who had earlier introduced herself came to mindlessly tell us what an amazing class session they had, a conversation he had absolutely no interest in, for Mailel knew that, although he may have lacked experience, the lesson he taught was without a doubt effective. An obvious pick-me, he thought to himself and quickly put an end to a fruitless conversation. The heavy click of the oak doors echoed through the empty hallway, signaling the end of Abigail's first biochemistry class. She stepped away from the lab door, her fingers still tingling from the vibration of the centrifuge. Outside, the air was fresh, an experience just like a prisoner's first time outside after serving a sentence. Abigail made her way towards her dorm as her thoughts flickered like an unstable light switch on what had happened between her and the professor.

As she walked toward the parking lot, the florescent hum of the building faded, replaced by the deafening silence that forced her thoughts inward. Finally, she made it to now where it could be considered home. Behind the door you could hear the enthusiastic humming of none other than her joyous roommate, Chloe Dupont. "Good Evening," Abigail greeted her with a half-hearted smile, one that Chloe noticed but wasn't sure to ask, but responded by beaming with joy. "How was her day?" she asked casually, hoping to uncover any underlying threat to Abigail's day. However, Abigail responded, "It was good... How about yours? " It was amazing," Chloe squealed while shaking a bottle of hairspray in the corner of their room. Abigail sat on the edge of her twin XL bed, the polyester sheets scratching against her skin. "Are you going somewhere?" Abigail asked Chloe. " Yea ... it's the Welcome Week Mixer..... Aren't you going?"To which Abigail responded. "Nah, I'm tired. It wasn't long after that Chloe left and Abigail was left to fight her demons." "His hands." Abigail whispered to the empty air of her own mind, a silence tracing the phantom heat on her desk. "They didn't feel like the hands of a scholar. They were steady, like a surgeon; but with just the right amount of roughness, there is a history, And his voice... It didn't just fill the room; it occupied a certain space behind the ribs and created a space that echoed loud and persistently in my mind."

She felt a deep, gnawing mental state of displacement. She had come here for a degree, for a future mapped out in neat, predictable career arcs. But this newly found stimuli of her professor Mailel Thorne was an anomaly. He was a black hole, absolutely beautiful yet terrifying and impossible to escape once you crossed the event horizon. It was without a doubt that a huge gap of distance, a survival instinct screaming at her but not loud enough to drown the sense to make good of whatever happened today, to surrender helplessly to this black hole for, without question, WHAT COULD IT HARM? At the professor's study, Secured Two miles away, in a high-rise apartment that smelled of espresso and expensive leather, Mailel Thorne stood by a floor-to-ceiling window. If looks were currency, he was undoubtedly rich as he looked lethally handsome in the dim light, his black shirt discarded, leaving him in a charcoal grey undershirt that clung to the hard, lean musculature of his shoulders. He was a man built of proxemic barriers, usually maintaining a ten-foot wall between himself and the world. However, "Abigail Vance," he thought, the name a bitter-sweet chemical on his tongue. "She harmlessly violated every protocol I've built. With a look in her eyes, that was not just youth but like a frequency he hadn't heard in a while." His mental state was one of calculated suppression. He knew the chronic danger; a scandal at this stage in his research would be professional suicide. He resolved to be cold. He would be the ice to her spark. He would crush the curiosity before it became a combustion.

The next morning, the sun bled through the high windows of the Advanced Biochem Lab. The atmosphere was a pressurized chamber. Entered Julian Vane, Mailel's lead research assistant and also best friend . Julian was twenty-four, sharp-featured, and wore his lab like a suit of armor. He moved with a vocalic sneer, his eyes darting around the room with a predatory ambition. Beside him stood Dr Evenly Cho, a guest lecturer from the Biology Department. She was a woman of lethal elegance, wearing a silk blouse the color of dried blood, her dark eyes known for seeing through facades. "Good Day," Evelyn purred strongly in hopes of capturing the attention of Mailel. She continues persistently, which, time after time, is effortlessly diverted by Mailel. Shortly after she left, Julian helplessly snickered and sat across from Mailel. " Rumor has it she will only visit for you," he said, eyes raised. " I wonder why," Mailel sarcastically responded, earning a laugh from Julian. Thereafter, he made his way towards class. The students filed in. Abigail wore a simple, form-fitting white ribbed sweater and dark jeans, her hair pulled back into a messy bun that exposed the delicate, pale line of her throat. She looked breathtakingly radiant in the harsh lab light — innocent to the sterile equipment. Only this time did she sit further back intoe the lecture hall than the previous day, almost like she was running from something. Mailel felt his resolve crumbling the moment she crossed the proxemic threshold of the room. He pointed to the back of the lab. "Partner Up.... Today we are isolating protein chains." Today Abigail's partner was Justin, who was definitely interested in Abigail also as throughout the lab a series of hints were gradually left, but effortlessly sighted. But as the lab progressed, a mistake occurred as a beaker of hydrochloric acid was nudged toward the edge of the workbench. Almost instantly, Abigail reacted in an attempt to catch the beaker. This was spotted by Professor Thorne and, just like a flash of kinetic energy, Mailel was at her desk to come rescue. He didn't just stop the beaker; he caught Abigail. His chest slammed into her back, his arms wrapping around her hands to stabilize her hands on the glass. With the distance now absolute zero, the world stopped. Abigail could feel the hard, hot cervices of his body subtly pressed against her body. The scent of him—rain and expensive tobacco — swamped her senses. His breath hitched against the shell of her ear, a vocalic confession of his own lack of control. He was devastatingly attractive up close, the stubble on his jaw, his face with a rugged, dangerous edge.

Mailel's hands stayed over hers on the beaker for three, four, five seconds too long — a chronic eternity. The entire lab went silent. The entire lab went silent. To which Julian entered the room to ask a favor and was utterly shocked because he had never seen anyone except himself breaking Mailel Thorne's barriers. Mailel pulled back, his face a stone masked and chest slightly heavy. Shifting back to his "normal state of being," "Safety Protocols, Miss Vance," he commanded out his voice sharp but laced with subtle care. But as Abigail watched him move down towards the other man, she saw that distance was a lie. The fire was already out of control. Another heavy Class.